Howard Hampton's review in the Voice of The R. Crumb Handbook, which I for one am dying to get my hands on:

The first reaction to The R. Crumb Handbook, a rich and densely compacted anthology cum memoir cum mulch-heap scrapbook: finally, Huck Finn's voraciously dysfunctional answer to The Boy Scout Handbook. If, that is, Huck had been a four-eyed antiquarian Catholic schoolboy geek adrift in 1950s suburbia, randomly sopping up the works of Harvey Kurtzman, Carl Barks, and Walt Kelly. Hey, kids, learn to draw dirty pictures—"It's so simple even a child can do it"—and become an international cargo-cult treasure... Keep on readin'.

I've been storing up a lot of Crumb goodies for some imaginary Crumb post to end all Crumb posts, which I think is biting off more than I can chew. So I'll just toss them out like...oh, well, crumbs, now and then hereafter. By the way, ever since the film, I always think of the magazine Leg Show (link safe for work—it wasn't easy) when I think of Crumb, since there's a scene in which he watches a photo shoot there. Leg Show! Aren't humans weird? I like that about humans—even when I think I hate them as a group, I have to love that they're so susceptible to their own perverse creations. And I love that Crumb has never been afraid to shine the big flashlight right on that weakness. It makes me like people more, not less, when I see his drawings. That's art I can respect.

One more yummy snack: From this superb 1980 piece about Roz Chast by Don Shewey, which I somehow missed in my Chast hosanna, this very relevant fact:

Chast's style of humor is not, needless to say, the house brand at the New Yorker, home of Charles Addams' macabre sight gags, George Booth's shiftless hound dogs and Edward Koren's psychobabbling fuzzy-wuzzies. Compared to the New Yorker's typically representational, punchline-oriented cartoonists (lovable old friends or stodgy old farts, depending on your point of view), Chast is a downright radical.
...
Roz Chast is from Brooklyn, where her parents (a high school teacher and assistant principal, both retired) still live. She started cartooning when she was very young—"I used to draw this strip called 'Jacky and Blacky' that was, God, really dumb"—but her first big influence was, not surprisingly, R. Crumb. Crumb definitely stylized the visual imagination of '60s youth, particularly the ones who helped make marijuana a multimillion dollar industry, and he spawned a whole school of slavish imitators. Some of Crumb's stoned humor creeps into Chast's work, although she claims to drawn under the influence of nothing stronger than rapidograph fumes; her signature—"R. Chast"—is perhaps an unconscious hommage to Crumb.

I'd like to see a show with their drawings intermingled. I've already claimed that Chast is sexier than people often think, and Crumb more romantic. I am the demographic for that show. Though I'm a poet and tend to believe I might be a solo speck in the universe without company or solace, surely I'm not alone on this one.

Naked Lunchbox [VV]
Detail of R. Crumb's Sept. 28, 1998 New Yorker cartoon mentioning Tensegrity [Sustained Action]
Robert Crumb [great interview transcript, Guardian, UK]
R. Crumb at the New York Public Library [Boing Boing; funny excerpt from the book]
Crumb Products [official R. Crumb website; sells stuff incl. "Belly Button Comix" by Sophie Crumb]
Household is a Roz Chast Word [Soho News, via Don Shewey. Fun quote: "Any wild stories about the New Yorker? Roz Chast's Secret Life with John Updike? "Hey, Updike, Salinger—Salinger and I were like that." She holds up two fingers together. "Thurber! I knew Thurber before he died." She holds up two fingers apart. "We were more like that."]