zero, zero, zero

At long last, we come to the end of the list. 100 books in 365 days and I still have over 20 days left. Huzzah, but I'm not doing this again next year. I'll find something else. Whiskey sounds good.

Possible Side Effects: Augusten Burroughs -Consider it a companion piece to "Running With Scissors," this is Burroughs having more fun sort of confessing his failings and foibles while we all laugh. It's not just that Burroughs has a dysfunctional relationship to his family. The entire world has a dysfunctional relationship with him.

Burroughs hates his grandmother (on his mother's side), likes his horribly disfigured skin doctor and would rather sit in his hotel room in London eating junk food and watching television than see the sights. He eats too much, drinks too much (well, not any more --probably) and he chews $600 worth of nicotine gum a month. Yes, he's a mess, but a likable mess --and I have way, way too much in common with him.

I like his apparent honesty. Do I think everything he writes happened just the way it happened? No. Do I particularly care? No, but I admire what I perceive as his truth. I could do better with telling the truth sometimes. In my old age, I've gotten so skittish about speaking my own truths of late, a little afraid to offend, a little bound by a sense of responsibility.

Getting letters from that lawyer didn't help. It still bugs me.

Anyway, Burroughs is someone for me to admire and emulate --perhaps not the blackout drinking or the gay sex or even the piggish eating habits --but writing with less fear.

So, I made it to 100. Thanks to those of you who stuck with me through the book reports, rants and rambles. I'll try to do something less boring next year.

-Bill