Memoirs

In case you've been living in a cave, memoirs are the hottest thing going.

They're more popular than pancakes.

I recently read Running with Scissors: A Memoir by Augusten Burroughs. I am currently reading Dry: A Memoir by the same author.

My Little Brother (MLB) sent us Dry and The Devil in the White City: Murder, Magic, and Madness at the Fair that Changed America for Christmas. He may have sent us that one because it takes place in Chicago, and I was just there in May. And I love the Chicago Bears; I've been a fan for 20 years, when they won the Big Game in the 1985 season.

In the package, MLB included a note that said: "I didn't read these. I judged the books by the cover." He's quite witty, that kid.

I'm probably going to read Memoirs of a Geisha: A Novel next. I know it's a novel, but the memoir trend needs to continue. Besides, I'm still considering Geisha Camp.

Then there's A Million Little Pieces. Apparently the author decided to come clean and let us all know he embellished his work. I'm sure it's a gripping story all the same.

I'm taking all of these memoirs with a grain of salt anyway. You never know what's true nowadays.

Zel's pissed off that a person can have like 12 memoirs to their name. He's convinced that nobody's life is that goddamned interesting.

I suggested that he write his own memoir. After all, he's had an interesting life.

We'll see what happens. Maybe someday we'll send you all an autographed copy.