Golden. Honest. Brilliant. I feel like it is a disservice to attempt a description of this addict's memoir. Sometimes I wish I were a little bit wealthy, and one of my indulgences would be to buy books I love so I could gaze lovingly at them as well as underline passages I wish I could have come up with. I would have underlined the whole filthy thing.

I don't remember reading Running With Scissors, so I was unfamiliar with Burroughs' childhood or writing style. Therefore, my expectations going into this weren't ceiling-high, per usual. This worked in Burroughs' favor, as overhype has ruined many (admittedly good) books for me.

What I'm trying to say, here, is that this book stands on its own merits. It's an engaging memoir that doesn't feel aggrandized and is written in a welcoming and friendly voice. Burroughs' story is pretty dramatic, but I never sensed that he was flat-out fabricating, as memoirist are wont to do. There are no shocking, graphic sex scenes or painfully detailed drug-doing scenes, which lesser writers often lean on. Burroughs is obligated to describe several therapy sessions, but only to further the story, not to preach to readers (which, again, inexperienced authors usually attempt).

This is an interesting tale of addiction and sobriety that goes down easy (pun intended). If this genre is your jam, definitely add this to your list.

Burroughs is narcissistic hedonist. After listening to the first fifteen minutes I almost quit digusted with him. I hate quitting though. So I kept listening and soon appreciated his resilience. It also opened my eyes to the prevalence of alcoholism, and the addicts nature. I don't think I could have read it, but listening while commuting made it possible. While I found Magical Thinking hilarious and Running with Scissors interesting, Dry was not in their league.

Thank goodness the author acknowledged the criminal behavior of those who were supposed to be responsible adults, but who placed him in situations that no child or even young adult should have faced. In other words, he doesn't simply laugh off his unorthodox upbringing, he acknowledges the fact that the responsible adults got it wrong. Still, he doesn't wallow in it, and regardless of the back story, this is a tale of addiction, recovery and lots of what happens in between. Dry takes a slightly novel approach in that it doesn't spent lots of time in the spiral into the abyss. Instead you spend lots of time in the recovery process. For those who have experienced this process, early success is an ominous sign, and this is no exception. This was a funny, real, and an authentic story.

I was immediately smitten with Augusten's playfully sardonic story telling.

Even when he is being a horrible person, in thought or deed, I am still charmed by his wry self awareness.

His roller coaster of emotional reactions to recovery was captivating to me. The supporting cast of his life is well drawn. Augusten's talent as an ad man serves him quite well as an author.

I doubt I would have picked this up if not for book club. Another win for compulsory reading assignments!

This is a difficult, but worthwhile read. I admired the author's ability to share so openly about his addiction. Most of the time I didn't like him, yet I couldn't put the book down.

Brilliant, esp. if you have a dark, inappropriate sense of humor. A memoir of a gay ad man struggling with alcoholism.

Some kindle quotes:


He tells me how once he [the author's undertaker friend] had a female body with a decapitated head and the family insisted on an open casket service. “Can you imagine?” So he broke a broomstick in half and jammed it down through the neck and into the meat of the torso. Then he stuck the head on the other end of the stick and kind of pushed. - location 189


I was awake by six A.M. and still felt drunk. I was making wisecracks to myself in the bathroom, pulling faces. This is when I knew I was still drunk. I just had way too much energy for six A.M. Too much motivation. It was like the drunk side of my brain was trying to act distracting and entertaining, so the business side wouldn’t realize it was being held hostage by a drunk. - location 225


After having gone on more fashion shoots than I care to count, I’ve learned that terminally unhip AquaNet is the best. The result was hair that looked windblown and casual—unless you happened to touch it. If you touched it, it would probably make a solid knocking sound, like wood. - location 231


I sprayed Donna Karan for Men around my neck and on my tongue to oppose any alcohol breath I might have. Then I walked to the twenty-four-hour restaurant on the corner of Seventeenth and Third for a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and coffee. The fat, I figured, would absorb any toxins. As a backup safety measure, I swallowed a handful of Breath Assure capsules and wore a distracting, loud tie. - location 234


As we walk into the first room of the exhibit, I cruise to the display case in the center of the room. I pretend to be interested in the egg that’s illuminated by four spotlights. It’s hideous; a cobalt blue egg smothered with gaudy ropes of gold and speckled with diamonds. I walk around the case, looking at it from all sides, as though I am intrigued and inspired. What I’m really thinking is, how could I have forgotten the words to The Brady Bunch? - location 248


The rest of the day passes smoothly, groceries on a conveyer belt. Soon, I am home. - location 273


She slips past me out of the room and her panty hose make an important hush, hush sound as she walks away. - location 321


There is a gash and there is blood. More blood, really, than the gash calls for. Head wounds are so dramatic. - location 380


Rick is a Mormon and although this is not a reason to hate him, I hate all Mormons as a result of knowing Rick. - location 441


