Dry.

I finished Augusten Burroughs's memoir, Dry, today. It is the post-Running-with-Scissors tale of Burroughs's battle with alcoholism.

Uh, I don't know if the word "harrowing" can be used here, but I'll say that it's more horrible than anything James Frey could ever make up. But I really liked it, and, even though it's weird to say it, I think I can identify with him a little bit, even though he is a gay recovering alcoholic who spends a good bit of time taking care of a friend named Pighead who is dying of HIV.

You can watch a Fishbowl interview him him on Amazon.com.

If you've never read anything of his, you should. Burroughs's memoirs read like fiction, and he has a real ear for these sorts of tales. It's almost hard to think of it as real life as you read it, and I think that's another reason it's so good. You go, "I can't believe this is actually happening! Jesus!"

Which brings me to my next point. I've read a few memoirs in my lifetimes, and they all seem to be these larger-than-life pieces, and I guess they're supposed to be. No one wants to read about the most boring person on Earth. Well, maybe that's not true. But when it comes to alcholism, it's always these over-the-top stories that make the reader think, "Hey, I'm not as bad as that guy, so I must not be an alcoholic." When, in truth, probably a good bit of those people are alcoholics and just don't realize it. The stories have fooled them. You don't have to lose your job or kill someone to realize you're an alcoholic, and that's a notion most people don't understand. A working addiction is one that lies just beneath the surface but is killing that person nonetheless.

Oh well, I guess I've gotten off on a tangent right now. But, if you get a chance, you should read some of Burroughs's stuff.

UPDATE:

Okay, so the movie that got sent to me was The Break-Up. I find it ironic that THIS was on the cover of the New York Post today. (It's coverage of the Vennifer Aaughn breakup).