Crazy book-readin' man...

Ever worry about what they would think when they went through your house or your car after you're dead? (Don't ask why such macabre things run through my head... they just do.) I've heard the stories about the crazy old woman with 100's of cats left in the house, running around like a moving carpet when they found her dead. For me, my fear isn't (necessarily) what they might find in my computer or in the various drawers around my place, but the random stacks of books that are partially read. Currently, I have the following:

On my bed is one book, . It was something I read on Facebook that another friend read, and is a great spy novel from the 1970's about one CIA operative's belief that Kennedy was killed by the family of the Vietnamese leaders that JFK had killed earlier in 1963.

In the bathroom are two books, one on a fictional account of the final days of WWII in which the cold war didn't have the pregnant pause, but began with a battle in Berlin between American and Soviet forces. The other book is a history of the discovery of many of the principles of quantum physics and the people who brought about those theories and made the revelations.

By the bed is a stack of ten (10!!) books that I would very much like to read, but the likelihood of doing so is very, very remote. As a result, I am simply hopeful that the books will seep into my consciousness through osmosis or the aggressive attack of their words and ideas on my brain cells while I sleep.

On the iPad, I have about three books I want to read, and one that I actually am. Remnick's biography of Obama has been very enjoyable and something I find myself drawn into frequently, but not enough to actually finish the damn book.

My Amazon account has about five books in the checkout cart, but that I haven't quite gotten around to justify paying for. That's not counting the eight or so other books in that cart that are being held for later when I decide to buy them.

Finally, the iPod in the car has two books on it -- the second of the Stieg Larrson books, and a book I'm reading for work called Linchpin.

Keep in mind that none of this counts the 4-5 issues of the New Yorker I remain constantly trying to keep up with...

"Did you hear about the crazy book dude? They found him dead in his place, with 30 books just lying around half-read... bet he went crazy trying to keep up with them all in his head."

"That's just weird."