My Pain in a Dirty Glass

This is a serious post.

I'm writing the first draft of this blog post at a seminar about the incidence of HIV in the over 50 year old population; something I need to attend for my job. Since many of my clients fall into this category, I should be paying attention. But I'm not, because I'm thinking about my friend.

Today, my friend began to take the long and no-doubt difficult road to sobriety. Although it goes without saying that I wish him the best and will endeavor to help in any way I can, his decision has made me consider my own appetite for drink in a new, and somewhat harsh, light.

Way back in April, I did a post over at the WoW that garnered some attention. It was entitled The Downhill Slide, and it was about my initial (and not altogether genuine) concern over my then new-found love of gin martinis. You can read it if you want; it's not long. Despite the fact that I was joking, it received somewhat serious feedback from my friends. I promised a follow-up post, but I never delivered. I guess this is it.

Although The Angry Piper is often portrayed as a pathetic, drunken Irishman, the reality is quite the opposite. I am rarely drunk. Since The Angry Piper is a fictional character, and is, in truth, only an exaggerated composite of some of my best and worst qualities, I don't mind (and often encourage) this characterization. You know...for laughs. Ha ha.

However, I do like to drink, and lately I have been drinking more than ever before; in quantity, quality and frequency. Recent and not-so-recent events have made this a cause of concern for me. Like my friend, alcoholism runs in my family. Neither of my parents drank, and we never had alcohol in our house. But both my grandfathers were raging alcoholics. Well, one was literally "raging", the other was just severely addicted.

Allow me to tell you about my personality when I drink: it is largely the same as my regular personality. I don't get loud or obnoxious. I don't get mean. Although I have drank many times when I felt sad, drinking has never made me feel sad. Most people (except for those who know me extremely well) can't even tell I've been drinking, unless they've been drinking with me. The only thing I've been told is that I get quiet, and apparently very funny when I'm drunk; even funnier than the clever quipper I usually am. I believe this is true because more than one person has related these qualities to me. (Then again, more than one person has told me I resemble Nicolas Cage. Perhaps they are the ones who drink too much.)

This past weekend, I attended the New Hampshire Highland Games at Loon Mountain (expect a blogpost very soon), a yearly event I look forward to. It is more or less a dry event, as they frown on drunken assholes ruining family fun over at Loon. Therefore, I did very little drinking at the games. New Hampshire, however,is renowned for its cheap liquor, especially at the gigantic State-run liquor stores about 20 miles over the Massachusetts border. So many people from Massachusetts travel to these stores that NH got wise and installed toll booths right before their exit; now you pay $1.50 round-trip in addition to whatever you buy. Most people consider it money well spent.

Now, several concerns make me want to draw rein here and halt my gallop towards alcohol dependence. The first, of course, is what's happening with my friend. More on that later.

Concern #2: I didn't spend much money beyond the admission fee at the games. But boy, was I like a kid in a candy store at the NH packie. Among other things, I spent $30 on a bottle of very expensive gin (Hendrick's) that would have probably cost upwards of $40 elsewhere.

Concern #3: I really like gin. A lot. I used to be a strictly (top-shelf) beer guy, with a budding appreciation for wine, especially with good food. Now, it worries me that I can discern the quality of gin solely by taste, when not long ago the taste of something so alcoholic would have had me sputtering and gagging. (Incidentally, Hendrick's is quite good.)

Concern #4: I recently saw someone so inebriated that he could not speak clearly, nor understand or follow a conversation. This friend-of-a-friend was a stellar eye-opener for me; a "there but for the grace of God go I" kind of example. I hope he arrives at the same place my friend is, and soon.

Here's what I have going for me:

#1 I don't drink every day.

#2 I rarely drink to debilitating excess. I know my limits, and I stick to them. When I feel a buzz, I have one more drink and stop. I haven't been physically sick from drinking since I was in high school.

#3 I never drink and drive.

#4 I honestly feel that I drink because I want to, not because I need to.

In the past year, my personal life (not my drinking-not yet, anyway) has spiraled slowly out of control. The other day I had a reunion with someone I still-and will always-care deeply about, a difficult reunion that can only be called "bittersweet." Did I drink afterwards? You bet. But the next time I see this person-and there will be a next time-I don't intend to drink afterwards at all.

Despite these concerns, I am not yet ready to completely give up alcohol, nor do I think I need to, yet. What I do need is to stop drinking as often as I do. Well, that, and these things:

#1 I need to get back on my diet. In early August I went on vacation, and since then I've gained back 10 of the 18 pounds I'd lost. This means no beer.

#2 I need to get physically active again. I'm hoping my friend, and possibly his brother (also a great friend), will join me in this. I want to go back to my aikido training, as it was an enormously positive experience in my life.

#3 I need to not replace my gin bottle when it's empty; at least not right away, and save my drinking for special meals and occasions.

#4 At the end of the week, I need to have more alcohol-free days than days I indulged in alcohol.

#5 I need, in general, to get my shit together.

Now, as for my friend who has taken this very difficult and courageous step towards sobriety:

I did not know, until recently, that you were concerned about your drinking. I did not know that you had tried previously to quit, and were unsuccessful. I did not know about the effect it was having on your personal life.

For a while there, we fell out of touch. And although we never stopped being friends, there's a lot that happened to both of us in those years that we each don't know. I regret that.

We've known each other for 20 years, give or take a few. You knew me at my most ridiculous, and the good times we've had with the other two musketeers are legendary. I think we both know we don't need to drink to hang out together.

So let's not.

Two YouTube Posts in a Row = LAME

Yeah, whatever. Look for a real update soon. In the meantime, watch this.