But he’s an investment banker, so for him, admitting the truth is something to be done only in the event of a plea bargain. - location 513


and tells me my bags will have to be searched. “For cologne, mouthwash, anything containing alcohol.” “Cologne?” I ask, incredulously. “Oh, you’d be surprised,” she says, “by the things alcoholics will try and sneak in here to drink.” In my mind this settles the issue. I would never drink cologne and therefore am not an “alcoholic” and am, in fact, in the wrong place. - location 773


He looks Indian, but highly gay-Americanized. - location 846


I remember I was really freaked out on my first day in advertising, because I could barely understand a word people said. It was as if I had taken a job in Antwerp: Storyboards, VO, Tag, Farm-out, CA, Rep, Donut-middle. It was like, Huh? My favorite phrase was “Two-Cs-in-a-K.” This referred to the standard packaged goods commercial. It stood for Two Cunts in a Kitchen. - location 999


He tucks into his meal, placing his arms on the table in such a way that they surround his food, protectively. - location 1131


chocolate-chip cookie with me.” I can feel the artery on the left side of my head pulsing, moments away from bursting into an aneurysm. Whatever Librium was in my system has already been metabolized by my urban liver. My liver wastes no time. It’s the New York City cabdriver of livers. - location 1192


I feel instantly pathetic. More transparent than jellyfish sashimi. - location 1346


The room applauds. Applause is a constant thing in AA. It’s how we buy drinks for each other. - location 1993


She’s the first person to say that name since I’ve returned. “It was very intense,” I tell her. “At first, I wanted to leave. My first impression was not a good one.” “But you revised your opinion?” I nod my head. “Yeah, that’s an understatement. I never expected it to be so intense. It was like emotion, emotion, emotion half of the day. And facts, facts, facts the other half. It was like Jerry Springer meets medical school. - location 2130


When Group is over, we all pile into the same elevator and nobody says a word. That’s the strange thing about elevators, it’s like they have this power to silence you. I’ve just been in group therapy where people will reveal the most intimate details of their lives to complete strangers, yet in the elevator nobody can say a word. - location 2244


And then in a moment of shining epiphany, I realize I didn’t actually see him write the number down. Which means he must have written it down before Group. Which means at least once, he has thought about me outside of Group. Which means that whether consciously or subconsciously, this could have affected his choice of what to wear to Group. Which means that the tight white T-shirt could very well have been meant for me. Sometimes people compare gay men to teenage girls and they are correct, I realize. I think the reason is because gay men didn’t get to express their little crushes in high school. So that’s why we’re like this as adults, obsessing over who wore what white T-shirt and what it means, really. - location 2401


His eyes are so clear and blue that nothing but clichés enter my mind. - location 2584


I hang up the phone in slow motion, just sit there for a minute. Finally, I look at Greer. “I don’t know what’s going on. Neither does he.” Greer sits in the chair across from my desk, her legs tightly crossed. “Well, is he okay?” she asks. “I don’t know,” I say. She gives me a look she has never given me before. I don’t like that this moment warrants a new look. - location 2704


“You were so honest and substantive. Just no bullshit,” he says, slapping me on the back. “Really? I seemed normal?” I ask. “Of course. You were great.” “What a relief. I had no idea what I was saying. I was actually thinking about how my chest hair is growing back after having shaved it all off.” Hayden turns sharply, “What?” “Well, I thought maybe of bleaching it for the summer. But then I thought how awful it would be to have roots. Chest hair roots. That would be really humiliating. The blond chest hair might look good and natural like I go to the Hamptons on the weekends. But as soon as the roots started to appear, it would be like, ‘Oh, that’s very sad, he’s obviously looking for something and just not finding it.’ ” Hayden stares at me with mock horror. Or maybe it’s real horror. “You absolutely terrify me. The depth of your shallowness is staggering.” - location 2952


She would go on monthly pilgrimages to New York City where she would return loaded with bags from all the shops on Fifth Avenue. I would, from a distance, come to view Manhattan as a mall without a roof. - location 3122


His face goes red instantly, a mood ring dropped in boiling oil. - location 3247


last night, I saw a giant rawhide bone at a pet store. A novelty bone. Much too large for any real dog. I bought it and went over to Pighead’s to give Virgil his new bone. He was euphoric, had no idea where to begin chewing first. - location 3289


And lately, I get annoyed with AA, because even though I’ve been going every day, I haven’t really made any close friends. Or actually, any friends. It seems much easier to make friends in bars. I have to keep reminding myself that these AA people are exactly like bar people—they are bar people—except their bars have all been shut down. - location 3317


“Foster, what is it you like about me?” I stare at the blades of grass before me, afraid to know the answer. Afraid because I want to know the answer. - location 3393


