Contrary to popular belief, I read a lot.
(The popular belief being, apparently, that I am usually too hung over or too busy with my incredibly glamorous life to have the time to read actual books, often without pictures.)
That substance seeping through your monitor is actual, palpable sarcasm, by the way.
At any rate, I’ve never been much for biographies (auto or otherwise). I’ve always found them fairly boring and dry. Born on such and such a date, did this amazing thing that made me famous at this time, spent rest of life milking it, died on blah blah blah.
>Skimming my list of read books, I don’t see anything remotely like a biography, in fact, unless you count things like On the Road or A Heartbreaking Work of Staggering Genius, which are more like semi-ficitonal memoirs than real biographies.
So, it came as a surprise to me when I bought, and then actually read, Howard Hughes: His Life and Madness… and liked it. I always wanted to be a pilot, growing up, and still do, so Huges has always been a mini-hero to me.
Plus, he was crazy as a loon so that’s always a plus.