So I joined the Goodreads community.  Quite simply, it’s like a Pinterest community that compiles the books we’ve read, are currently reading, and want to read.  It comes off with an appearance like the Amazon site, with the reviews and stars, and input, and spoiler-alerts and all of that. One can become “friends” with others, like any other site, but the unifying factor is books.  It’s not a billboard discussion, or the usual meme-driven, sociopolitical petrie-dish of futility that is FaceBook.

The minute I joined, I was overcome with a sense of paranoia.  I added to my “read” column a few books of recent, but then logged out to do something else.

Then this looming fear came over me.  These people are going to think I’ve only read three books, I thought to myself.  I better add a few more.

Then, of course comes this odd fear of being genre-specific for the first fifty.  So now, I’m going back to the first grade in my mind, firing up the bilge pumps.

Alvin’s Secret Code, By Clifford Hicks.  Cool. Got the crypto-secret code-breaking Goonie stuff out. Next.

Surely You’re Joking, Mr. Feynman, by Richard P. Feymnan. Surely, the affable autobiography of an Einstein contemporary and primary heavy hand on the Challenger disaster’s investigative organ will give me some depth here. Besides, any savant willing to sniff pre-handled books in his own library to understand the noses of the Bloodhound has to be interesting.

Now, I’m just going to start cutting wildly across the plains, to become quirky and unpredictable:

The Hiding Place, by Corrie Ten Boom

Jurassic Park, by Michael Crichton

Confessions of a Cineplex Heckler, by Joe Queenan.

Mere Christianity, by CS Lewis

Iron Man, by Tony Iommi.

And just like that, you’re not going to get fix on ME, sleuth. I’m weaving all over Assumption Blvd. like a mad man.

Find me on there, if you dare.