55,54,53

Again... a limited sort of week due to scheduling issues, but three more books to add to the pile. At this point, already, I find myself longing for the end of the reading list. Direct download to my cerebral cortex sounds lovely.

Cruddy: Lynda Barry -A nice, fucked up story about Roberta, also Clyde, a likable, but ugly high school girl whose bug shit crazy father drags her along on a drive to collect some money he believes is owed to him. Violent, surreal, occasionally sickening, almost always harrowing, but funny, this is an amazing read that hits it out of the park with capturing the awkward emotions of the character's age, the complete weirdness of the story without ever giving in to an easy, clean resolution of anything.

I devoured it. Hope they never make a movie out of it unless they get Kevin Smith and Lars Von Trier to collaborate on a comedy made with Mel Gibson's money.

The Wordy Shipmates: Sarah Vowell -Ok, I like Sarah Vowell. I thought Assassination Vacation was annoying a lot of the time, worthwhile, but sort of lacking. I liked the Wordy Shipmates and her revisiting the puritan invasion of America. While the killjoy Puritans don't necessarily sound like a bunch of fun (and they aren't, seriously), their story gives an interesting background and context to why America does some of the stupid shit we do.

Foxfire 2: Elliot Wigginton -In my attempt to learn more about Appalachian culture, I slogged through another Foxfire book, which gave me great tips on how to make wagon wheels, my own clothes and what sort of greedy, sick fucks lived a hundred years ago to create the bounty of ghosts that haunt every other hoot, holler and old house.

As with the previous book, there's a lot of interesting information, but not always useful. Learning to spin sheep's wool into yarn from a book would be like learning to rewire your car's electrical system from some helpful pamphlets provided by the DMV. It's possible, just unlikely. It's more of a primer.