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.
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.