Our first year of college, we went through what has apparently become a rite of passage these days - getting arrested in the depressing freshman dorms by a campus rent-a-cop for underage drinking. Fun. Part of our "sentence" was visiting four AA classes, where we met people who were afraid to give their children cold medicine when they were sick because it might send them into a downward spiral of addiction and death.
Oooh-kay. This succeeded in making us little offenders more sure than ever that we didn't have an alcohol problem.
So, when I heard about James Frey's A Million Little Pieces, my disinterest was epic. And, even if there had been a smidgen of interest in reading this book, this review would have crushed it. (Warning - that review, while HYSTERICAL, is kinda profanity-laden.)
And now we find out that it's mostly lies. Mostly. So, I did good by not reading it. I usually don't clap myself on the back for NOT reading a book, but this time, I think I will.
-girlie
