Why I never finished art school

The reason for this post will become apparent in those that follow. I never finished art school. Back in the 70's (ahem) I went directly from high school to college. The Art Institute of Atlanta. No summer vacation, no last 3 months of debauchery before I embarked on what was to be the education necessary to pursue my chosen career. I was 18, and quickly discovered why my college town was called Hot'Lanta. I was legal to drink in the state of Georgia, and conveniently hooked up with a bartender. Roy and I had a blast, but my studies suffered horribly. Daddy's money spent real good down there. After the first year, it was very apparent that I did not have the dedication, determination, or motivation to stay focused on anything but parties, southern rock and the boys from Georgia Tech. My parents seemed relieved when I told them I wanted to come home, find a job, and put my studies on hold. So that is what I did. I financed my lifestyle doing a number of things...working retail, which I HATED, and repossessing cars, which I LOVED. But my time in college was not all a waste. I got to meet Greg Allman (Duane was already dead), learned how to do shots of Jack Daniels, and realized the necessity of checking your shoes before you left the ladies room. Somewhere, hidden deep in a memory I would rather repress, there is an image of me strolling out of a bar bathroom in the Underground, with at least 4 feet of toilet paper trailing behind me on the floor. Oh those wacky college days.