Skip to main content

The Main Drawback to Library Books

On my current austerity plan, purchasing books has become a fond memory. Other than the occasional free ebook and revisiting whatever's on my shelves, the library is my preferred source for reading material. I have been going every 4th Saturday, usually borrowing 3 volumes -- two mysteries and one biography. Or the other way around. Having finished Ruth Rendell's The Monster in the Box, I've now turned to Brian Wilson's memoir Wouldn't It Be Nice.

Wouldn't it be nice if prudes were as illiterate in the practical sense as they are in the philosophical? I'm on page 10 or so of the Wilson book and am forced to wade through numerous annoying little blots of blue ink that have been used by someone to scribble over various expletives.
Whoever the jackass is who did this, they couldn't even get hired as a censor, because as many four-letter words as they bowdlerize, there's an equal number still showing their scandalous little faces to the reader. There's no rhyme or reason to it. Blue-nose with the blue Bic left in "You're as rich as fucking Christ." In my religious days, that's the one I would have been tempted to tinker with. Who was this guardian of morality endeavoring to protect? What was the point of it? I vividly remember a lot of my favorite literature as an early teenager, and how grown-up I felt reading words like "tits" and "screw." Hide them from my mother, maybe, but never try to contravene an author's testimony.

As I concentrate on reliving the nadir of Wilson's existence, when the Beach Boys fired him until he could get himself back together, I'm having to re-read lines to make sense of them and keep the narrative flowing, to the point where I catch myself mouthing the words -- arrgh!

One of my elementary-school teachers would often tell us how lucky we are that the New York public schools did not allow teachers to whack students with rulers. She said she felt like doing just that every time she saw a pencil or pen in the hand of a student holding anything other than his or her own notebook. Our textbooks were covered with brown paper and free of any scribbles. She checked them all and reduced our grades if any book got defaced on her watch.

Someone deserves to have their walls marked up by small children with crayons. With "Good Vibrations" playing in the background.


I'm stunned, not only that someone would deface a book (and make it all but unreadable in the process), but that they would presume to apply their moral compass in that way. Boo to them!

Popular posts from this blog

Memoir - The Year of Kent State

by The Urban Blabbermouth
I wanted to write a fictional memoir and it got away from me. 

I was born in the Year of Kent State. I didn't know. I was watching a cable channel specializing in historical programs, in this case, newsworthy events from the 1970s. The Ohio National Guard shot 13 unarmed students protesting the Vietnam War on the Kent State University campus. Four students died. By the time I was aware of a bigger world than my own, Kent State passed into history.

Im gonna git u Sukkah

by The Urban Blabbermouth [who may or may not be shown in the photo above... - v-E] ~ True story. I am walking to my car and I notice a couple of Jewish fellows, twenty somethings, with the bouquets of what looks like bamboo or palm. I know they are Jewish for they look Hasidic. They are wearing long black jackets, wide brim black fedora hats, and have curly sideburns. In truth, I classify all Jewish who dress like this as Hasidic although they may identify themselves differently. They are standing near the corner canvassing passersby.

Climbing to New Heights

by The Urban Blabbermouth
It started when I was ten.  I was riding shotgun with my father when a small plane crossed the highway in front of us.  The plane floated gently to its landing, like it had all the time in the world.  It was beautiful.  I knew then I wanted to be a pilot.  

I dreamed of soaring with the clouds and flying through them.  I could go anywhere the crow flies.  No stuck in traffic following a road as laid out by some anonymous engineer.  I could fly with the birds, although, I never thought myself a bird.  I loved the freedom.

But, I fear heights.  

It's not just any heights, it's low heights, the kind you get with stairs, balconies, bridges, and landing airplanes.  When I fly on airlines as a passenger, I look out the window at thirty thousand feet, no fear.  Somewhere between six feet, my height, and thirty thousand feet, airplane's height, lives my fear, a mysterious feeling that emerges from my stomach and rises up into my chest.  I can't…