I secretly liked this book. I keep getting guilt tripped by my dad because the author’s gay and I’m not gay phobic, but I do think it’ s a little dumb not to procreate, I know, we all had weird childhoods. I’m just saying that the pockets of memory that David has are so seductive and sweet. They make me feel like I am remembering my history as well. I don’t want to touch the dead arm or voodoo head or pygmy skeleton, but I really thought it was neat that he touched it.
My biggest beef with the book is that it doesn’t mention diabetes once...Except in the title, so don't be fooled if you're looking to read the memoirs of a diabetic.