And it’s not just my life that’s crazy. Greer is on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “God, I should have been a gynecologist,” she keeps saying, over and over like a crazy person. Sometimes, I actually think Greer is the perfect candidate for complete mental collapse. On Tuesday, I caught her looking into her compact mirror, with both hands pressed against the sides of her head. “What are you doing, Greer?” I asked. She didn’t look up, just kind of cocked her head to the side and continued to stare at her reflection in the mirror as she said, “Wouldn’t it be strange if you had no ears?” - location 3467


“Hi, Greer,” he said as he entered the room. “Hmmmmm,” Greer said back coldly. Greer is the only other person who sees through Rick’s Nice Mormon act to the black, charred soul underneath. - location 3495


rummage around for a snack. I choose the wrong thing. There is no worse taste in the mouth than chocolate and cigarettes. Second would be tuna and peppermint. I’ve combined everything, so I know. - location 3619


He kisses the top of my head and I pull away. “You look horrible, Foster,” I tell him. And he does, for him, look horrible. He’s fallen rock-bottom to a nine-and-a-half in the looks department. I turn away. It’s an effort. - location 3632


I take two Advil. Not because I have a headache, but because they’re the only thing left that I can take. - location 3731


“My relationship with Foster has progressed. Well, maybe progressed isn’t the right word,” I tell her. “It’s metastasized. - location 3735


Wendy nods, the kind, compassionate therapist. Then she says, “I’d like you to read something.” She reaches behind her, scanning the bookcase with her fingers. From in between a couple of books, she pulls out this thin booklet and hands it to me. I read the title: The Codependent Woman’s Survival Guide. I read the title again. It still says the same thing. - location 3738


“Are the meat samosas filled with lamb or beef?” Hayden asks the waiter at the Indian restaurant. “They are filled with meat,” he replies proudly. Hayden orders the vegetarian samosas. - location 3905


As I’m walking away I can hear Greer’s thoughts as she passes by the sunbathing extras: You girls are going to get malignant melanoma and then nobody’s going to cast you. - location 4033


I have four hours to kill before dinner. In the past, this would have been just barely enough time to obtain a comfortable buzz and establish my relationship with the bartender. Now it seems like more than enough time to perhaps write a screenplay. Alcohol time is very different from sober time. Alcohol time is slippery whereas sober time is like cat hair. You just can’t get rid of it. - location 4037


Greer paces like an anxious ferret. “Never work with children, puppies or bulimics,” she says. The director walks over. “This sucks.” He folds his muscular, tattooed arms across his chest. “She threw up all over her hair, so we have to re-do her.” “Oh, that’s just grand,” Greer says. “Thank you Anna Wintour for ruining the female body image.” I say, “Did she wake up yet?” “Yeah, she’s awake now. But she says she’s really dizzy. She’s afraid to get back on the bottle cap. Afraid she’ll fall off.” Greer narrows her eyes. “Bribe her with a slice of cheesecake and some Ex-Lax.” - location 4179


He looks at me. He extends his shaking hand. I take it. “Augusten,” he moans, “please don’t hit me.” His mother looks at me quickly, sharply. “He’s only teasing,” I say. And I can see a tiny smile on his face, but it’s so small it’s almost like what’s left after a normal smile. He closes his eyes, which for some reason makes me feel better. I ask him if he’s feeling okay and he shakes his head from side to side. “No.” And suddenly he’s asleep, which does not make me feel better. Because falling asleep that fast is more accurately termed “losing consciousness.” - location 4532


Hayden calls from London to tell me that he relapsed in a pub near Piccadilly Circus. Well, well, well. Deepak Chopra finally made a bacon cheeseburger out of the holy cow of India. “How tacky,” I tell him. “You relapsed in a tourist area.” Shamed, he admits, “It was a poor choice.” - location 4615


Greer leaves a message to see how Pighead is doing. She deliberately does not mention anything about work, so I know this is probably the real reason she called. I send her an e-mail saying just, He’s dead. On my list of priorities in life, Greer is at the bottom along with vacuum cleaner bags and my career. - location 4903


Once I accidentally cut my wrist on a broken glass in the sink. How can a person slice their wrist with liquid? It’s incomprehensibly brilliant and clever, glass. - location 4959

A good steady read for any Burroughs fan

A well-written, conversational book on the author's alcoholism. He wasn't likable in places, and I grew weary of his immaturity and treatment of his friends, the one 'love of his life' in particular.
However, he gave a true landscape of the alcoholic experience.

Dry by Augusten Burroughs. (Picador 2004)( Biography). The fine memoirist recounts his slide from functioning alcoholic to drunkard and his slow recovery. Burroughs is funny, insightful, and sad. My rating: 7.5/10, finished 2006.

I thought that Dry was a little dry.

I've always been familiar with Augusten Burroughs, but this was my first time reading any of his books. I LOVED it. Extremely messy, realistic, and heartfelt. Raced through it and finished over the course of a weekend.