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No page left unturned - all genres and authors of every literary persuasion welcomed with open minds, arms and whatever space we have left on our crammed bookshelves. A voracious reading appetite means you can never have too many books...or insights into the human condition.
What a dark place your world must be, Mr. Gingrich, where the way to save America is to destroy America. I will awaken every day of my life thankful that I am not with you in that dark place.And I will awaken every day of my life thankful that you are entitled to tell me about it. And that you are entitled to show me what an evil idea it represents, and what a cynical mind. And that you are entitled to do all that, thanks to the very freedoms you seek to suffocate.
Come to think of it, for all the sound and fury about the Special Comment, what I appreciate the most about Keith Olbermann - and, if Truth and Consequences is an indication, what I fear he might lose - are those moments when he realizes that he doesn't have to play the prophet. He does, after all, note "the unavoidable symbolism provided by the reality that [Mr. Gingrich] answers to the name 'Newt.' " His skewering of Rudy Giuliani is prefaced with a hilariously dishy story of "America's Mayor" introducing him at the banquet by promptly forgetting his name. He even admits that he includes camera placement and blocking to the list of considerations for his Special Comments.
Perhaps my own favorite moment of Truth and Consequences, however, happens to be the one that tells the most about Keith Olbermann, the person: the preface where he talks about his own fake-anthrax scare, which began with an envelope and a letter covered in "grainy, shiny, powdery stuff" - and ends, one sleepless night later, with Hazmat suits, decontaminant showers, widespread police investigations, and a maliciously gossipy piece on Page Six of the New York Post that threatened, if anything else, to expose him as the hysterical ninny - even though the culprit's arrest, a few days later, revealed that similar letters had been sent to his fellow "demagogues" David Letterman and Jon Stewart.
Amidst the gallows humor and the possibility that the suspect was a loser who "lived in his mom's basement and thought Ann Coulter, Laura Ingraham, and Katherine Harris were the three hottest women in America," there are glimpses of humanity. He's worrying over his girlfriend, who was about to move in with him "into the very room where the powder had spilled..." (And here's the part where I sigh in relief, knowing that my longtime brain-crush has finally fallen in love - who woulda thunk it?) He's worrying about his neighbors, and whether or not they too may have been contaminated if the powder was, indeed, what he thought it was, even as he hoped that "nearly all the contents" of the envelope had been sealed and remained intact in the Ziploc bag where he'd sealed it: "But nearly, of course, only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades and threatening letters with white powder in them."
(Ironically, this anthrax scare "nearly" echoes, in my mind, another life-changing event for a TV personality: David Letterman's coronary bypass. Knowing how that bypass affected Dave, however, I can't help but wonder if there are plans to get cracking on bringing about an Olberspawn...)
Somehow, lest any one of us - even Keith himself - would actually believe all the quasi-Messianic comparisons to Howard Beale, the words of Oliver Cromwell continue to ring true:
I beseech you, in the bowels of Christ, think it possible you may be mistaken.
The closest text in the real world apparently is "Love Letters of Great Men and Women: From the Eighteenth Century to the Present Day," first released in the 1920s and reissued last year by Kessinger Publishing, which specializes in bringing back old works.
Enough readers have been directed to the Kessinger anthology [...] that it ranked No. 134 on Amazon.com on Tuesday afternoon.
Speaking of love letters from strange men - albeit a different kind of "love" letter altogether:
I just started reading Truth and Consequences yesterday. Oddly enough, it also coincided with the day of my first baseball game ever - Indians vs. Twins with the Scribes (and Mr. Scribe's mom) at Progressive Field.
...but until we can gather more content while I'm still here in Cleveland, enjoy this real-time video of a now-familiar sight along the Flats of the Cuyahoga River.
(BTW: The Scribe did take me to Coventry Library and Mac's Backs in her Cleveland Heights neighborhood. It was AWESOME. We also found some breathtaking Annie Leibovitz books at the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, and are about to make a pilgrimage to the Cleveland Public Library soon. Also, there may be a vlog and a possible page redesign in the future.)