I've been meaning to write this entry for a while, but it has taken me a while to get around to it. Episode 137 ("The Book That Changed Your Life") of This American Life, one of my all time favorite podcasts, was rebroadcasted on October 5th this year. Part one was called "Act One" and was about Alexa Junge, and how Moss Hart's autobiography changed her life. Apparently, it was also one of her grandfather's favorite books and she was moved by all the notes he wrote in the margins. However, the part of the podcast that really affected me was a letter that her grandfather wrote in 1969, when he was very ill:

Dear friends,

I've asked Donald Davis [a coworker of his] to read this to you. It's intended to tell you as much as I know about my present situation and thereby of course, to let you know what the prospects are for the future of the work that we've begun together. In planning this letter in my mind, I've been pulled this way and that by very conflicting impulses. I prefer to consider any of my own sickness, any deep trouble, as a very personal matter; possibly to be shared with close members our family, but never to be inflicted on anyone else.

At the same time, I detest mysteries, and those of you who have called, have, I hope, been told the truth as far as we knew it. But the truth has been shifting; sometimes very swiftly, and what you may have heard a few weeks back is now untrue.

Besides, there are some of you who are relatively recent friends; some of our common ties go years back. And old friends or new, the depth of my feeling for you obliges me to be entirely honest with you. And so I'm going to put the next several paragraphs in parentheses, and I'm asking Donald not to read them aloud. Each of you who wishes to can read it for himself. Anyone who dislikes the semi-clinical tales can avoid them.

()

Doubtless, all of that sounds very gloomy. I do admit I could think of happier matters. For one thing, I don't at all approve of my own extinction. I don't like the idea of it one bit. Though reason assures me that the world can get along very nicely without me, I can't quite believe that it will. Still, there few small compensations. For one thing, I had always hoped that I could face my own death with some equanimity, but it's a bit of a satisfaction to find that I can...

...And that's really what I'm wanting finally to say. I think you're a great bunch. And, in case there isn't a chance to say it again, thanks for your concern, your calls, your note, but, above all, for your love. You've had my love, and I've had yours, and I'm a damn fortunate man.

I just thought the bolded paragraph above is so eloquently put. "I don't approve of my own extinction." If you notice the date that I heard this, then you'll understand why this really spoke to me.

I don't really have anything else to say about this. I just wanted it written down so I didn't forget it.

If something piques my interest I tend to immerse myself in it. For example, it's the Christmas season, so I've been listening to nothing but Christmas music all day every day. And I keep downloading more Christmas music to add to my collection.

Also, my roommate got a video game that I like, so I've been playing it non-stop for two days (while listening to Christmas music...). I'm a little obsessive like that. So it's no surprise that when I decided I wanted to read the Tales Of The City series, I went all out and bought all seven books.

I then proceeded to tear through them, one by one. They were amazing! A bit far-fetched in some spots, but I really enjoyed the world that Armistead Mauupin created and loved the journeys the characters were taking.

I'm typically a pretty slow reader, so it was surprising to me how quickly I got through most of these books. I guess when you're interested in something, reading is much easier. This speed reading ended, though, when I got to the last book, Michael Tolliver Lives.

I think it's because I knew it was the last book. I wasn't ready for the series to be over. I wanted Michael, Mona, Brian, and Mary Ann, and Mrs. Madrigal to have many more adventures. When I did finish it, I was kind of sad. I mean, it wasn't end of Six Feet Under sad, but it was the same general idea.

Oh, well. Now it's time to move on and find something else to read. What next?