Charles Dickens wrote twenty novels in his lifetime. His beard wrote four short story collections.There are several things in this world that I am passionate about. I love to write Schindler's List fan fiction (in which Oskar Schindler not only saves a lot of Jews, he can also unlock doors with his mind!). I am an amateur voyeur, mostly open window stuff. And I am a voracious reader. Next to TV, Blu-Ray movies, Playstation 3, tanning salon porn, homemade nachos, writing op-eds with an extremely right-wing slant for the local newspaper, minority counting and my fantasy quiddich league, curling up with a good book is my favorite thing on earth. Currently, I am reading David Mamet's Theatre, a brilliant nonfiction piece on how a play should be properly performed, although I am a bit disappointed that the phrase "fucking cunt" does not appear nearly as often as it does in Glengarry Glen Ross. From there I will probably move on to Stephen King's new collection Full Dark, No Stars. And after that I will be diving head-first into George R.R. Martin's fantasy epic A Song of Ice and Fire. I love to read, because books provide a great refuge from the worries of the outside world. For me, it's all about escapism, except when I read in public...then it's about showing these fucking morons how goddam superior I am. I understand that reading is not for everyone; that some people find the thought of having to pick up a book and stare at words repulsive or insanely boring. But I think anyone, anyone, can find a book he or she would like. The problem is there are so many more options available to us today. Netflix, video games, Glee, iPods, Avatar on Blu-Ray, copious amounts of free porn, et cetera, et cetera (notice how I spelled et cetera rather than just putting 'etc.' Just another way of showing you how goddam superior I am). Recently, National Book Award winner, Jonathan Franzen told Oprah (I was flipping channels and the remote just happened to get stuck) that there is so much noise in the world, one must be able to write a book that his louder than the noise. There are a lot of great books out there that I'm sure you would love if given the chance. Oprah's newest addition to her book club (I actually lost the remote so I just left the TV there out of laziness, pure, manly, heterosexual laziness) is a twofer of Dickens's most famous works: A Tale of Two Cities (the one that starts out, "Call me Ishmael") and Great Expectations (don't expect much...nothing happens). Now, since many mindless Stepford wives take Oprah's word as gospel, I'm sure they are taking their dead-eyed, dried-vagina selves to their nearest Barnes & Noble to purchase a book that they would normally ignore even if it was getting raped right in front of them. It's pathetic really. Anyway, I bought my copy yesterday and just can't wait to open wide and take in some seriously long Dickens. And who knows, maybe reading Dickens for the holidays will open people up to other great, super fuckin dense, but great books. For example, my favorite book is Of Human Bondage by W. Somerset Maughm. It is an excellent manifesto on the secrets of dungeon fetishes. The hardest book I have ever read is probably Jude the Obscure by Thomas Hardy. It's about this guy Jude, you probably don't know him. And of course, there are always the classics: Lord of the Flies, The Catcher in the Rye, On the Road, Grapes of Wrath, et cetera, et cetera (that smug sum-mama-bitch). I mean, you really can't go wrong when choosing something to read. Unless you are reading a book by Frank McCourt...fuck that guy. But Thomas Pynchon is always good. So is Clive Barker and Joe Hill. Lisa Reardon wrote a great book called Billy Dead (I know she's a woman, fellas, but she's still OK). And it doesn't have to be fiction. Fuck no! I read great biographies on William Golding, Steve Martin, Raymond Carver. I read Howard Zinn's A People's History of the United States and Jared Diamond's Collapse: How Societies Choose to Fail or Succeed. Anything by Christopher Hitchens is always good for a laugh. Hell, read comic books! I do. Everything Alan Moore has ever done is pure genius. Ben Templesmith, Neil Gaiman, Garth Ennis...these guys are masters. Now listen here, Eric, you preachy, self-righteous, egotistical, shitdick, I do read! I DO READ, MOTHERFUCKER! See, I'm all the way to chapter 4 in Twilight, book 1 of the Twilight Saga. Ok, ok...I'm just going to say it: Twilight is not literature, it's porn for tweens who don't know how to get porn. What happens when a fucking Mormon writes a book about vampires? The vampires SPARKLE!!! Normally the sun kills vampires, but Mormon vampires look fabulous under the sun. Edward Cullen, Jacob Black, Bella Swan...God how I hate them, those characters, those fucking books. They are dirty, lousy, gimmicky, unoriginal complete pieces of shit, and if any one of Stephanie Meyer's blasphemous creations was getting raped in front of me, I would NOT call the cops. Which leads me to my next unnecessary tirade: Fuck Nicholas Sparks, too! This man is not a writer, he is a whiny, conceited robot set up on an assembly line, manufacturing some of the most bland and terrible books ever written. In this Newsweek article Sparks compares himself to ancient Greek writers, Shakespeare and Hemingway. He lambastes the genius Cormac McCarthy (remember that scene in No Country for Old Men when Anton Chigurh asks the gas station attendant, "What's the most you ever lost in a coin toss?" Fuck. Remember how badass that guy was walking around with a fucking air gun that shot a metal rod in fuckers' heads? Well, Cormac McCarthy invented that guy). And the stupid M.F. says that he is the only writer in his genre. He even says, "No one is doing what I'm doing." Nicholas Sparks is a super douche. Here is the plot to every Nicholas Sparks book: boy meets girl, one of them dies in the end. Think about it. A Walk to Remember? The chick dies. Message in a Bottle? The dude dies. Nights in Rodanthe? The dude dies. Dear John? The chick's dad dies (oh, twist ending!). But Eric, how the hell do you know the ending to so many Nicholas Sparks books??? Fuck you. That's not important. You're just trying to confuse me. Put down Sparks, pick up Bret Easton Ellis or Roberto Bolano. Throw away Stephanie Meyer and read Jane Austen or Charolotte Bronte. Forget Harry Potter. Go read some goddam Tolkien or C.S. Lewis for Chrissake! You want vampires? Anne Rice wrote the fuckin book on vampires! And hers are way more sexy and brooding than that guy from Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. Fuck Edward Cullen! Lestat 4 Life! (23 minute breather)...OK, I'm back. I just needed to calm down there for a minute. I don't mean to go on a solipsistic rant, I just love me my stories. All I'm trying to say is pick up a book now and then and expand your mind. And I'm sure some of you are asking, "Is it the same if I don't read a book and just watch the movie instead?" The answer is yes. It is exactly the same.
The Moore You Know: Last night I went to my local grocery store and picked up a twelve pack of beer. The kind I bought was Rolling Rock's light beer, called Rock Light. I took the beer up to the counter, and the asshole working at the store looks at my beer and says, "Rock Light? Isn't that an oxymoron?" Now, I have heard jokes about Rolling Rock before. A guy I worked with called it piss water, then called my sexuality into question. But listen, I drink Rolling Rock for one simple reason: Robert De Niro drank the shit out of it in his best movie, The Deer Hunter. In fact, De Niro's character, Michael, even says at one point in the movie, "Get a Rolling Rock, it's a good beer." So, all I'm saying, if it's good enough for Robert De Niro, uh, yeah, it's OK for me too.
© Eric Moore - 2010
