Since I’ve been listening to books on CD during my commute, I find myself narrating every damn thing I do throughout the day in the pros style of the book I happen to be listening to at the time.  I kind of enjoy it because it makes my daily activity more interesting and even book-worthy.  I thought to myself the other day after a particularly satisfying bout of imaginary pros that I should start writing my xangas in a more novel-esque pros style.  I then sat down this evening and realized that that’s a stupid idea.

I recently finished No Country for Old Men by Cormac McCarthy.  Although I did not particularly like how the story turned out, that guy has the most bad ass pros style I have ever heard.  Granted, I don’t do a lot of reading, so that’s not saying much.  Now I’ve moved on to The Memory of Running by Ron McClarty which is the story of a fat man who looses both of his parents in a car accident and begins riding his old bike from his childhood accross the country to find his pschitzophranic sister.  Sound odd?  It’s been pretty good so far.