just about anyone can wire an outlet, change the oil in their car or cook a good omelet. and those who can't can learn how. writing a book is different. sit down and try to write a twenty page story about something. hell, i'll even let you double space it. when you're done with that, give me 500 pages on that or another topic. and please see that it is interesting and that i give some kind of shit about the people in it and for god-sake, see that you don't confuse me with wild ramblings and asides, lucidity is important. no small assignment nor easily learned.

so imagine my admiration when i heard that this guy i know wrote a book. a whole, complete book. this guy is not a novelist. he is not some privileged fella sitting in a vermont cabin pecking away old-style on a metal typewriter. he is a guy who gets up in the morning, drinks a cup of joe, scratches himself in a few spots, grunts at people who talk to him before 10am and yells at traffic when driving home from work. he's just a dude like you or me (insert the female equivalent if you don't have a penis). he's like us except that while you and i were watching episodes of alias and sopranos, he was writing a book.

now about this book. i enjoyed it. i consumed it. i felt privileged to get this early glance at someone's passion before others get the proverbial looksey. now considering all of the above baggage i'm admittedly hoisting, how legitimate are my opinions? if it was written by someone i didn't know, what would i think? if it was written by someone i didn't like, what would i think? fact is, i'm not sure i can answer those questions. while he shops for a publisher, the only feedback i'm certain of is that i surely enjoyed this book written by a guy i know.