Saturday, February 21, 2009
Gullible Zine #29 Out Now
Hooray! I've managed to keep my zine numbers aligned with my age. I hit 30 next month.
So, hecky-yeah, Gullible #29 is ready for the reading. A lot of the writing in here is about stuff my family was going through in the early/mid-'90s. I've pasted an excerpt below. If you'd like a copy and you live in the U.S., PayPal $1 and your address to email@example.com.
" Adults who pound rum ‘n’ cokes at eleven in the morning usually end up going to meetings, but ninth graders who do it think it’s fucking awesome.
The temptation had been too great. Speaking of adults who drink in the morning, my second period English teacher hadn’t shown up that day. We had a substitute who sat at the desk, reading. I scooted my bag out the door with me when I went on a bathroom break, and walked home for an early lunch. The lights were off and the car was gone and the bottle of Bacardi Dark was calling to me. I wasn’t a big drinker. I was at that weird in-between age where my friends’ older siblings weren’t old enough to buy booze, so drugs were easier for us to get. I liked pot and hash when I could find it, and otherwise, I experimented with crap around the medicine cabinet and cleaning supplies.
I poured a tumbler half full from the two liter of Coke that my dad would leave uncapped on the counter because he didn’t like the bubbles, then topped my drink off with two fingers of rum. It was one of those plastic cups with the little water-filled window on the side, and it showed a deep-sea scene with colorful plastic seahorses and starfish bobbing about in the sparkly water. I capsized the cup and refilled it, feeling the warm fuzz in my head along with the molasses aftertaste of the liquor.
I’d been drunk once before. It was New Year’s Eve in fifth grade and I was watching a Bond movie on TV with my parents. My mom poured me a glass of champagne, the booze the color of her hair, saying “You’re not gonna like this.” My dad told me about the sex scenes that they’d cut out for the TV version of the film.
I did like the champagne, and I downed it like ginger ale, eating more of the Velveeta dip that my father had made on the stove. I finagled another glass and my head felt bubbly. James Bond was funny. I felt like I could tell my parents anything.
“I’ve gotta go fart.” I ran from the TV room and opened the door, then stood in the dining room and ripped one.
“Shh! You’re gonna wake up Caitlin!” Dad was always protective of my little sister. Mom took my empty wineglass away.
But there was no one home now. No one to wake up, so I grabbed my skateboard and headed back to where my friends were...school. I slalomed through suburban streets and into the high school parking lot."