Whenever I lose my motivation to write, this kicks me in the ass. It also brings me to great, big, gushing tears of laughter every time.

I love Family Guy.

Hey Murk & Malach...

Let me know when you're ready.





I need to do this again.

Five Years Later

And he's still out there.

Today, there are no doubt thousands of posts going up all over the web having to do with rememberances and thoughts about 9/11. There are several over at the WOW alone. One, written by Murk, has actually been up for a week or so. In it, he implores us to dispense with the political blame game and simply honor those who died. All 2,973 people.

I agree.

It takes a lot to break me. Today, while listening to National Public Radio, I heard some of the phone calls and emergency pleas for help from both people trapped at Ground Zero and from the rescue personnel trying to do their jobs. One was from a woman on one of the planes, who called to tell someone that "there was a problem with the plane, but just know that I love you." I had to pull over, because I found myself crying.

I reached for the CD switch that would fill my car with loud, blaring bagpipes so I wouldn't have to listen to the desperation and tragedy, but then I stopped myself. I listened to it all. It's the least I can do, to understand, and to make sure I never forget what happened that day.

I heard a comentator say that five years ago, she never would have thought we would have returned to "normal" this soon. Americans were killed on American soil. Our world changed forever. Sadly, she's right. Things are mostly back to normal.

Today, in addition to the deep sadness we all should feel at the deaths of so many of our own, I feel particularly upset by what has happened to us as a nation. Understand: I do not mean to take sides politically; that is not my purpose here, nor do I think it appropriate today, of all days. Anyone who reads this blog with any regularity is likely acquainted with my political views, anyway.

What I mean is that the terror attacks of five years ago served immediately to unite us as Americans. Almost everyone had a flag on their car, in a window, on their lawn. For a while, we were together. Now we seem more polarized and divided ideologically as a nation than at any other time in our history except the Civil War.

How do we get our unity back?

Revelations

In an attempt to placate my legions of fans who want to know more about The Angry Piper, here are some statements about me you may find interesting. They all have two things in common: they're all 100% true, and you'll likely want to learn the story behind each one. But you probably won't. This is blatant titillation. And since I'm fresh out of blog ideas, this is what you get.

Here they are, in no particular order:

In Walt Disney World, I sat on one of my testicles so hard I couldn't walk for almost 45 minutes. No, I don't have huge balls. One just got in the way. It happens.

My brother and I had a pint of Guinness with PJ Harvey's guitarist. Well, we had the Guinness. He had a shot of some cheap whiskey.

I have never met anyone famous. I turned down a chance to meet Sting, and despite being a rabid Sting and Police fan, I don't regret it.

I was an altar boy.

I did 25% of the work sculpting a 4-foot tall penis made of snow.

I made the worst mistake of my life (thus far) about two years ago.

I used to drive a purple Hyundai Accent that wound up under a very heavy tree. It was parked at the time, and had I been in it, I would certainly be dead. Missed me by 45 minutes.

Once, at a teen dance, I lifted a kid onto his tiptoes by his neck and would have likely choked him to death for insulting a friend of mine. The friend lives in Texas now, and she periodically reminds me of this incident. The kid was a punk, and he was breathing when I left him. I've mellowed considerably since then.

I barely know the wives of three of my best male friends. Contrary to popular belief, I do not really lust after any of them.

I once dated a woman who told me the following things on the first date: she was a dominatrix, she was a recovering cocaine addict with 3 weeks of sobriety, and her ex-husband was an active transvestite. First date. No kidding. There was no second date.

I once dated a woman who told me the following things on the first date: that she still lived with her son's father, but that their relationship was over. This was proven by the fact that although she slept naked in the same bed with this man, he never even looked her way. There was no second date.

The above two dates were not with the same woman. They occurred roughly two weeks apart.

I have written over fifty pages of a novel (and dozens of short stories) that I will likely never publish.

I often joke about not wearing anything under my kilt. I often don't.

I have three female friends I miss terribly. One lives in Texas. We talk all the time. One lives in Staten Island, NY. We speak irregularly at best. The last lives in the state I live in. We don't talk anymore, and it's my fault.

I play three musical instruments, but I only play one well.

In the distant past I pointedly ignored several really hot women interested in making my acquaintance because a musician I enjoy was playing at the time. I was a horrible wingman.

I recently discovered the fate of one of my high school girlfriends. She's married and living in San Francisco, home of Amy Tan, The Angry Veteran and Tel-in-the-City. AV: say hi if you see JA. Since I have more than one ex-girlfriend with the initials JA, I'm referring to the one who performed in Godspell with you and Malach.

The scariest movie I ever saw was (and still is) Jaws.

In our college library during finals week, Dr. Mantodea and I made each other laugh so hard we were literally paralyzed and almost suffocated while our friends looked on in bewilderment. Not everyone has our sense of humor.

I once watched The Angry Veteran climb atop one of his neighbor's cars and urinate in the open sun roof. He did not like that neighbor. I suppose I should also say this was a long time ago, when we were both much younger.

I was stopped, along with Dr. Murk, by a police officer for having "tires too big for my vehicle."

I once mistook a huge dildo for a bookend. Yes, it was that big. It was in Malach's glove compartment. (Just kidding about that last part.)

I once asked a very naked stripper how heavy her earrings were. As if I (or she) cared.

Dr. Jen has recently informed me I'm the fifth smartest man she's ever met. We met when we were in 6th grade. She must have met four guys smarter than me since then.

I have been to five different countries, not counting my own, and none of them are Canada or Mexico.

And finally, for Alanis Morissette fans (and Malach), Here's something ironic:

When we were both in college, I loudly berated Malach because he was drunk.

The irony: look at me now.