In my last post, I started telling you about a situation that I observed on saturday night. The father of two beautiful children was at the party that I attended. He lost his wife, the mother of the children, about two years ago. Since then, the deceased wife's sister (and her husband, a close friend to my fiancé) take care of the kids a majority of the time. The father of the children does buy them coats, clothes, toys, and more, but that's not what I am concerned with. What I'm concerned with is his inability to spend time with them in a meaningful way. When his son, all of three or four feet tall (I think, but about up to by waist I think, and I'm damn tall) asked him to play, he said he "wasn't getting down on the floor" to play that game. Fine, but why not? It was tic-tac-toe, a simple game if there was one, because by its nature, it requires minimal effort.
Sunday, October 31, 2010
Successful Partying and Kids
Writing with a quick update. Sorry, self, I've been out of touch a bit lately, preferring long silence with a book about Warren Buffett's rise.
Today I traveled to New Jersey for a bit of a Halloween party. I was a pirate. Not the happiest pirate, though, because the costume, purchased after work on Friday and before a different event, which I can write up tomorrow, was pure plastic, i.e. polyester, which means that it was terribly hot. It didn't help that it was cold outside but likewise hot in the New Jersey Path train tunnels and stations, or that it was mostly hot at the event location itself.
Anyway I thought that we were going to spend the night at the party, but we're back, after a little bit of a mix up on the roads home (we got a lift).
So, I was sober. There were a lot of kids there, all between the ages of like 3-5 mostly (old enough to run around in a giant pack), and the hosts were fine, just fine. I'll write about something now that will be specific and revelatory and doing so, even thinking of doing so, makes me feel guilty. But there is a point to it.
Today I traveled to New Jersey for a bit of a Halloween party. I was a pirate. Not the happiest pirate, though, because the costume, purchased after work on Friday and before a different event, which I can write up tomorrow, was pure plastic, i.e. polyester, which means that it was terribly hot. It didn't help that it was cold outside but likewise hot in the New Jersey Path train tunnels and stations, or that it was mostly hot at the event location itself.
Anyway I thought that we were going to spend the night at the party, but we're back, after a little bit of a mix up on the roads home (we got a lift).
So, I was sober. There were a lot of kids there, all between the ages of like 3-5 mostly (old enough to run around in a giant pack), and the hosts were fine, just fine. I'll write about something now that will be specific and revelatory and doing so, even thinking of doing so, makes me feel guilty. But there is a point to it.
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Making Making Whiskey Fashionable
There's been a few write ups about good ole decent everyday type folks starting microbrewery type whiskey manufacturing in Brooklyn recently. And here. Which makes me jealous, which is:
"... is an emotion and typically refers to the negative thoughts and feelings of insecurity, fear, and anxiety over an anticipated loss of something that the person values, such as a relationship, friendship, or love."
(to the extent that wikipedia is accurate, which, because the emotion is so widely felt and wiki so open to editing by nature, can't be too far from the truth)
The question remains why I might feel insecurity or fear or anxiety or anticipated loss in regard to whiskey production, and the answer is simply that: I wish I could partake.
I know, I know, when I started I said I wouldn't fill this blog up with the pangs of a drinker longing for a drink. I think a jealously might come in pangs, so I shouldn't fill anything up (definitely not a barrel) with jealously. Btw, if you're interested in a barrel, just click on the link.
So for now i'll tell you that I don't want a drink, but do think the process of making whiskey is interesting and something I might want to look into.
"... is an emotion and typically refers to the negative thoughts and feelings of insecurity, fear, and anxiety over an anticipated loss of something that the person values, such as a relationship, friendship, or love."
(to the extent that wikipedia is accurate, which, because the emotion is so widely felt and wiki so open to editing by nature, can't be too far from the truth)
The question remains why I might feel insecurity or fear or anxiety or anticipated loss in regard to whiskey production, and the answer is simply that: I wish I could partake.
