OK, I finally broke down and read The Dirt: Confessions of the World's Most Notorious Rock Band. Said rock band is apparently the Crue -- imagine my surprise!! No, seriously. At any rate, one word in particular springs to mind: JUSTIFICATION. There is more of that than true honesty, unfortunately. The extra obvious cases would concern one Mr. Lee, or Mr. Anderson Lee as apparently some of the Crue call him. There is no doubt in my mind that there is more to the story than Pamela told, for example, and yet justification leaves a dirty taste in my mouth. Don't get me started on Vince Neil's drunken vehicular homicide of a friend, either. ("Don't forget to get your new Motley Crue shirt, you know, all proceeds go towards getting their lead singer out of jail!" -- Dead Milkmen) I do believe him on his pain over his daughter's hideous death. I think Neil Strauss did one fuck of a job putting this book together. Mick Mars is mesmerizing somehow in print, and Nikki Sixx is a lot smarter and more interesting than one might think, if still represented here in print as having been a fairly loathsome person (whatever his reasoning). Anyway, dirt in title is more about that certain bits might leave you feeling tainted and needing to take a shower than about being all that juicy. All that said, quick trashy read with, I reiterate, fantastic work by Strauss stitching it together. It's hilarious later in the book when they've read most of each other's chapters thus far. Oh and I did break down and buy a used copy of Dr. Feelgood, so, there ya go. "Kickstart My Heart" truly is an awesome song, and this would be altogether okay if not for the ballad that encourages me to eat my own eyeballs (a senseless activity anyway considering I don't hear through them).
I'm With the Band: Confessions of a Groupie: this is like the eighty bazillionth copy of this book I've had -- they keep walking away. Feel free to infer from that. This latest publication of it has a new foreword by Dave Navarro (who Pamela clearly daubs with the hawt brush therefore) and a new afterword by Miss P, both very much appreciated by me. Yes, this is in fact juicy, but how this book charms is with its joy and much better than average honesty. Oh Miss Pamela, we love you. So much happiness and love and unrecquited devotion to musicians and to music, and all the excerpts from her ancient diaries. Enthralling; if you have never read this YOU MUST. If you have the option, listen to Permanent Damage as a soundtrack. It all makes sense, really.
Playground: A Childhood Lost Inside the Playboy Mansion: this is very interesting and somewhat painful. Heads-up: author Jennifer hasn't resolved much in her own life as of nowish upon finishing said book. It's in many ways ultimately more about her own dysfunctional family and/or how fucked up growing up in LA can be than about being at the mansion, which she most certainly was quite a lot at what most would consider to be appallingly young ages. In a nice loop back to the beginning here, her dad was a doctor known as Dr. Feel Good, a very bizarre individual who clearly wanted nothing more than Hef's good graces and young trashy women that met his standards of beauty. Don't worry, it's all very wholesome, he taught his eldest daughter, the author, to help him check out girls and whatnot. Very interesting and I'm glad it wasn't my childhood -- she herself would clearly rather have had just about anyone else's, despite how much nonsexual fun is certainly available on those premises. Monkeys! An arcade! Etc! And she has a point that so many looked down on the Playmates, while she was indignant and feisty because they were really kind to her.