The Razor

A friend of the Wife died on Friday. He was a young doctor with a sharp mind, handsome and athletic, married to another doctor with a child on the way. During his residency he had become hooked on drugs but over the past year had gotten clean with the help of his wife and his boss. On Friday he appeared to be sick but nothing out of the ordinary. His wife went to work and when she came home nine hours later she found him dead in their home.

Had he relapsed? Tests will determine that. In all likelihood what killed him can be traced back to his addiction whether he had relapsed or not. Perhaps it was a blood vessel in his brain that had thinned prematurely over the course of his drug-taking; or perhaps his immune system had been so weakened from addiction that he wasn’t able to fight off an infection.

I met him a couple of times over the years. I didn’t know him well, but his death has saddened me regardless. All of the effort  put into raising him, the hard work of high school, college and medical school. The investment he had put into himself as well as the investments of his family and most especially by his wife. All wasted.

Some deaths are merciful; others justifiable, but his death? A complete and utter waste.

As of today I haz it!

more animals

Dean has given my post thumbs up for his best of archive, which I appreciate. Unfortunately I’ve had way too much experience with the sauce over my 4 decades, and at this point in my life I hate to admit that I really can’t say much about it. You want wisdom go to an AA/NA meeting and talk to someone with more sobriety under their belt than my 2,324 days.

Ann Woolrich makes a case against the legalization of prostitution. As someone with serious libertarian leanings I have to admit that her argument is a compelling one.

Long ago, I mean really long ago I knew a few people who worked as escorts and at adult clubs. In every case each had been the victim of sexual abuse as a child. Each member also had drug and alcohol problems that accelerated after taking the jobs. While each had various other mental problems before they started, depression and low self-worth being the most common, things dramatically worsened after their first few weeks.

 The changes were startling. I can only describe it from an outsider’s perspective as a complete loss of humanity. Everything and everyone became viewed as commodities. I stopped being a “friend” and became a taxi for when they needed a ride or someone to arrange bail on the outside. Parents became moneylenders, as did friends and family. Drug dealers became best friends.

I witnessed these changes over a very short time – less than a year – but the decisions made during that time by those I knew were irrevocable. I saw enough and realized that I was being sucked into a vortex made worse by my own demons. So I made a phone call in the middle of the night to my mother. After she took my call she leapt into the car and drove 350 miles to pull me to safety. It wasn’t the first time she saved my butt, and it wouldn’t be the last, but it left me forever grateful – and deeply suspicious of arguments for legalizing the sex trade.

I saw firsthand the damage that the “victimless crime” does, and I can assure you that based on what I saw, the crime is far from victimless. Yes the “johns”, the pimps, the adult club owners are not victims – unless you believe that living without a soul makes one a victim because honestly those people do not have one. But the sex workers are victims even though they in most cases choose their path.

I don’t subscribe to the politics of victimization, and I’m a keen believer in personal responsibility. But that does not mean I can live my life without compassion, which is what these people need at the very least.

And former governor Spitzer, father of three daughters, I hope does the honorable thing – and I mean that in the Japanese sense of the term.

7 years baby…
Woohoo!

Woohoo Hattip: Grouchy Media

I’m a diehard Redbirds fan, and I am also a recovering alcoholic.

Pitcher Josh Hancock crashed into a tow truck in St. Louis with twice the legal BAC. Luckily he didn’t hurt anyone else.

A few weeks prior to that, manager Tony LaRussa got nailed for DUI during spring training.

90% of alcoholics relapse at least once in a 4 year perioed. One in 12 adults abuse alcohol or are alcohol dependent. So far I’ve beaten the odds 6 1/2 years into my sobriety.

I recognize that baseball is a game. I don’t expect it to be populated by saints. I personally prefer that my kid look up to my stepson in the Marines than some overpaid, pampered sports star – so I’m not going to trot out that line about “what does it show to the kids?” Frankly, it doesn’t matter.

However Josh Hancock wore the Redbirds uniform, as does Tony LaRussa. That uniform has only been worn by a select group of men who have earned it. Some of those men, like Stan Musial and Red Schoendienst, have become legends on and off the field. Others, great men as well, have drunk themselves into the gutter after having worn it.

Tony wears that uniform, and even though I’m a big fan of him as a manager, I’ll call for his head if he keeps disrespecting that uniform by allowing his players to ruin their lives while they are wearing it. The same goes for him.

The Baseball Hall of Fame is a veritable rogues gallery, and that’s part of the appeal of the sport. However what happened with Hancock could have been an even worse tragedy, one that could have damaged the Cardinals team beyond repair had he gotten drunk or stoned and killed somebody.

So I’m calling you out, Tony LaRussa. You get your kiester in rehab fast, and get your players into treatment before something awful happens to my beloved Redbirds.

Here’s to me…

I am neutral in the Culture Wars. I view this war as a surrogate for real war – namely the war against Islamic Fascism. However I recognize that when people are bored with reality, they will satisfy their boredom by turning to the Surreality provided by Hollywood and the stars that pepper its universe.