So for now i'll tell you that I don't want a drink, but do think the process of making whiskey is interesting and something I might want to look into.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Going to A Bar Sober
Okay okay, so last night I went to a bar after dinner with a friend. Since I've been sober for over four months I'm feeling pretty good about things, and have made some successful attempts toward socializing while not drinking. I played some great ping pong the other night. I went out to see a movie. I know, these seem relatively minor generally, and they are, but just being with other people in a social setting when drinking is typically involved and I'm not drinking, is good = makes inherent sense. The more of a track record I can build up not drinking but hanging out where people might drink, the better.
And so last night I went to a bar. It was the first really loud noisy and hugely stinky bar I went to since becoming sober this time. And it was immediately familiar in a way. But I was decidedly removed from the situation, which meant that all I could stammer out to a friend was "gosh, it's really loud in here, isn't it"--long pause, looking around, me looking at the ceiling, noticing the patrons and their varying states of drunkeness, the way that they were harsh then soft within their own conversations, and the generally brittle timbre of the music (thin and heavily tinged toward highs and lows)--"it is really really loud in here, is't it?""" And then nothing. Because there was nothing more. I left. I just decided to leave and go home. And as I walked, the music faded out behind me, and I saw that some people were headed over to the bar, and excited for the place, for the scene, for the chance to mingle.
I distinctly remember arriving at bars ensconced in ambiguity and general inwardness only to drink, then drink again, until, over an hour or two, I would find into the land of extroversion and humor and a generally good state. A drunk state too. And over the course of the night, the experience took on a different vibe. The dimness of the lighting wasn't just hiding the run down nature of the place, but making it into something else, something new. And the the churning ice cream factory that produced excursions of motley conversations, and the extremes of behavior and the general need to keep pushing toward some infinite horizon that wasn't actually there at all, until utter exhaustion couldn't even get a foothold into the stubborn lock down that was my mind. These same bars would become little nooks of activity and home life, teaming with potential. And they would do so over and over, for me, if I let them. Every night they could hold the same promise: to remove me from my own world, to make me think that my world existed in their walls. To allow me to continue the fantasy that other aspects were swimming along. In short, to equalize me with other bar denizens, friends, whom I could then manufacture into points of measure, to benchmark where I was and how I stood, whether it was slumped or straight.
And these days changing means being quieter, not more noisy. So the bar looked sterile in a peculiar way. Sterile and full of people. Objective and obvious and not inviting. So I left.
And so last night I went to a bar. It was the first really loud noisy and hugely stinky bar I went to since becoming sober this time. And it was immediately familiar in a way. But I was decidedly removed from the situation, which meant that all I could stammer out to a friend was "gosh, it's really loud in here, isn't it"--long pause, looking around, me looking at the ceiling, noticing the patrons and their varying states of drunkeness, the way that they were harsh then soft within their own conversations, and the generally brittle timbre of the music (thin and heavily tinged toward highs and lows)--"it is really really loud in here, is't it?""" And then nothing. Because there was nothing more. I left. I just decided to leave and go home. And as I walked, the music faded out behind me, and I saw that some people were headed over to the bar, and excited for the place, for the scene, for the chance to mingle.
I distinctly remember arriving at bars ensconced in ambiguity and general inwardness only to drink, then drink again, until, over an hour or two, I would find into the land of extroversion and humor and a generally good state. A drunk state too. And over the course of the night, the experience took on a different vibe. The dimness of the lighting wasn't just hiding the run down nature of the place, but making it into something else, something new. And the the churning ice cream factory that produced excursions of motley conversations, and the extremes of behavior and the general need to keep pushing toward some infinite horizon that wasn't actually there at all, until utter exhaustion couldn't even get a foothold into the stubborn lock down that was my mind. These same bars would become little nooks of activity and home life, teaming with potential. And they would do so over and over, for me, if I let them. Every night they could hold the same promise: to remove me from my own world, to make me think that my world existed in their walls. To allow me to continue the fantasy that other aspects were swimming along. In short, to equalize me with other bar denizens, friends, whom I could then manufacture into points of measure, to benchmark where I was and how I stood, whether it was slumped or straight.
