I have a confession to make. I never finished Jack Kerouac's On the Road, never came close. I'm sorry—it's boring! Maybe I would like it now, but probably it's too late. In my college days, it was important to revere the Beats because they went to our university and warmed our barstools and killed their would-be lovers in our parks. But I just couldn't get into them—unless Frank O'Hara counts as a Beat. Does he count? I completely love Frank O'Hara.
The cover of this 1968 edition is pretty rad—no surprise since we've already established that Signet paperbacks are so ruling. Check out this person's handy flickr set devoted to On the Road cover art—I still like this one best. I also like the blurb on the back (especially the gratuitous capitalization):
Jack Kerouac, Hippie Homer of the turned-on generation, shocked the country from coast to coast with this wild Odyssey of two drop-outs who swing across America wrecking and rioting—making it with sex, jazz, and drink as they Make the Scene.
Shit, that book sounds awesome—why haven't I read it??
The trailer for the new movie version doesn't seem quite as awesome but it's got such a purdy cast. I predict I'll watch on Netflix, and only sleep through some of it, hopefully not the wrecking and rioting parts.