I'd stupidly forgotten to bring a book with me so I had to raid the family's shelves and ended up with Into The Wild, by.... That one guy. It's a pretty easy read and I finished it in about two hours. Here's the thing... I'd heard about the kid (you know, the one who took off into the Heart Of Alaska all by his lonesome and then died) but had never seen the film that had been based on this book and so this was the first detailed account I'd heard of his life and death. Now that I've read it, I'm even more confused: The author tried to paint the kid as an unfortunate Spirit of Adventure, a Soul Searching Wiseman when really he was ill-prepared, naive, more than a little arrogant, and ultimately, careless of both his family's concern for him and his own life. Spirit of Adventure, my ass. He was a kid who made stupid decisions and died because of them. I was also annoyed by the two chapters the author used in the middle of the book to tell his own life story. I think it was supposed to prove that he understood the dead kid better than anyone else had up til now because THEY HAD DONE PRACTICALLY THE SAME THINGS. Except, you know, differently. Really annoying.
So that was my Saturday night. Watched a kid, read a book, got really annoyed and ranted about the book, drove the Guy's car home with the headlights turned off, passing THREE cop cars, had a tiny freakout when I parked, turned the headights off and realized what I'd done, walked dogs, and got ready for bed.
No way next weekend's gonna top this one.
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