And these days changing means being quieter, not more noisy. So the bar looked sterile in a peculiar way. Sterile and full of people. Objective and obvious and not inviting. So I left.
Successful Time Conceptualization
The ability to comprehend and communicate condensed time in a way that is not wholly statistically driven, and one that can bend/flex to a listener's point of view, will aid in the ability to achieve success, whether based on status, influence and/or general attention received.
As I write that, I think that I'm probably wrong, but I'll try to explain myself first.
The ability is general and abstract to start: How what you say and communicate and think condenses the world around you. To take what is abstract--lived experience--and distill it down in a way that still maintains a semblance of the truth in the original whole.
The reason I'm wrong, of course, is that lived experience varies, that there's more than just one level of distillation. The second reason I'm wrong is because distillation of lived experience doesn't matter if the receiver of that output doesn't do anything with it, or doesn't care.
As I write that, I think that I'm probably wrong, but I'll try to explain myself first.
The ability is general and abstract to start: How what you say and communicate and think condenses the world around you. To take what is abstract--lived experience--and distill it down in a way that still maintains a semblance of the truth in the original whole.
The reason I'm wrong, of course, is that lived experience varies, that there's more than just one level of distillation. The second reason I'm wrong is because distillation of lived experience doesn't matter if the receiver of that output doesn't do anything with it, or doesn't care.
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Tip For Sobriety 10
Sit in the moment and don't rush to do unimportant things.
Extinguish procrastination by slowing down.
Extinguish procrastination by slowing down.
Saying What You Mean
See, there's a bit of tension about blogging. I'm almost convinced that you can't write without thinking about audience. The goal, if you'll indulge me by assuming that the previous statement is correct, then, is to write with an audience in mind, but not because of them, not for them. They shouldn't dictate how you feel, for instance, just how clearly you might spell out what it is you want to say.
(And while it may be appropriate to dictate in parenthesis basic physical reality, like the warm but almost sour tea that you have, or the way the light comes down almost liquid like to cast itself heavily on your eyes, or the more mundane things, like the ebb and flow, the sound of traffic outside, and although it is the essence of how you process reality that is fundamentally interesting, it is not okay to expose reality quite objectively, or to let such an exposition become longer than your main text, on average).
But if you like audience, that is, if you like people reading what you write, then you naturally want to attract them to read more, to linger, and all of the other implied connections that are embedded in this attraction, which is basically an attraction to you, the writer, and who, by the way, doesn't want affirmative type attention? See, though, the tension exists because there's something about the act of writing itself that is highly and personally rewarding. It may only be that you, like I have, begin to find a voice, even one you knew that you had, and even one that isn't terribly strong. It doesn't have to be strong. It also doesn't have to be hugely provokative. I'm spelling with a K there because it makes more sense, and because I'm learning Polish, which inherently makes much more sense than English (at least, according to how you might spell things, as in you pronounce everything, all the damn time).
There's something inherently rewarding in writing itself, even when the writing is fully descriptive. I think part of the reason for that is because it aligns thought patterns by slowing them down. No matter how fast I write, my writing is always slower than my thoughts. And that actually allows me to think faster than I would normally think, by which I mean process something. So writing is useful on its own for processing. That's what I'm doing here. That's the project, if you will, at least for now. At times I felt internal pressure to always say something alcohol-related. After all, this is about sobriety. The funny thing about sobriety, as compared to drunkenness, though, is that it is fundamentally more complicated (the world that you experience is anyway): more subtle and delicate and creative and full of many more topics than you're used to, or have the ability to fully develop and explore, unfortunately (and fortunately). Anyway, that's my pitch for sobriety today. I'll further craft this pitch and try to deliver succinct points in the future, but I may not be successful. I'll meander, and go back on my own words. But I won't be violent or manipulative or aggressive or mean spirited for no good reason. I won't hit or punch or bite, and I won't be reckless in any way that has consequence. For what it's worth.
