"Whatcha readin' there, son?"

I'm sure only a handful of you know that I love to read. It's become one of my favorite past times since I started working in the broadcasting industry. Spending 7 hours of my day watching a screen with some terrible programming, Golden Girls excluded, has everything to do with it. I'd come home and feel like an absolute zombie, but, of course, this wouldn't stop me from browsing the internet for hours.

This was all well and good until I made good friends with a co-worker. It seemed that he had a different book every week. On top of that, one of my closest friends was a big reader. I don't mean to say that he was fat (he's not), but that he spent most of his off time plowing through books. That was all the convincing I needed. That and the thought that chicks dig intellectual guys (note: They don't. They like douches.)

After reading some of the books that I had in my own library, which were never read, I began running out of material. That's when I whipped out the ole library card. It had always been in my wallet no matter how many times I got new ones, but was never used. Upon examining it, I had noticed that it expired about 3 years prior. 

The library was my new fascination. It seemed like all those stupid posters from my grade school days had actually been right. Sadly, Bill Cosby wasn't there to greet me. I wonder if they got paid to take those photos for the posters, because we all know that no celebrity would visit the library. I know I would. You make me a star today and I'd still be ordering books from my library. Maybe even donate enough money to add a new wing, but instead of using my surname I'd have them call it "the bat wing". Let's face it, my nerdiness would never disappear, no matter how much money you try to bury it under.

For a while, I ordered some of the classics and then got into some of the new fiction. From there, I made a turn and started reading collections of essays (i.e.: David Sedaris and Chuck Klosterman). It seemed like I had the "intellectual" image going. That's when I found out I could order graphic novels from all over Nassau County.

Bye, bye intellectual. Hello nerd.

The first few times I picked up some of the GNs I ordered, I tried to convince the librarian that they were for my younger brother who doesn't exist. I realized this was absolutely stupid and just owned up to my nerdom. Now, I proudly walk up to the counter, hand over my card, make small talk, and pray they don't think I'm some creep who reads cartoon books.

What can I say? I like the pictures. It could be a lot worse.