Alcohol Is The Truth Serum – Social Matter

Round, round with the glass, boys, as fast as you can, Since he who don’t drink cannot be a true man. For if truth is in wine, then ’tis all but a whim To think a man’s true when the wine’s not in him. Drink, drink, then, and hold it a maxim divine That there’s […]

Source: Alcohol Is The Truth Serum – Social Matter

More prompts from AntiDem. And here we go:

Dear Wanna-Be,

Fail. Sorry, it just is. I picked you up Sunday morning outside Bar Code stinking of your own puke. Your debit card was no good and you had no cash for the cab fare. Your clothes are at the cleaners. They will be done next week. I remember you. Your robot won the regional robot wars competition. I saw your post about pledging to KHK. I was your cabbie at the airport in 2008 dropping you at the Omni for your onboarding with Dominion Power.

millenial nerdI dropped you at the Healing Place because it was Sunday morning, Central Intake wouldn’t open for another few hours, and as I listened to you I heard the fallout of that meteoric rise. From the Omni Hotel to the Healing Place in six years. That was faster than I thought.

Why did you keep repeating, “we have to get rid of the girls” on the way to rehab? Girls are cool. They are more than cook, wet hole, maid and child-care worker. They make us more than we could be by ourselves.

Wow! I just read your post about alcohol being a better truth serum. Is that why your Monday will start with a case-worker for the homeless at the Healing Place? Makes me glad I opted out of the upper-middle class, Ivy League, white collar union life my Dad hoped I’d be down for.

You thought nirvana could be found on rural land gone fallow long enough for the trees to regrow. The plan was to live on the land, declare it sovereign, make moonshine and kick out the girls. That way there would be nothing the cops could do to you and you wouldn’t have to hassle with normal annoyances like dishes and diapers. It’s be ok to rough-house with your friends, blast Elysian 247 and stay drunk.

I and my downtrodden friends know this story arc too well. Everything is going your way, you are the cool nerd getting all the accolades. Then the façade begins to crack and the years of debauchery take their toll. You are not the object of devotion you once were. There are longer recoveries from the hangovers. Maybe some arrests for misdemeanors common among low-rent addicts. The negative consequences escalate. There is rehab, jail, hospital, rinse, repeat.

It goes both ways. Sometimes the end of the story is a funeral in which everyone mourns the fact that all the furtive efforts to stay in recovery fell short. That happens more often than the happier ending where it gets bad enough that this time you stay in recovery and there are an ever increasing number of sober sunrises. Nobody likes the third outcome, where it just sort of simmers along, never quite taking a direction, and some decades pass accumulating a middlin story of regrets until the funeral comes and the eulogies are conflicted over whether there was blessing and joy or it was all an unrelenting dirge of hard times and trouble.

I have news for you. There are no secular utopian communities older than a few decades of any size. Most of them can’t expand above 150 people without some sort of splintering. Ones like yours, based on juvenile ideas about what a real man is, are destined to fail, have failed. That you are in my cab puke drunk and penniless should be a bellwether worth paying attention to.

Too, addicts make terrible community organizers. The needs of the addiction trump everything. For all your ideals, that you drink means you first choose moonshine and then worry about things like shelter and food. Alcohol is a truth serum in one sense. Whatever hot mess got you started drinking escalates into increasing negative consequences, the last of which is death.

No, that I didn’t take you to Barton Avenue and the Wingnut isn’t a crime. Mo moved out of the Wingnut a couple years ago. She’s been sober since before she moved. Your fantasy of amenable debauchery at the Wingnut is an impossible faff. You should thank me that I didn’t take you there or the cop shop. I’m supposed to call the cops on you, burn a third of my shift with them trying to hold you accountable. I’ve had ones like you in my cab numerous times. You may have created a debt for $40.00 or so because you couldn’t pay. I can eat that and be ok. It’s when it becomes about the cops and arresting you that the debt escalates into hundreds of dollars and we are both trapped in an impossible conflict. It’s why I took you to the Healing Place.

So, your idea of utopia is a fort where you can be drunk with your buddies and horseplay with them? Right. You are a drunk. I shouldn’t expect you to be clear. I’m talking to a host to a symbiont called liquor that has you trapped. Out of your mouth come the words of the alcohol and you. You won’t even remember your brilliant scheme to buy some land, invite your buddies, build a moonshine still, and ban the women and the cops.

Foolishness. But, whatever. You are drunk so I shouldn’t be surprised. You are young, so the weight of your idiocy hasn’t hit hard enough yet. This is your future: your girlfriend will leave you, your inability to hold down a job will mean you teeter on the edge of homelessness, the demands of the bottle will push aside all other concerns of your life. You might even adopt the uniform of the millennial gypsie: light brown corduroy’s, a military tan t-shirt, Doc Martins, a Vietnam era camo jacket, dreadlocks, a beard, a dog and a tin cup to beg with. Having adopted the uniform you will live the dream with a sign begging for cash and living outside. You might even say you are living a more authentic life than us rubes who work a day job and pay our bills on time. Do you. Do it. One day, it’ll hurt bad enough that you’ll have to choose your light brown life or come in from the rain.