(And while it may be appropriate to dictate in parenthesis basic physical reality, like the warm but almost sour tea that you have, or the way the light comes down almost liquid like to cast itself heavily on your eyes, or the more mundane things, like the ebb and flow, the sound of traffic outside, and although it is the essence of how you process reality that is fundamentally interesting, it is not okay to expose reality quite objectively, or to let such an exposition become longer than your main text, on average).
But if you like audience, that is, if you like people reading what you write, then you naturally want to attract them to read more, to linger, and all of the other implied connections that are embedded in this attraction, which is basically an attraction to you, the writer, and who, by the way, doesn't want affirmative type attention? See, though, the tension exists because there's something about the act of writing itself that is highly and personally rewarding. It may only be that you, like I have, begin to find a voice, even one you knew that you had, and even one that isn't terribly strong. It doesn't have to be strong. It also doesn't have to be hugely provokative. I'm spelling with a K there because it makes more sense, and because I'm learning Polish, which inherently makes much more sense than English (at least, according to how you might spell things, as in you pronounce everything, all the damn time).
There's something inherently rewarding in writing itself, even when the writing is fully descriptive. I think part of the reason for that is because it aligns thought patterns by slowing them down. No matter how fast I write, my writing is always slower than my thoughts. And that actually allows me to think faster than I would normally think, by which I mean process something. So writing is useful on its own for processing. That's what I'm doing here. That's the project, if you will, at least for now. At times I felt internal pressure to always say something alcohol-related. After all, this is about sobriety. The funny thing about sobriety, as compared to drunkenness, though, is that it is fundamentally more complicated (the world that you experience is anyway): more subtle and delicate and creative and full of many more topics than you're used to, or have the ability to fully develop and explore, unfortunately (and fortunately). Anyway, that's my pitch for sobriety today. I'll further craft this pitch and try to deliver succinct points in the future, but I may not be successful. I'll meander, and go back on my own words. But I won't be violent or manipulative or aggressive or mean spirited for no good reason. I won't hit or punch or bite, and I won't be reckless in any way that has consequence. For what it's worth.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Television
Television is a big part of the American experience. And shit, there's almost nothing on there at all, either, which itself may or may not reflect the fact that there's nothing really going on in the American experience itself, whatever I mean by it, or that I'm too bored to care (doubly, to care about defining my terms, it seems), or demand too much entertainment value to consume, whatever words might be best aligned to the truth of the matter. It remains true, though, that I end up talking to the damn television. Particularly regarding commercials for mood-based/mood-altering prescription drugs.
The marketing for prescription drugs that alleviate problem moods consistently perturb me, not because they are so highly contradictory, reading a list of problematic potential symptoms (risk of suicidal thoughts--discontinue use if you find yourself having purposefully expunged your own life) at the same time that they show images of happy active people swinging on swings and smiling extra bright smiles (may increase chance of incontinence), but because they're so insanely out of proportion (if you consider mutilating small rodents when taking this drug, this may represent a rare but serious disorder that can best be alleviated by allowing that rushing feeling of flatulence to spread itself out in a warm pancake around your chair)--as if you become a more active happiness seeker and sprout a family and friends and a beach house when you take them. Showing someone alone watching television and enjoying it more than they would have otherwise enjoyed it wouldn't be the best marketing tactic (because enjoyment of television isn't something that manifests itself in a highly physical way), but it might be more in line with what's really going to happen. More successful television, vision. Have a look at this:
The marketing for prescription drugs that alleviate problem moods consistently perturb me, not because they are so highly contradictory, reading a list of problematic potential symptoms (risk of suicidal thoughts--discontinue use if you find yourself having purposefully expunged your own life) at the same time that they show images of happy active people swinging on swings and smiling extra bright smiles (may increase chance of incontinence), but because they're so insanely out of proportion (if you consider mutilating small rodents when taking this drug, this may represent a rare but serious disorder that can best be alleviated by allowing that rushing feeling of flatulence to spread itself out in a warm pancake around your chair)--as if you become a more active happiness seeker and sprout a family and friends and a beach house when you take them. Showing someone alone watching television and enjoying it more than they would have otherwise enjoyed it wouldn't be the best marketing tactic (because enjoyment of television isn't something that manifests itself in a highly physical way), but it might be more in line with what's really going to happen. More successful television, vision. Have a look at this:
Artificial Drama Not Needed
It isn't odd that we all want the same kinds of emotional items: fulfillment, a sense of self, the ability to love and be loved, and the capacity to be productive and benefit from productivity.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
How do you know if you drink too much?
