In the end, it was Doogie

If the sole accomplishment of this post is that it moves Joy Behar off the first page it has done something very important.

I have started the Chabon book, The Final Solution. I am one short chapter into it. Thus far, too much uninspiring description for my taste. The opening scene designed to create interest and make me want to keep reading has done neither. I will continue, but not because it has compelled me to do so. Hey, my first line tonight wouldn't make anyone want to read on, but you did so anyway, didn't you? I'll give Chabon the same benefit of the doubt.

The Max Tivoli book has been completed. I thought it was good and, in the end, probably was unlike Benjamin Button. By chance, this is the second straight book I've read told through a sort of journal. The previous book (insert book name here if I ever remember it) was great. There was a turning point in the novel where I got a little sad realizing the character was slipping away towards death and I was going to be there when it happened. I'm not sure that I cared about the character, but I seemed to know him from his childhood through to the end. I wonder if that feeling is anything like what older people feel when they age and lose people they've known for a lifetime. I don't necessarily like you, but it's too bad you have to go. Hey, I'm glad I came, just wish I hadn't stayed so long. (last line courtesy of Hayes Carll)

A moment ago I thought of Doogie Howser typing in his journal at the end of an episode, and I can't shake it. (cue thoughtful synthesizer music...)

Somewhere over the Atlantic. I've spent the last nineteen years learning how to be Doogie Howser M.D. Now it's time to learn how to be just Doogie.

Amen, Doogie.