Hitch 22

There was a time, oh, say pre-9/11, pre-youtube, when being a Christopher Hitchens fan was akin to being part of a noble minority, like a member of the House of Lords or a Mensa member. No more. He's as (un-)popular and (in-)famous as ever these days, and the publication of his memoirs was met with much excitement and praise.

It's always been one of my more persistent personality flaws that I am incapable of enjoying something or, in this case, someone, as much as I normally would if he/she/it is popular in the mainstream. I'm sure stuffwhitepeoplelike.com has covered this at some point, and it's absolutely true. I want to feel hip. I want to know what's cool before others do. I want to appreciate it on a deeper level than others (see: The Onion's article on appreciating the Muppets), and I want to do so before anyone else gets wind of it, but what's most important is that I want to be appreciated for appreciating it. I want my foresight and good taste (do we have a word that combines the two? I'm sure the Germans do) to be admired/envied.

So even though it may seem I'm jumping on the bandwagon, let me assure you, dear reader, I was there from the start, perched on the back enjoying every bump and dip in the road from the get go.

Hitch 22 is a fantastic read. If you have an open mind, if you enjoy good writing, if you're interested in art, literature, politics, and culture, and let's add to that travel as well, if you enjoy a good debate and can consider arguments from both sides, and if you are at your core an optimist about this world and its civilization(s) (after reading this one cannot doubt Hitchens is an optimist) then this is the book for you. If not, well, then, fuck off.