After all, maybe you just went to a wedding on Sunday night, and that's why you're head is hurting on Monday morning, and, then, again, why you had a drink Monday night. Not six or seven drinks, mind you, just two or three, and just to take the edge off, the brittle edge, sure, but just to drop it out, and no, you didn't even drink on Tuesday, and don't plan to Wednesday, but Thursday through Sunday you'll drink again, in excess, you know, but that's who you are right now, and you don't have any negative associated emotional issues, nothing derogatory toward yourself, the you, about your relationship with alcohol, nor toward the people you're with when you imbibe. And so the entire process is really one of neutrality for you, even though, sure, on average, you drink more nights a week than you don't drink and you spend hundreds of dollars a week drinking, though a large chunk of it is on food too, so that's okay. Really. And your liver is functioning, and there's nothing abnormal there, enzymes all chugging like they should.
But if I drank like you'd I'd consider myself a drunk. Then again, I consider myself a drunk anyway. Still, I'm amazed at the ease with which you order your Sunday morning bloody Marys and the way they turn into three or four strong lagers. I'm amazed at how cavalier you are with all of this, and jealous too, I'm jealous. Because I'm not you. I don't have your attitude, or your nonchalance, and it may be the only thing that separates what our futures could be even when drinking the same amount of booze consistently.
Or, maybe I want to believe that you'll increasingly get worse in your management, and that you are physically impacted by all of this debauchery. Maybe you'll end of addicted and lonely and anxious and depressed and dead.
Maybe, in other words, it is all about how we think about alcohol, and not our actual practice of consumption, that indicates whether we have a problem with it.
Or have I got it precisely backwards?
But if I drank like you'd I'd consider myself a drunk. Then again, I consider myself a drunk anyway. Still, I'm amazed at the ease with which you order your Sunday morning bloody Marys and the way they turn into three or four strong lagers. I'm amazed at how cavalier you are with all of this, and jealous too, I'm jealous. Because I'm not you. I don't have your attitude, or your nonchalance, and it may be the only thing that separates what our futures could be even when drinking the same amount of booze consistently.
Or, maybe I want to believe that you'll increasingly get worse in your management, and that you are physically impacted by all of this debauchery. Maybe you'll end of addicted and lonely and anxious and depressed and dead.
Maybe, in other words, it is all about how we think about alcohol, and not our actual practice of consumption, that indicates whether we have a problem with it.
Or have I got it precisely backwards?
Invisibility and Recognition
We just want to blend in, be normal, find a place that fits, etc., and we, simultaneously, want to be recognized, respected, and seen, damnit--we want to be heard and felt and impact stuff. At least the stuff that comes back to impact us. And we just don't want to stand out, be excluded, stigmatized, or plagued by the unmeaning of life.
So we drink. And then we drink again. And get in trouble.
So we drink. And then we drink again. And get in trouble.
Sobriety and God, and Step 3
Because, those damn 12 steps really do seem to emphasize God, too! And Step 3 specifically says that we have to turn our care to God, and then adds (I'm sure this was added): as we understood him. Well, what if he's only been an opaque and diaphanous straw man that stands for the sake of my own moral compass pointing generally due north? What if I have justified actions that don't deserve justification in my belief in God?
The point here is that we/I/you must make a primary decision to stop drinking, and then deal with the repercussions, even when we're not prepared to deal with them [right now] on our own. It isn't easy.
The point here is that we/I/you must make a primary decision to stop drinking, and then deal with the repercussions, even when we're not prepared to deal with them [right now] on our own. It isn't easy.
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