In this category, I read mostly travel memoirs. Bill Bryson and Paul Theroux always tell a good story and even Peter Mayle can be fun if I'm in a French sort of mood. For some reason, I stopped reading other forms of memoirs abd autobiographies. I think Anais Nin was the last diary I actually read (and that was ages ago). I do have a copy of Marly and Me hanging out by the bedside, but I'm sort of afraid to read it.
I've gotten myself through a few emotionally fragile author's memoirs in the past and usually end up wanting to slap the author for ruining what would otherwise be a good read. Gary Paul Nabhan's "Songbirds, Truffles and Wolves" is a prime example.