bonehead science class that everyone took … astronomy, and everyone took it because no one had ever failed it in Goucher’s history. I failed it because I was just so sick in the mornings. I’d get there okay, but I’d feel like the journalist in
Bonfire of the Vanities
when he’d describe his hangovers and how he’d feel like there was a mercury sack in his head, like a yolk sack, and the nausea would kind of roll back and forth increasing the nausea. Oh man, I just always got bad hangovers. I had a number of blackouts and disgraced myself a number of times. Showing up at parties where there were teachers, just shit-faced.
I dropped out of school when I was nineteen. Wanting to be a writer, I moved back to San Francisco and worked in a nuclear quality assurance department, as a clerk typist. I got food stamps and my best friend, Pammy, who I’ve written a lot about, lived on B Street and I lived on Bush and Leavenworth, which was this fabulous upper tenderloin with lots and lots of bars. We just always had alcohol. My dad would buy me booze, a nice bottle of Tangueray. He’d come over, and we’d have a couple of martinis. Then he would go home, and I’d drink the rest until I passed out. I got these terrible gin hangovers.
I would disgrace myself always. I remember there was a Christmas party, and I just got so bombed that I could hardly stand up. I was dancing with the boss and it was getting very erotic, in front of everybody. His wife was there, and a couple people came over and told me that it probablywould be better that you weren’t dancing with the boss that way. Maybe you should go get a cup of coffee. That was the last thing I remember. I came to at my apartment on Bush, very sick, like I’d been food-poisoned. I didn’t have a car. It turned out that I’d driven it onto the sidewalk, and the police department had towed it. I just kept thinking alcohol is not the problem, I have a pacing problem. I don’t pace myself right. I tried to switch to just beer and wine, and, you know, I didn’t really want to quit.
My father and mother had split up when I was in college, and my father really liked to drink. He was a very functioning, high-bottom alcoholic. I would say he loved to drink. Now he’s dead, so I’ll try not to hurt his feelings. He had a number of drinks every night and sometimes got quite drunk and sort of passed out early every night. He was glad for me to be drinking. We were best friends, and we smoked and drank. He had a girlfriend, and we all would go out and drink martinis, but I was always on my best behavior with my father ’cause I just loved him so much.
My mother was living in Hawaii then. I remember going to visit her and saying I wouldn’t come over unless she got me some dope. So she bought some pot from her friends. It was the first time I ever smoked pure Hawaiian sinsemilla, but of course I smoked it like it was from San Rafael, and I started tripping as if I were on acid. Tripping out of my mind. And I remember crawling down the hall holding on to the wall trying to get to my room, and my mother sort of being aware of what was going on but we couldn’t talk about it. Of course I didn’t throw it out, I just learned to take one hit and then drink a lot, which I could control better.
I ended up working at Billie Jean King’s sports magazine, which was called
Women’s Sports
. It was my first great literary job. I was nineteen and there were all sorts of fantastic writers there, and we all drank. Just like they do at a literary gathering, but it was so enveloping. I felt like I found my spiritual home. I was off and running. I moved out to Bolinas and then we all quit one day, a political issue, and by that time I was just a falling-down drunk with absolutely no borders.
I started trying to make it as a writer. I made a new friend in Bolinas, and we drank together. We also did coke, acid, and methedrine. I preferred meth ’cause I was always broke and it was so
Bonfire of the Vanities
when he’d describe his hangovers and how he’d feel like there was a mercury sack in his head, like a yolk sack, and the nausea would kind of roll back and forth increasing the nausea. Oh man, I just always got bad hangovers. I had a number of blackouts and disgraced myself a number of times. Showing up at parties where there were teachers, just shit-faced.
I dropped out of school when I was nineteen. Wanting to be a writer, I moved back to San Francisco and worked in a nuclear quality assurance department, as a clerk typist. I got food stamps and my best friend, Pammy, who I’ve written a lot about, lived on B Street and I lived on Bush and Leavenworth, which was this fabulous upper tenderloin with lots and lots of bars. We just always had alcohol. My dad would buy me booze, a nice bottle of Tangueray. He’d come over, and we’d have a couple of martinis. Then he would go home, and I’d drink the rest until I passed out. I got these terrible gin hangovers.
I would disgrace myself always. I remember there was a Christmas party, and I just got so bombed that I could hardly stand up. I was dancing with the boss and it was getting very erotic, in front of everybody. His wife was there, and a couple people came over and told me that it probablywould be better that you weren’t dancing with the boss that way. Maybe you should go get a cup of coffee. That was the last thing I remember. I came to at my apartment on Bush, very sick, like I’d been food-poisoned. I didn’t have a car. It turned out that I’d driven it onto the sidewalk, and the police department had towed it. I just kept thinking alcohol is not the problem, I have a pacing problem. I don’t pace myself right. I tried to switch to just beer and wine, and, you know, I didn’t really want to quit.
My father and mother had split up when I was in college, and my father really liked to drink. He was a very functioning, high-bottom alcoholic. I would say he loved to drink. Now he’s dead, so I’ll try not to hurt his feelings. He had a number of drinks every night and sometimes got quite drunk and sort of passed out early every night. He was glad for me to be drinking. We were best friends, and we smoked and drank. He had a girlfriend, and we all would go out and drink martinis, but I was always on my best behavior with my father ’cause I just loved him so much.
My mother was living in Hawaii then. I remember going to visit her and saying I wouldn’t come over unless she got me some dope. So she bought some pot from her friends. It was the first time I ever smoked pure Hawaiian sinsemilla, but of course I smoked it like it was from San Rafael, and I started tripping as if I were on acid. Tripping out of my mind. And I remember crawling down the hall holding on to the wall trying to get to my room, and my mother sort of being aware of what was going on but we couldn’t talk about it. Of course I didn’t throw it out, I just learned to take one hit and then drink a lot, which I could control better.
I ended up working at Billie Jean King’s sports magazine, which was called
Women’s Sports
. It was my first great literary job. I was nineteen and there were all sorts of fantastic writers there, and we all drank. Just like they do at a literary gathering, but it was so enveloping. I felt like I found my spiritual home. I was off and running. I moved out to Bolinas and then we all quit one day, a political issue, and by that time I was just a falling-down drunk with absolutely no borders.
I started trying to make it as a writer. I made a new friend in Bolinas, and we drank together. We also did coke, acid, and methedrine. I preferred meth ’cause I was always broke and it was so
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