The ‘Me’ in ‘Memoir’

In the tradition of narcissistic autobiographies written by people who haven’t done anything important enough to warrant someone else writing their biography, like A.J. Jacobs, I’ve decided to start simultaneously writing a dozen or so books in an attempt to cash in on my own life’s trivial accomplishments and tell other people how significant they should think they were.
Here are the ones I’ve finished so far:

  • Home Row: The Life and Times of a Recreational Typist
  • Breakslow: 365 Contemplations and Meditations on the Most Important Meal of the Day
  • Wait Accompli: Extensive Rumination on Every Line I’ve Ever Stood In
  • Connected to the Head Bone: Reflections on Living with a Skeleton Inside of Me
  • So It Went: Memoirs of Someone Who Happened to Live in the Same Town as Kurt Vonnegut for About a Year
  • Kissmonger: Fourteen Years of Other Mouths Occasionally Touching my Own Until They Stop for Whatever Reason
  • One Leg at a Time: Hijinx and Lowjinx in my Life as a Wearer of Pants
  • Ghost, Written: Reflections on Fifteen Minutes of Imagining Fake Books
  • Memoirs of an Unwitting Thief: 250 Pages of Meditation on That Time I Accidentally Walked Out of a Store Carrying a GamePro Magazine Without Paying for It, I Was Eleven Alright?

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