May 25 - May 30, 2011

Monster: The Autobiography of an LA Gang Member
Sanyika Shakur aka Monster Kody Scott
Non-Fiction/Biography
Published
1993
383 pages

9/10

  Sanyika Shakur aka Monster Kody Scott invites us to follow him from his initiation into the uber notorious Crips of South Central as a preteen, his rise through the ranks to claim the title of Ghetto Star for his acts of violence and depravity, up to his time in prison for (some of) said acts where he conducted a remarkable about face to become a revolutionary activist in the New Afrikan Independence Movement.

  I live in a small town (technically it's a city, but only something akin to four square blocks worth of city, otherwise we're surrounded by town) full of farmland, horses, and lifetime residents.  When they ask where I went to school (because they figure I went to school with SOMEONE they know) and I say, "Just off Hastings in East Van," I'm met with admiration for my inborn street cred and legitimacy.  This guy, this guy though... he is Too Legit.  Some might say...

  Monster Kody Scott was a huge driving force in the South Central Crips and spent years in correctional facilities; somehow, instead of letting these influences work against him in a negative manner, he used them to harden himself into a revolutionary and helped inspire others to end black-on-black violence.   Sure, he turned his focus from rival gangs to... well... whitey, but whitey is pretty much the man who's keeping him and his brother down.  And while I can't say I can identify with the type of extreme persecution he (and others like him) face, I certainly can acknowledge it and understand his reasoning.  I also appreciate how prison doesn't make him do an about face of personality *like finding Jesus, cough cough, claiming a healing of the soul, cough cough, early parole, cough cough* but instead just helps him focus his rage from people in his community (rival bangers)  to those trying to oppress his community (the Man).  He's still a Monster, but the good kind - like Frankenstein, or Wolverine.
  The amount of violence he experiences is phenomenal.  In retaliation for a kidnapping, rape, and stabbing of a fellow gangster's family member, he cuts off a guy's arms at the elbows and carries one around for a trophy for Christ's sake!  And that was during his late teens.  You know what I was doing in my late teens?  Telemarketing and trick-or-treating.
  I was definitely riveted, and just pored through the book.  The wording was slightly confusing, and it got a little heavy for me towards the end, but if anyone has the right to an advanced style of vocabulary and musings over life lessons learned, it's this guy.
I highly recommend this book, and while you're reading it, work on your c-walking, suckas.

Feb 18 - Feb 21, 2011

Will To Live
Les Stroud
Non Fiction/Adventure/Reference
Published 2010
228 pages

9/10

    Les Stroud takes us step by step through classic disaster scenarios (as well as his own adventures) to teach us... how to survive.  May I point out, he uses his skill of hindsight more than any other?
    Mr. Stroud states that there are four key components to survival: knowledge, luck, kit, and will to live.  I honestly believe that knowledge, and therefore preparedness, is the most important component BY FAR.  Because knowledge means the difference between using a candle to keep you warm when you're trapped in your vehicle during a snowstorm, or taking a nice nap because you left the heat on and it's just so dang cozy.  And you know what?  Luck, kit, or will to live won't mean shit when you get eaten by zombies because you've been trapped in quicksand and don't know how to escape the advancing undead horde.  May I mention, by the way, that all of this research is to prepare for the inevitable zombie apocalypse?  Be  ready.  It'll happen one day.  And that's why I'm drawn to books like this; you never know when a little tidbit of info will mean the difference between munching on survival rations and munching BRRRAAA-AAAIIIINNNNSSSSS.
    This book gave me just about everything I expected; adventure stories of a most terrific and entertaining nature, peppered with handy bite-sized bits of survival information.  I BLASTED through this book, and was left with the overall feeling that the human spirit is a tenacious entity, and that certain individuals are capable of some nasty shit when faced with life or death situations.
    My only problem with this book (i.e. why it got a 9/10 instead of the highly coveted 10/10) was the writer.  I don't know if it was the ghostwriter kissing ass, or if Les comes from planet "Look at Me, Look at What I Can Do" but to me, he came across as kind of an ass hat.  First off, there's all the Les!  As in, one chapter about epic survival in the most monstrous of conditions with no knowledge as to whether or not rescue will come or if everyone will perish from frostbite, starvation, anus impalation on dry stick, etc. will be followed by one chapter about Les.  Now, I'm not saying he's not Survivorman.  I'm not saying he's not way harder than my honky ass.  I'm not even saying that he hasn't been bitten by a shark.  I'm just sayin'... he has GPS.  The guys from Uruguay ATE people.  'Nuff said.  And when he claims, "... the most common cause of death in the wilderness is unpreparedness." I have to raise my hand and ask, Are you sure it's not exposure, Les?  Frostbite?  Being IMPALED in the ANUS with a DRY STICK?  Or is the coroner going to look at the mangled, appendage-less, famine ravished corpse of a hapless victim, shake his head sadly, and write "UNPREPAREDNESS" under "Cause of Death", dust his hands off, and walk away into the night, having closed the book on that messy corpse?  I'm sure he meant it as a catchy buzz-phrase like "I didn't do it!" or "Did I do that?" but it irritates me all to shit.  And you know what Les?  Having you expound all through the story about how you wouldn't have done that, you would've done this, how that was a poor choice, and you'd have made a better one, doesn't go a long way in making you a sympathetic character IN YOUR OWN FREAKING BOOK.  Hindsight is 20/20.  Way to go, bud.
    But I otherwise thoroughly enjoyed the book, and picked up some useful facts along the way.  Actually, all I can remember off the top of my head is how to get out of quicksand, but I'm sure if I was in an ACTUAL survival situation, I'D know exactly what to do.  Right, Les?

