If you’re looking for substance, keep on walking, this is just a premature curmudgeon ranting.

I first read The Hobbit in middle school.  All I really remember was not understanding why the adults raved about it.  I read Lord of the Rings in High School.  I do recall skipping the songs, but otherwise not having any real issues with it at the time.

Fast forward to 2017 and I’ve developed the habit of listening to audiobooks on my commute.  Having found a Lord of the Rings audiobook from the nineties, I decided “might as well”.  It was awful, though not for lack of trying on the part of the performer.  I rarely end up rage quitting an audiobook because I’m too busy driving at the time.  In this case, however, the ponderous plodding pacing provoked perturbations in my personality and I ended up ejecting it shortly after the fourth or fifth pointless rhyme/melody shortly after the close encounter with the black rider on the way from Bag End to Brandywine.  The constant, pointless repetition of Hobbit surnames irrelevant to the narrative and dithering about convincing me that the Shire was deeply inbred and pig ignorant made me wonder why this rendition was so different from my memory.

It was simple – when I read it the first time, it was easy to skim ahead to something relevant to the story.  So with a reflexive mental editing, I was able to get a more streamlined story than what was actually on the page.  The poor performer on the audiobook could not abridge the yarn and had to keep trudging through the text as written.  Thus my memory of the work was more forgiving than what a more stringent examination of the work would produce.  While someone with unlimited free time might get lost in the meandering examination of tangents, I only had the slices of time where I was commuting, and I’m rarely in the most lenient of moods then.

The whole incident did lead me to think – what else produces unwarranted fond memories?  Was the news always so biased?  Were people always so unhinged?  Did the future always seem so foreboding and bleak?

In the end, my conclusion was that of a songwriter “The good old days weren’t always so good and tomorrow isn’t as bad as it seems.”