Well this book was a whole lot of self-indulgent nothing. It's the story of a horrible douchebag who becomes less of a horrible douchebag over time. Mind you, this is supposed to be impressive. (Spoiler: It's not.) David Carr presents his crowning achievement - the whole basis of his redemption - as the fact that at least he takes care of his children (well he does now
anyway.) Let me give Mr. Carr a Christian Bale style
"gooood for you.
" Pro tip: You're supposed to take care of your kids, you dickhole. Keep waiting for that golf clap, buddy. Oh, and of course that he was allowed to keep his career whilst being a raging, royal fuck up. God damn, it must be hard being a white male in America.
If you enjoy hearing an unending stream of back-to-back stories that begin with "Dude, wasn't last night crazy?" then by all means have fun with this book.
If you, like me, thought this was going to be a suspenseful investigatory journey with a dose of healthy self-reflection and personal inventory taking that actually shows an honest progression from wild man-child to someone worth giving a shit about... whelp.
Oh and one more thing; he writes freely about the whoreishness of the various strippers he patronizes and confesses to beating multiple women in his life and then dedicates the book to his young daughters.
Holy shit, someone hold my hair back. I am puking.
There is nothing interesting about David Carr or his personal journey and I am left wondering why he decided to share it with the rest of us. There are only a million other addiction-centered memoirs in the world... you can skip this one.