All Hallows' Eve (sometime in the early 90s)

It was a Halloween night in SF and I was at a party of a friend's friend. We were near Divisadero a few blocks from Fell Street. I was with one group of friends but I wasn't content. My mind was on getting over to The Castro to see other friends. I had already been to the corner liquor store to get me my 1/2 pint of 151 Bacardi Rum. That little pink bottle was attached to my hand all night. That bottle and my mini cam, which was the top of the line Hi-8 Sony at the time. Very mini. I was taking video of everything at the party. Nobody really knew me so it was a bit weird. But I was getting seriously sauced. But I was restless to get to The Castro. So I left the party and pointed myself towards the liquor store for one last little bottle. I remember standing at the counter and asking for a bottle of 151 and the good man sliding it to me. I took it and left but I can't remember what happened next. I blacked out. I came to, at least a few hours later, and I was sitting on the street, near Castro, and I was puking and hurling like a pro. Or an amateur. Some kind gays were asking me if I was alright. I was OK. But not in a deep sense. I never did find my friends. I just got a cab and went home. So smashed. The next day I wanted to review my video. Maybe it could fill in some blanks. But the camera was broken. It never worked again. I did have a few fleeting memories of walking down Divisadero yelling. I was stomping through on the median. Shouting like a crazy person. I think that I thought if I acted crazy any unsavory sorts would keep clear of me. I did make it about ten blocks through some sketch spots on Divis to the safe haven of a Castro neighborhood gutter. So... I guess it worked. That was one of the two worst black-outs I had ever had.

Too Drunk To Fight

I was 21 in 1992. I was getting hammered with a good friend one night. We were in a slightly competitive mode over our pinball game, which was rare for us. The competition, not the pinball. He was a martial artist and he wanted to get me into it for a long time. But I was overweight and shy about any physical contact whatsoever, let alone fighting. I didn't have sex 'til I was 20... well, about to turn 20 but that's splitting virginal hairs. So we were in this drunk haze and getting a little pushy so he suggested we go outside and fight. But he said it with a smile... like we should go spar or slap-fight or something. So we go outside the bar, right on a really busy intersection in San Francisco. He's in a really scary low-crouching stance and I'm kinda bouncing like some damn-fool boxer. And we're in our fight stances ready to do something crazy like at the end of that Rocky movie when Apollo and Rocky are just about to hit each other and the movie ends. Like that. And we hear this crash right next to us, in the street. A car had hit another car just ten feet away. We weren't looking at the street so we missed seeing it. But we were there when the cops came and asked us for our IDs. And for some fuckin' reason I was agitated at the whole situation. The cops took the IDs but didn't let us leave the scene. I remember just wanting my ID back. I was so jittery about the fact that these cops had my info, and what were they doing with it and it just made my skin crawl to not go back to my drinking. So I kept asking these cops, can I have my ID back... can I get my ID back. I must have asked about 4 times, maybe. So this cop turns to me as I'm asking again and says. "Do yourself a favor... put your hands behind your back." and with that he cuffed me and put me into the back of a police car. That's when I sobered up right quick. I was sitting in there, sweating and feeling sick to death. I had these 2 cops take me to the now-defunked Mission Station on Valencia near 24th Street. They took my glasses and shoe laces and put me in the drunk tank. There I met a guy who was quite a cholo. He was telling me about he got locked up and how much cops hate you when you do crimes. He said, in his heavy cholo accent, "...they look at you like you did something to their family, bro." I think I fell asleep at one point. They kept me there 'til about 3 in the morning and sent me on my way with all my money, looking for cab. I was too drunk to fight that night.

I was too drunk to keep it together when some old guy died

I was really drunk at a house party in 1990. I maybe knew 4 people there. The music was going all nice and everything was good. Until I saw the Entertainment Tonight segment that announced Jack Gilford had died. You may remember him from his "sweet old guy" roles on major TV shows from the 70s through the late 80s. Also, he was one of the minor old guys in Cocoon and its forgettable sequel. I saw this news and got really fuckin' bummed. I think I excused myself pretty quick. I was standing in front of the bathroom mirror and crying over this guy. He played a sweet old guy so well. One of the major reasons I was bawling over this actor who I hardly saw was that one night, years before, my grandfather and I were watching Cocoon on cable and the scene where Jack Gilford's character finds his wife dead. That just floored me at the time. My grandfather got really choked up at it too. So when I saw that he'd died it made me remember all that shit and I just cried over it. I was really drunk. Too drunk to keep it together when I found out that this old guy had died.