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The Book Tomb -- Writer's Poke #275

I had the rather hair-brained scheme that I would read all of the books in the library; well, not all of them, but all of the books in the History section -- a few thousand books at most.

With a little quick (and optimistic) math, I figured I could read a book a day; and after four years of college, that would equal a lot of books. Okay. Maybe not the entire History section, then, but why not dive into the books in the shelf in front of me? Surely I could read all of those.

The Stacks. What a wonderful place. Musty. Dusty. An elegant tomb full of books and artificial lighting. I could stay deep in its depths. It's where books come to die, but it's where I would go to live. I was going to record the Word on each individual brain cell.

Admittedly, I'm not normal, but I've always known that. Understand: college, after all, isn't a time for learning. It's a time for drinking mass quantities of booze, and chalking up carnal conquests. At least that's what the majority of my peers seemed most interested in. The question one most heard around campus was not: "What cool things are you learning?" Rather, it was: "Are you going anywhere this weekend?" Or, "You want to hit the Uptowner tonight?"

Have you read a history book lately?

"The only history that's worth a tinker's damn is the history we make today." -- Henry Ford


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