Here’s another dorm photo. It’s not me — I don’t think I’ve ever had that much hair — so I pixelated the face to protect the guilty party. Aren’t I nice?
I’ve written previously about the B’nai B’rith Youth Organization, a Jewish youth group that aimed to convince parents their kids were meeting Jewish teens of the opposite sex, while simultaneously introducing us kids to the joys of cheap beer and stem-rich pot. I can thank BBYO for getting me rip-roaring vertiginous drunk for the first time in my life on — oh, Lord, I’m so ashamed — Schlitz. From a keg. God help me.
On the way home from that BBYO Social (such a wholesome name for it, don’t you think?) I realized I had forgotten my house key. At 2:30 AM, sheepishly, drunkenly, I knocked on my own back door. My dad opened it, and I said, “Fuller brush!”
Is there an age requirement for understanding that joke? Not that it was such a hot joke, but it made my father laugh, and I wasn’t punished for getting home drunk after my curfew. If he had thought to ask about the state of our driver (designated driver? What’s that?) maybe I would have been punished. If I hadn’t suffered from Male Adolescent Immortality Syndrome, I would have punished myself.
It took the Berkeley dorms to teach me the true meaning of thoroughly pissed. Screwdrivers made from College Ave. vodka + non-vintage Riesling = spew, spew, and spew some more. What else did I drink that night? I remember crying uncontrollably and everyone leaving the room so Floppy could be, well, Floppy.
That taught me my lesson for about one year. True, my pal Sam and I tied on more than a few, and I have a dim recollection of dried oyster mushrooms passed off as Psilocybin, Olde English 800 malt liquor, bongs, more bongs, a University Theater showing of Eraserhead (you mean I didn’t dream that movie?), and a group of us listening with leaden solemnity to Be Careful with that Axe, Eugene, but it’s not the same if you don’t end up vomiting. Know what I mean?
For that, I had to wait until the following year, when my roommate Roger and I decided it would be a fine time to polish off a fifth of Smuggler’s Cove Scotch whiskey. That’s the first time I remember thinking (A) I really ought to make myself throw up before I get any sicker, and (B) this is fun how? You would think the lesson of (B) would have sunk in, but I had to do this at least two or three times before I hit upon Hoffman’s Two Drink Limit.
Yeah, I’m a lightweight. I’m a failure as an alcoholic because I cannot manage the volumes. I once told a health insurance examiner that I had an alcohol problem — I couldn’t drink nearly as much as I was supposed to. Isn’t the current recommendation two glasses of wine-or-the-equivalent nightly? Can’t do it. I feel good with one glass, drunk with two, and with three I’m reliving my old college days, and not in a good way.
So: why did I do it at all? If I was rebelling against authority, I didn’t know it. It sure didn’t feel like that.
I used to call it punctuating my life, a way of marking the end of a relationship, a school year, even a rough set of finals. Shaving my beard (and, once, my legs) yielded the same results without the whole bile-coming-out-my-nose thing, so I eventually took to shaving off my beard and growing it back two or three times a year.
As Balls and Walnuts veterans know, I met my wife-to-be during my last year at Berkeley. Karen had a remarkably calming effect on me. Even during our rough years, I was still less screwed up than in my pre-Karen years. I didn’t need to get drunk anymore, not even occasionally.
I sense a segue coming on — yours truly sounding off re his dependency on women in general, woman in particular. But, fuck it, I’m not in the mood. If I get all psychoanalytic right now, I’ll hear my dormies voices in my head, saying — not nicely — “Floppy!”
Dormies. Those guys had zero tolerance for sentimentality.
D.
I thought it was a picture of a plumber fixing the toilet! How innocent am I ;o?
I’m 5’2″ and, when in college, pleasantly plump. I could drink any frat boy under the table. But I had my room spinning vomiting this-is-fun-how moment after I had a lost weekend on tequila. I literally woke up in a room I’d never seen before. Nothing bad happened, but it scared me straight.
Now, I find I’ve lost the ability to drink. Even if I want a glass of wine, two sips and I’m asleep.
I really don’t like alchohol. My sole reason for drinking was oblivion. Given my hard drinking heritage–Russian and Mexican–I now avoid anything alchohol like the plague.
Shlitz? Really? Ick? Then again, the Bud and Coors light of my youth was not better. Piss beer.
Jona, “passed out” is a more accurate description of this plumber’s state.
Robyn, does that mean you got all skinny? Funny how metabolism changes.
Pat, yup, in fact we called it “Schlitz Piss.” I’ve never been a big fan of beer, but nowadays I get the occasional yen for Carta Blanca, or one of the Gordon Biersch beers, or even Moosehead.
LMAO at “fuller brush”. OH, that’s classic. Do you and your dad still talk about that with fond remembrance? ha ha
I love the taste of alcohol. I love being tipsy. I wish being an alcoholic wasn’t so bad for one’s liver–I’d take it up as a hobby.
If I so much as pour a glass of wine, my kids give me lectures about the dangers of alcohol. They’ve been indoctrinated nicely.
I’ve only been falling down puking drunk once and that was plenty. . . never did understand why it seemed to be what guys in college did for fun. Your punctuation reason seems as good as any, except those dudes had way too much punctuation going on. Lots of periods.
Any photos of you with shaved legs?
I’m like you – 1 drink good, 2 drinks ditzy, 3 drinks puking. I’ve only made it to 3 drinks once, since I’m feeling pretty queasy by drink 2.5.
A nice glass of red with dinner, though, is lovely.
Hi Katherine. I’ll have to ask my dad if he remembers that. Not a great time in my life, in general, and that was really one of our less confrontational moments.
Kate, sorry, no shaved leg photos. And I’m not doing it again. I liked how it felt when they were shaved, but the stubble was a bitch.
sxKitten, what’s your favorite red wine? The best glass of Cabernet I ever had was Silver Oak, either ’93 or ’94 (possibly ’95?) What an eye-opener. So good you didn’t even want to swallow it.
At first glance that picture scared the HELL out of me. With the face blurred out it is not immediately obvious that it is a guy. When I was in college a couple of friends and I decided to spend the evening in a bottle of vodka. On of my friends was a photography major and lets just say pictures were taken. I was the subject of most of them. That roll of film mysteriously disappeared shortly after the puke-fest and the joke has been for the past few years that those pictures will probably turn up on the internet one day. For the split second it took me to remember that I had long hair back in college, all I could think was “Oh, God. There it is!”
Try stubble and nylons, if you want bitchin’ discomfort.
Favourite wine? We had a Wolf Blass once that was really good, but I couldn’t tell you the varietal (Dean will know – I’m bad with details). And I had a Blue Mountain Cab (a BC vinyard) many years ago that was excellent. For grapes, in general I like ’em bold and dark (like my men!). Shiraz and Pinot Noir are current faves.
Karibelle, I assure you, that’s a guy. Would I do that to you?
sxKitten, I’ve never worn nylons. I’ll have to save that for another “things to do before I die” list 😉