Oh, the Irony

The box from Amazon arrived - unexpectedly - two days early. All along, I'd been looking forward to it.

"Woo-hoo! It'll arrive Wednesday, just in time for the long weekend," I thought to myself, when the shipping notification pinged its way into my inbox.

Miraculously, we have no plans this holiday weekend. And I'd intended to spend it reading, at least for the most part. Maybe taking in a fireworks display, if we can find one.

But because I can't wait, I tear open the carton, and get started. One book, in particular, had been high on my list of must-reads, and I pulled it from the box in anticipation.

I cracked open the cover, and started reading the Foreword. It was short and snappy, and it took me until the end to realize it hadn't been written by the author. No matter.

The Introduction beckoned. And so I began reading.

And reading. And reading.

After a while, I bristled at the author's style.

The Introduction plodded on and on, in long, unbroken paragraphs with nary a subhead in sight.

I skimmed ahead - a 15-page introduction?! - and then I put it down. I ached for something more sound-bitey, more fragmented.

The book in question?

Distracted: The erosion of attention and the coming dark age, by Maggie Jackson.

Guess the dark age is already here.

(But don't worry, Ms. Jackson, I'll pick it up again.)