Boneheadedness

Why do I insist upon listening to books on CD in the car that cause me to yell at the CD? Ah, I remember. Because the CD selection at the library is far more limited than the tape collection and my car doesn't have a tape deck.

I stopped borrowing Patricia Cornwell books because her self-absorbed writing style bugs the crap out of me. (Kay Scarpetta doesn't just cook up steaks on the grill, she takes a slow draught from her glass of chianti, waiting for her stainless steel Weber Grill to reach broiling temperature. Then, she removes the butcher's paper from the filets she purchased from Luigi's Butcher Shop on Main Street, on the way home. While rubbing the meat hunks with Dead Sea Salt and elephant garlic, she realizes that the last time she drank chianti and waiting for the grill to heat up while preparing steaks she purchased from Luigi's, she was pining over Benton. But Benton is gone now. . .) By the middle of the last book, my kids were yelling at the CD.

Last week, I listened to John Grisham's The Brethren last week and it was reasonably entertaining, so I borrowed The Street Lawyer this week. I found myself rolling my eyes and yelling today. Until the arrest warrant showed up, it never even occurred to The Street Lawyer that stealing a file from his former firm might be illegal. And it certainly didn't occur to him that he might lose his law license over it. (Oh, but he went to Yale Law School. That probably explains everything. They're so busy contemplating the nature of laws at a metaphysical level, that the practical aspects of the law are lost.)