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Author! Author! The 957-Pound GorillaBy Rick Horowitz
Thirty-five dollars to read Bill Clinton's new book? Hey, they'd have to pay me more than that to -- No. Really? I'm supposed to pay them? Well, that's even worse! People are saying "My Life" isn't exactly a beach book. I think it's a perfect beach book, if by "perfect beach book" you mean that lifting that sucker for a week or two will give you biceps you'll be proud to show off on any beach in the world. Assuming your arms don't fall off first. Nine hundred and fifty-seven pages is a lot of pages. Let me put it in context for you: If the 957 pages in Bill Clinton's book were laid end to end on a football field, the grounds crew would be really ticked off. And I still wouldn't pay a nickel to see it. Bill Clinton's an environmentalist, right? You'd think he might have kept it shorter if only to spare the trees, right? Wrong. "Mommy, wasn't there a forest here?" "Yes, dear, but then Bill Clinton wrote his memoirs." There are advantages, I admit, to having a president who can express his thoughts in complete paragraphs -- but did it have to be so many complete paragraphs? Almost makes you appreciate a president who can barely get three words out without stopping to regroup. "I think that...uunnnhhhhhhh...." "They're trying to...uunnnhhhhhhh...." "We have to...uunnnhhhhhhh...." Almost makes you appreciate it. But nothing makes Clinton stop. (Lunch, maybe.) So you have to wonder: Why didn't he go for an even thousand pages? After all, to come so far, and to finish so close -- it must have been excruciating. Was there a tiny particle of self-restraint buried deep within the man that finally fought its way to the surface and shouted, "Enough!"? Does a bear play Debussy in the woods? I figure he just ran out of time. Or ink. So somehow, we'll all have to muddle through with the not-quite-complete story. Personally, I'll pass. I look at it this way: Life is short. The book is long. Ridiculously long. With the time I save by not reading Bill Clinton's book, I can do other things. Some fun things. Some useful things. Just as long as they're other things. For instance? For instance: Instead of reading Bill Clinton's book, I can finish reading that crime novel on my nightstand about children being murdered in the Everglades. It's only 265 pages -- a snack by comparison. So I'd still have time left to get around to that book I bought months ago about the Paris Peace Conference after World War I, and about how the victors drew their lines on their maps and thought they'd remade the world. And I'd still have time to put air in my bicycle tires and take the thing out for a spin. It's been way too long, and even if I have to buy a wider seat to accommodate my...wider seat, it's worth it. The weather's just perfect -- I should be outdoors. Or I could celebrate Martina Navratilova; if she can play singles at Wimbledon again at her age, I can certainly dig my racquet out of wherever I last stashed it and start pounding some balls against some walls. (Speaking of building up your biceps...) With the time I save by not reading Bill Clinton's book, I can finally clean out a few of those files that have been cluttering my desk for years. I can write new letters to old friends. I can compose a concerto. I'd have to learn something about composing first, but it would still take less time than it would to read that book. I can drive across the country. I can find a new cure for athlete's foot. I can alphabetize my shirts. I can -- All that and more! An opportunity like this comes around only once in a lifetime. (He's not planning a sequel, is he? My God, he wouldn't -- !) And I've got Bill Clinton to thank for making it possible. There's "My Life." But then there's my life. Posted 6/22/04. Take
life 600 words at a time right here at "Rick's" -- and tell the neighbors!
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Rick Horowitz
