Liquor Lecture
Absence Makes The Heart Grow Fonder
by Lex Marburger
Illustrations by Eric Johnson
It has come to the attention of Lollipop that many of our readers enjoy imbibing an alcoholic liquid every now and again (and again…). In public interest, we offer a Lollipop Guide to Liquor. Please note: We are trained professionals and the “experiments” that follow were not attempted by “casual” or “social” drinkers. Lollipop assumes no responsibility for the actions of any drunk person, including its own staff. And ask Mom first, okay?
I’ve always thought of myself as someone who has a rather strong will. More to the point, I’ve always shown that sign of addiction, the phrase “I can stop at any time.” I bet you can see what’s coming. After pooh-poohing it for some time, I decided to go for it. A trial, to see what my limit actually was. Could I do it? No problem. Just to make it harder for myself, I decided not to change my weekly routine. It would be too easy to completely change my lifestyle, not leaving any room to even think about drinking. I wanted to see if I could live the life I do, simply without drinking. So, on Sunday night, I took my final swallow of Jim Beam for a while, and settled into the life of a teetotaler. (Note: For reasons of concise storytelling, I’ve compressed my “dry spell” into just a few days.)
Next day, I woke as usual, and didn’t think about drinking all day, which is normal. I rarely drink during the day, except for during extended vacations or dark depressions. That evening, however, I ran into the first hurdle. As I was making dinner for my girlfriend and myself, I realized, hey, no wine for dinner! I guess water will do. Or maybe some fruit juice. Milk? No. I had forgotten what people drink with dinner, if not wine or beer. Iced tea? Hmmm. We ended up with some kind of raspberry-cranberry juice, and though it seemed strange, I really didn’t have a craving of any kind. So far, so good.
That night I ran into a problem. Insomnia. I’m not sure if the two were related, but I haven’t had problems sleeping for… Well, I can’t really remember. Interesting. As I lay there in the dark, I realized if this kept up, I’d be able to catch up on a lot of my reading. Eventually, I was able to get to sleep, only to wake up around sunrise, without being tired. Only a few hours of sleep, and I was ready to go again? What’s that all about? Well, the day went smoothly enough, I hit the dinner hurdle again, crossed that, and then I took my first duck out. Usually, I go to a local pub and hang out with a few friends, have a few beers, play a few games of cards. I opted out. Not wanting to push my luck, I didn’t go. I also didn’t want to go explaining my plan to everyone in the bar. It tends to do one of two things; either people feel sorry for you, and decide not to drink in front of you out of sympathy, effectively ruining their evening, or they play devil’s advocate and try to push drinks on you. The point of this isn’t to get everyone on my side, in support of my ride on the wagon. It’s to see if I can do it with no other changes in my life, and that includes my friends’ habits as well. So I stayed in, watched TV, and read until about four in the morning.
I woke up at seven, ready to tackle the world, only to realize the world didn’t need tackling. Breakfasts are sure getting longer. As I was driving to the market, I felt the first pang of temptation. A Mexican restaurant had a poster for Dos Equis hanging outside, and I had a flash – No, a flash back. I envisioned, clear as day, the taste of a cold beer, bitter and clean, the gentle marriage of hops and malt (and it being a Mexican place, a hint of lime), the chuckle of beer leaving the bottle and falling into a frozen glass, the feel of foam brushing my upper lip… With a dark mutter, I kept driving, and finished a book and a half that night.
Next morning and day, same as usual. That night, I went out to a club to do some dancing, see some friends. This would be the biggest challenge. I’ve never not had a drink here. The bartender knows me, knows my drink. What would happen? Would I crumble? Hmph. You must not know me. I didn’t crumble, but something more disturbing did happen: I got bored. I waited around for a song I liked, chatted to a few people, but more or less stood around, waiting. Having a beer in hand at least gives you something to do. I contemplated taking up smoking, then rejected the thought out of principle. Why substitute one drug for another? Like the man said, “I drink to make other people more interesting.” I’m running out of books.
Next day, I was confronted by some friends. They had decided to stage a “reverse intervention.” I wasn’t an alcoholic, they said, and I shouldn’t go around pretending I was. It makes it worse for those who actually are, parading around like I have a problem, and dealing with it without trouble. “Just think,” they said, “of all those people in the early ’90s who decided they were bisexual just to feel important, part of a minority? Same thing.” Then they stood in a circle, and offered me a bottle of Pete’s Wicked Winter Brew. I took it, and drank, sheepishly. The taste of the heavenly brew cascaded down my throat, and all was right with the world. My friends smiled. I was off the wagon, again.
Do you have a problem? Tell me about it. Do you have a solution? Tell me about it. Do you have a tale to tell about sobriety? Tell me about it. Do you have a fetish for porcupines? Tell me about it. I think you get the idea. I’ll print what you write.