Jan 3 - Jan 5, 2011

Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas
Hunter S. Thompson
Gonzo Journalism
Published 1972
204 pages

10/10

    A Gonzo Journalist and his Samoan attorney crash Vegas in a Great Red Shark on a drug-fueled bender, on the pretense of writing a legitimate article.  FOR REALS.
    Fear and Loathing is a trippy tome.  The style, the subject matter, the suicidally-high levels of drug use, the adventures; it's all insane.
    Reading this is intense - the format is stream of consciousness (short blunt chapters, paragraphs, and sentences and totally unreal at times) but the actual writing itself is pure gonzo journalism.  Facts facts facts, no matter how ludicrous and outlandish, no matter hoe depraved and violent, no matter how impossible and hallucinatory.  All told from the front and center.  Other journalists watch, Thompson LIVES.
    No one, BUT NO ONE, could do what this man does - metaphorically and literally.  The style is instantly recognizable, and the things he's done would have landed a normal, decent human being in a variety of undesirable locations ... the type without easy escape routes.  He writes so candidly of his excessive drug use, all the highs (watching lizard people eat each other in an orgy of blood in a casino) as well as lows (vomiting into your shoes while naked in a closet) that while it should discourage the average person contemplating a dabble in the dark side, it just kind of makes me think, "Man, I can get my hands on some serious narcotics, but I will never get my hands on this kind of AWESOME.  Not only did drugs give him a great experience, they didn't in any way hinder the reporting of said experience.  DRUGS ARE AWESOME."  Honestly, it makes me want to do drugs right now (although I do have to work tomorrow and then go to the strippers).  But I don't think this book was ever meant to be a deterrent... really, Thompson seemed the type to encourage heavy drug use.  But now I'm just speculating.
    I find everything he writes about all very legitimate.  Obviously the hallucinations seem pretty well cut and dried drug-induced, but the introspection, the wild emotional mood-swings, they also speak of heavy mental brain stimulation.  And not the kind you get from discussing your love for the Lord with the bake sale ladies.  The only things I have trouble with are the things they get away with.  Christ.  But to be fair, they were living in a different era.  Hell, I know people who could smoke on planes.  Now you can't even light up an electronic cigarette on a plane because it could incite a riot or some such bullshit.  But you know what?  I'm GLAD they got away with it.  SOMEBODY had to live a Grand Adventure, and honestly, I'm too much of a weenie to do it myself.  No honey, you can't use that here!  The flight instruction manual says not to!
    As with all books I've read over and over again, there was the ever present sense of "Get The Hell On With It Already!" syndrome, but it generally wasn't as bad as usual with this book, probably because Fear and Loathing is one of those action packed, easy to whiz through reads.
   Amazing AMAZING book.  Fantastic adventure.  Incredible reporter.  DOPE.