Sorry about not providing the next installment of 'Without Prior Notice' tonight. We ended up getting an unexpected invitation to visit a friend's house, and…how to say it?

Readers, you so got ditched. I know, I know, the suspense has been killing you. I'm sorry to suck all the oxygen out of your reading existence today, but I'm horrible and need to be smacked. So why sit here and write out a different post? Well, because I've discovered another sufferer of the Just Don't Get It Syndrome (affectionately abbreviated to JDGI Syndrome).

"The books we love do ruthlessly disclose something about us, as do the books we do not. And despite everything above, I am not certain I want to know what exactly my inability to read some great writers says about me."
- Tom Bissell, 'I'd prefer not to,' an essay published for Salon.com

I honestly thought I was the only one.I found the list of what someone, somewhere, decided was the 'hundred greatest books of the twentieth century' and, like the dutiful child I am, set out to 'better myself.'

"That's the point of the movie and the book: the lengths people go to escape their reality. This film is a nose dive into the ground and, beyond the ground, into the sub-basement of hell. When I pitched the movie, I told people that I wanted it to be like you jumped out of an airplane and about midway coming down you remember that you forgot your parachute."That's where the movie begins—the second you realize you forgot your parachute. And the film ends five minutes after you hit the ground, and you're alive during that last five minutes, catching your last few breaths.

First, a small definition. Ever noticed that on Velveeta there's a note that says it's "pasteurized processed cheese food." Remember—it's not cheese, it's cheese food - what cheese eats!

Most everyone I'm friends with will admit that at some point in their lives, a book they've read has made them cry.

This is a good thing. It's a sign of empathy.

Some quotes:"The only thing that's wrong with me is what's missing. Owen Meany is what's missing."

So I spend too long on that entry, far longer than I should have, and then I look at the timestamp with horror and realize that I'm probably going to be a couple of minutes late for work. No big deal—I'm usually early.

But because I was late, I actually got to hear Garrison Keillor reading poetry on The Writer's Almanac on WLRH. I liked this morning's selection—and if I hadn't been running a few minutes late, I wouldn't have heard it at all: