let's see how fast this thing can go

I decided to stay up tonight and finish "Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs." I couldn't get enough Chuck. I want more. It's like having a conversation, but less annoying. Now I'm going to have to start reading Nick Hornby and Sarah Vowell. I might be a nonfiction believer. I've read nonfiction before, but mostly in a religious or referential context. This wasn't like reading at all. This was like staying up all night and becoming best friends with someone over a beer and a bowl of cereal (not at the same time). It's when shooting the shit turns spiritual, and I caught a glimpse of the brainpower I used to have in high school, that which powered four-hour telephone conversations about nothing. Zack Morris, "Left Behind," Lucky Charms, Adam Sandler. Discuss.

By far, though, my favorite chapter is "All I Know is What I Read in the Papers." Chuck perfectly explains what it is to be a reporter. I've been a reporter. I know that no reporter inserts his opinion into stories. The tone is literally set by the first interviewee to call you back. And the one that could alter everything might just call while you're off blowing your nose for 2.5 minutes. You train yourself to word things like a balance robot. Even if you saw it with your own eyes, certain things are always "alleged." A source can lie to you, and you can print it, but it doesn't make you a liar. They really said that. Chuck almost made me miss being a reporter -- almost. It had its perks, but I lack the drive of nobility required to join that team again. If I'm going to make a pittance, I've got to be doing something I love. The only exception is that I would do something I merely like just because there is no chance in hell I'm leaving New York any time soon.