I’ll tell you what a real man is. He holds his own. He maintains himself well. He serves others as a matter of habit. He examines his life and himself constantly and where he has aspects of himself which impede him, these must die. He is not overly captured by the temptations of this world. He is humble, hard working, kind, loving and strong. He is good to the women. None of what makes him a real man requires buddies to drink with or land or docile women or amenable rules. A real father lives for his kids and his wife. He ensures that they thrive even if such assurance requires him to sacrifice treasured possessions or habits. You are a boy insecure believing a fantasy you learned from television and movies. Grow up.


Women Badly Behaved

First Posted 30-Jul-2015

The knowledge that MGTOW is a thing bugs me. Men Going Their Own Way because they’ve decided that the bullshit way outpaces the affection in all cases and therefore, the affection isn’t worth it–it can’t be that *all* women are like this. There are good women, good marriages, good relationships. There are bad ones, and I guess the men who claim the acronym MGTOW reflect that. But just like you can’t predict future success from the past, you likewise can’t predict future failure based on the past. Every relationship is both similar and different.

pretty-50-somethingEach time there is the chance that this time, it will succeed. Before I go further I have some words for women who have engendered a reaction in men such that they’d rather just go their own way. Girls, if you are pissing off men and breaking up with them, you might want to pause and do an inventory. Maybe it isn’t him. Maybe it is you. That’s one thing. 2. At my age, because of medical problems and changes to my body, you, hotness, are not the stimulus you once were. Where once a pretty woman made me nervous and had me wanting to jump her bones right there, right then, now I wonder what she’s like the other 23.5 hours of the day. I start calculating what she offers against what I have to do to get it. Women offer:

  • Domestic goddess–she’ll clean, cook, do laundry, maybe mow the lawn, & garden, maybe.
  • Chef–she’ll cook all the meals and do the dishes after
  • Child Care–she’ll take care of the kids for the 10 hours a day when a guy is at work.
  • Companionship–she’ll enjoy what you enjoy, including the umpteenth binge watch of Breaking Bad and another marathon of World of Warcraft on your tired old 1st Gen XBox.
  • Sex–she’ll make love to you when you want.

Or, that’s what we men hope for. Too many women fall short of the mark. And I’ve changed. Those five bullet points are not things I hunger for so much anymore. Of them:

  • Domestic goddess–My house is clean. I keep it that way. The one friend who offered to clean it (in a skimpy French Maid costume even), waved a feather duster about in the air while she stood in the middle of the living room holding a Bud Light in the other hand and after a few seconds of furious waving, pronounced the job done and asked for another beer. She hasn’t been back.
  • Chef–It’s been a while since I’ve met a woman that can cook. I’ve worked as a dishwasher and line cook at points in my career. I’ve been trained by a CIA chef to do saute and prep. I can cook. I don’t need a cook.
  • Child Care–my son is 19. He’s beyond child care. When he gets lonely for home he goes to his Mom’s house.
  • Companionship–this, this can only be had by hanging out with other folk. But I’m finding it easier to hang out with the guys than put up with the baggage some women seem to drag to a date. Girls, leave the agenda at home. There is time for that, later.
  • Sex–I’m of a flavor of Christianity that believes in either fidelity in marriage or chastity in singleness. This means, until she and I have married, we are not having sex. I am divorced, with a son, so I am not a virgin. The mystery of married sex and fatherhood isn’t a mystery to me. And I’m not in the flower of my youth. My libido needs a fair bit of encouragement to wake up. Even then, it’s underwhelming. So, sex presents challenges that can cause me to go watch another episode of Mythbusters instead.

I’m sure there is a woman’s take on the above. If I get comments from women worth posting, I’ll do that. I’d love to hear from women on this.

Next, we change. The things that excite us at 50+ are somewhat different than when we were 20-something. I’ll find a woman who is into me and wants to be around for the next 50 years. She’s out there. She’s a reason not to be a man who goes his own way. There are enough good people, good women and men, that the cynical & grumpy who have decided to go home from the sandbox with their toys and sulk, can just do that.

Love disrupts. I said that in a previous post. We can’t fall in love and remain the same. When we do there is strife of our own making. I’ve also said elsewhere that I believe God’s plan in giving us Eve only somewhat aligns with ours. He asks us to love him more dearly, love neighbors and enemies, to treat others as we wish to be treated. Women are gifted with this commission from God, to help us do what he asks of us. So, yeah, we might want a maid, a lover, a cook, someone to listen to the same damn story about that WoW battle we won in college again but along with that, she has a mission from God to fulfill–to help us men do that love thing better.

That is the hope. That’s the thing we can’t get just nursing our annoyances with the ball & chain who bitched at us again for leaving a dirty sponge on the stove as the last thing while cleaning it. Women are here to help us love God more dearly. The way they do it might not be entirely the way we wish they would. But . . . God didn’t ask us what we wish. He decided that we needed help and thus gave us Eve. Instead of sulking and deciding to ignore God, ignore women, maybe we should stop being pussies and cowboy up to what God wants of us through women.