I liked this book, it was interesting but there was not as much in this one that I could relate to. Then again, one of the reasons I read is to absorb different perspectives especially on broad subjects such as life or slices thereof. I do recommend this book, it's never dull and is pretty interesting all the way through. ( )

this is the story of a young man, living in New York, who was abused as a child. He's an alcoholic, although high functioning, but it begins to interfere with his work.Told by his work that he must go to rehab or else be fired, the author/narrator thinks to himself:
P.55:
"why does this have to be so complicated? I wish they could just cut your 'drinker' out of you. Like having a kidney stone removed. You check into the hospital as an outpatient, get anesthetized from the waist down, they put headphones on you and you listen to Enya. 15 minutes later, the doctor lifts the headphones off and shows you the small, turd - colored Orgon he extracted from somewhere inside you. I see it looking like a snail.
" 'would you like to save it... As a souvenir?'
" 'no, doctor zizmor, toss it. I don't want any reminder.'
"the doctor slaps you on the back on your way out. 'congratulations, you're now a sober man.' "

I had compassion for the author / narrator, for his addiction to alcohol. I've been there--I used to pray for myself and for all other people who are addicted to some substance. Pray to the Lord. I no longer believe in God. But I lost my compassion for the author when he started trashing Sally struthers for her eating addiction. where did he get off, not seeing it as the same kind of problem that he had with alcohol?
The author is home following rehab. He's watching TV while thinking that he needs a hobby to keep his mind off drinking:
P.182:
"the bloated face of Sally struthers filled my television screen recently. Her chin was trembling and she looked to be in physical pain, as if wincing from a sharp punch. But, strangely, she also looked hungry. Because I watch television with the sound off, I had to hunt for the remote to hear what she was saying. That's when I heard her begging for me, personally, to send her cash so that she could Feed the Children. Cut to little Anna, a shriveled Indian girl with Jewel eyes. Back to Sally, this time walking. Turning sideways so that she could fit through the alley between two mud - cake homes. well, somehow I felt that if I sent Sally a Donation, she would open the envelope herself and squeeze the cash into the hip Pocket of her elastic - waist jeans. She would then treat herself at Pizza hut, using my envelope to Dab pepperoni grease from her chin. I imagined her maybe having garlic cheese bread on the side and a salad of iceberg lettuce topped with blue-cheese dressing, bacos and croutons. She would do her eating alone, never leaving the table. Her chin would tremble as she chewed and chewed and swallowed hard, against the threat of tears. After leaving her tray on the table for someone else to clean up, she would Moan as she climbed into her 1981 Cadillac Fleetwood. It would be an effort to close the door. She would then place both hands at the top of the wheel, and pressing her forehead against the backs of her hands, begin sobbing right there in the parking lot." (It goes on and on...)

The author/narrator falls off the wagon when his best friend is dying from AIDS:
P.256:
"ON MY WAY HOME, I SURPRISE MYSELF BY STEPPING INTO A LIQUOR STORE ON 7TH AVENUE AND 12TH. I SURPRISE MYSELF EVEN FURTHER BY BUYING A PINT OF BLACK LABEL. ON THE WAY OUT, I THINK HOW STRANGE IT IS THAT LIQUOR STORES NEVER REDECORATE. THEY NEVER GET COOL - ized. BUT THEN, THEY DON'T NEED TO BE hip. THEY ARE LIKE URINALS - PEOPLE WILL GO THERE NO MATTER WHAT."
(I don't know why this is all capitals)

( )

You can always tell when a real alcoholic writes about alcoholism. A lot of writers that just drink a lot or have an alcoholic friend think they can write about it. They can't. They can fake it with people who drink a lot or with people that aren't alcoholics. Augusten Burroughs is a real alcoholic and he writes about it. He writes well about it, but he doesn't know what book he is writing. The first 100 pages are hilarious. Then the book turns dead serious for 200 pages, well not dead serious, but not funny. Part of the problem is Augusten goes through a series of romantic personal crises after rehab. None of these are very funny. What kind of a book is this? Plenty of potentially funny stuff is still going on after rehab but the author now approaches it with a grim humor that just doesn't work.

So the real problem is does Augusten want to approach this like [a:David Sedaris|2849|David Sedaris|https://d202m5krfqbpi5.cloudfront.net/authors/1213737698p2/2849.jpg] or does he want to write a serious autobiography about alcoholism, the rise and fall and rise? We get some of both but there isn't any unity here.

The one thing that is refreshing about this is it is not a book about a homosexual that is alcoholic. It is an alcoholic who is gay. There is a difference. ( )

I didn't like this as much as Running with Scissors but again very funny. ( )

Not sure how a memoir could be both intoxicating and sobering at the same time, but Burroughs manages to pull it off with Dry. It's less psychedelically implausible and more realistic than Running with Scissors, but it is just as hysterical and touching. Burroughs knows how to write a sentence and tell a tale. It would be easy for him to glamorize his alcoholism, or turn this into a self-pitying confessional. Instead, he is able to detach his authorial perspective from the rest of himself and write about his struggles with sobriety, relationships, and reality with withering insight. ( )