What's in Today's Book Review?
Anyone who has seen Steve Ballmer as Monkeyboy will not be surprised by this:
Ballmer was an awkward child who excelled in academics. Despite his hulking size, he had more enthusiasm than talent when it came to sports. To be part of the basketball program at his Birmingham, Mich., prep school, Ballmer volunteered as team manager. He was, the coach recalls, the best manager he had ever seen: the balls and towels were always where they should be, and the team stats were perfect.
But later in the review of Bad Boy Ballmer (this book could use a better title--Ballmer isn't a bad boy, he's a dolt) the reviewer recycles this cliche:
But even then, it was clear the two men had fundamentally different natures: Gates was the nerdy code writer, Ballmer the hard-driving business careerist.
To the best of my knowledge, Gates has never written any worthwhile code.
In the review of The Lives of the Muses, a much more interesting sounding book, we find this decidely non-Virgilian definition of a muse:
Arguably no one has better described a muse than Prose does here, as a woman who takes one look at a "giggling, bizarrely dressed coprophiliac" -- this was a manure-scented Salvador Dali, in pearl necklace and stained, inside-out bathing trunks -- and, taking his hand, cries: "My little boy! We shall never leave each other."
Wouldn't we call this woman an enabler now?