I'm burning this book up, guys.

Another 150+ pages today in Jurassic Park. I'm pretty sure the people who told me to read Michael Crichton were not crazy. This is good news coming from the peanut gallery and restores my faith in suggestions from my friends! I should never have doubted. Forgive me, amigos, for I have sinned.

The point I'm trying to make is that this Crichton fella is a genius, or so Jurassic Park is telling me. When was the last time YOU read about a tyrannosaurus rex ripping somebody's leg off without feeling sick, hmm? Crichton writes it, and he writes it well. There's gore, oh yes!, but it isn't unbearable. As a matter of fact, it's almost tasteful when you think about the scenario. What would you expect coming from a park full of ferocious and [mostly] carnivorous dinosaurs? It's certainly not a children's book, but it's also no Stephen King. And that's a good thing.

There's a little over a hundred pages left for me to go before I'm done, and I'm eagerly anticipating the velociraptor scene that I know must be coming. Or. Well. That I hope is coming. That scene scared the bejesus out of me when I saw the movie as a kid and I can visualize things so much better when I read them. Is it wrong for me to hope those kids are terrified of being eaten alive? Probably. But damn, that's what I call entertainment.

Oh, and I take back the Crichton/Sagan comparison. That was short-sighted and I hadn't read enough of this book to make that kind of judgment. Dr. Ian Malcolm would be so disappointed.
He doesn't die, does he?!