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In which the author discusses five books he’d read, if time permitted.
1. After the Ice: Life, Death, and Geopolitics in the New Arctic, by Alun Anderson
Well, well, well…some people at Thanksgiving dinner were really convinced—really, audibly, obnoxiously convinced—that Climategate proves this whole global warming thing is a vast conspiracy. After all, a few scientists’ decisions to behave dishonorably and a statistical blip in a decades-long warming trend definitely show that Al Gore is a fucking idiot, and who really needed polar ice-caps or Sri Lanka anyway? If they can stop wolfing down huge amounts of cranberry sauce white meat, these skeptical Mouseketeers might want to check out Alun Anderson‘s book about how global warming is already changing our economy—that is, if their 2010 reading list isn’t limited to Going Rogue.
2.The Making of a Stand-up Guy, by Charlie Murphy
Charlie Murphy‘s funny. His brother is, too…
3. Naked Lunch, by William S. Burroughs
I—honest, pure of heart, and lonely, but unafraid of humiliation or death—declare that: 1) Werner Herzog makes more bad movies than good movies; and 2) William S. Burroughs is a poor writer. Teenage boys—sweaty, horny, acned, Herzog-loving, Burroughs-worshipping males who attend laser light shows, listen to Pink Floyd, and who really, really like Lord of the Rings (the books, not the movies) and A Clockwork Orange (the movie, not the book)—around the world may object to my courageous declaration. Indeed, I admit that this 50th anniversary restoration of the original draft of Naked Lunch (the book, not the movie) might be sufficient cause for a Burroughs apologist to take heart. But I refuse to concede, under any circumstances, that Bad Lieutenant: Port of Call New Orleans is a good movie, except for falling asleep to.
4. Perez Hilton’s True Bloggywood Stories: The Glamorous Life of Beating, Cheating, and Overdosing, by Perez Hilton
DON’T LOOK! There’s a meaningless post-millennial phenomenon that, while kind of funny, somehow/someway became not just a forgettable meme like Y2K or Thundercats bloopers, but a concert tour and now a book. But that phenomenon might go away…that is, it might, like the Yahweh’s angel of death, pass us by in the night, leaving us unharmed….but it is essential—absolutely non-negotiable—that, unlike Lot’s wife, who was turned into a pillar of salt when she looked back on Sodom, we do not in any way acknowledge, legitimatize, or gaze upon the curious creature that is Perez Hilton by thinking, saying, or typing his name…ACK! Too late. He’s already here, just like the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man.
5. Miles to Go, by Miley Cyrus
You know, I’ve been really stressed out lately. You see, I’ve been through a lot of things in these past 32 years. I’ve seen and heard and tasted and touched a lot of things, and now I’d like to write a memoir about them. But, if I’m going to write a memoir, I’m going to need an agent. I mean, that’s just how memoir-writing works. First, you go through something. Then, you get an agent. So, I’ve been through something, and now I need an agent, and a good agent is hard to find. But, that’s not really what I’m stressed about.
You see, I know that, one day, I’ll have a child, and that he or she will go through a lot, too, and want to write a memoir about all the things he or she has seen and heard and tasted and touched. But, not only that, I’ll bet that my child’s child—and my child’s child’s child—will also see and hear and taste and touch a lot of things, and that everyone will need to write their own memoirs about all of the things that they saw and heard and tasted and touched. So, what I’m saying is that all these Moyerses present and future are going to need a lot of agents, and some of those agents probably aren’t even born yet, so how are we going to get them? It’s stressful. Because you’re never too young to write a memoir.