Paris Hilton is one of those stars. I doubt I have ever written about her for the same reason I don’t write about rich kids who are famous for being beautiful and cutting their own porn. However Paris crossed into familiar territory with her misdemeanor arrest for DUI last night in Hollywood.

Several points should be mentioned:
1. DUI is a misdemeanor in Hollywood?
2. Her PR firm leapt to her defense:

“She’s absolutely fine,” Mintz said. “She didn’t appear in the least bit to be intoxicated.”

That conflicts with the LAPD’s Officer Isabella: “Police stopped Hilton because she was “driving erraticly,” he said.”

Mintz also said:

At the time of her arrest, Hilton was driving home in her Mercedes-Benz SLR McLaren from a charity event where she had one drink, a margarita…

Let’s see how big that “single marguerita was:

Paris Hilton is 5’8” or 68 inches. At her height, according to the BMI index she would weigh 122 lbs if we considered her to be just at the beginning range of “normal” BMI - which is 18.5 at 122 lbs for someone her height.

According to this website, Paris would have had to consume 3 ounces of Tequila one hour before her arrest in order for her to have a BAC of .08.

Moving on to Wikipedia, we find that Margaritas are made with 4 different ratiosof ingredients:
2:1:1 = 6:3:3 (50% tequila, 25% Triple Sec, 25% fresh lime juice).
3:2:1 = 6:4:2 (50% tequila, 33% Triple Sec, 17% fresh lime juice).
3:1:1 = 6:2:2 (60% tequila, 20% Triple Sec, 20% fresh lime juice).
1:1:1 = 6:6:6 (33% tequila, 33% Triple Sec, 33% fresh lime juice).

Using the the first ratio, we find that the Margarita Paris drank was 6 oz – having 3 oz of tequila, 1.5 oz of Triple Sec and 1.5 oz of fresh lime juice.

This assumes that her PR flack is correct and that Ms. Hilton threw the drink back a few minutes before leaving an event and driving away.

However the accuracy of her flack is called into question by this statement:

The driving under the influence symptoms were “probably the result of an empty stomach and working all day and being fatigued,” Mintz said.

Um… No. The “driving under the influence symptoms” (there’s an odd term for drinking and driving: “symptoms”) can only be the result of knocking back a 6 oz Margarita then getting behind the wheel. One does not blow a .08 for being tired after making a music video. Granted, an empty stomach will speed the uptake of alcohol into her system, but beyond that it will not have any impact on her blood-alcohol level.

Finally, the law really doesn’t differentiate between lightweights like Paris Hilton who can knock back a single (albeit potent) drink and blow a .08 – and those of more hefty stature who might have to consume half a case of Chivas in order to catch a buzz (Tubby Reifenstahl anyone)? If you have a BAC of .08, you get arrested no matter how many drinks it took to get to that level. Unfortunately in California, a .08 nets a misdemeanor whereas in other states it can cost you a lot more.

This is my first post about Paris Hilton and drinking, but given the nature of alcoholism, I doubt it will be my last.

Mirrored at Dean’s World

This morning, the Mother-in-law had promised she would care for the Kid, and the Kid had looked forward to seeing his grandmother. This morning we got up and I called the MiL, but got her machine. While we dressed I called several more times, ditto.

Finally, I’m running late for work and the Kid is getting upset. We get into the car and drive over to the MiL. I call from her driveway, and we bang on her doors – but fail to wake her up.

Now, my alcoholic sister-in-law is staying with the MiL. The house isn’t that big, and we were making quite a ruckus at 8:30 in the morning – yet we failed to wake either one of them.

We had to opt for Plan B for the Kid, who was very disappointed that he wouldn’t be eating his grandma’s homemade pancakes for breakfast. I made it late to work, and finally got the mother-in-law up at 10am – extremely late for her.

I reminded her that she was supposed to spend time with her grandson today. “I’m not feelign well,” she said. “What’s wrong?” “You know, (sister-in-law).” The next thing she said was classic. “I know she’s not drinking.”

My g-d, how many times we had gone over this. All that time spent in ER rooms with BACs high enough to embalm most people. The police calls at midnight, the threats and cursing. Years of Alanon meetings in church basements. “I know she’s not drinking.”

Yet in classic codependent fashion, the Sister-in-law’s problem makes the mother-in-law physically sick. The first thing you learn in Alanon is that a drunk cuts himself and you bleed. Mother-in-law hasn’t learned this yet.

So, the Kid has to suffer today – and I am so mad I could spit fire. If there is one thing that really, really pisses me off is when a child is promised time and then loses it because an adult f***s up. I experienced that a lot growing up, which may explain why I’m now living 1200 miles away from those who made those promises.

I hold out little hope that the MiL will understand what she is doing. All I know is that I am angry with myself for allowing my son to be hurt this morning, allowing the poison of alcoholism and codependence to touch him ever so slightly.

It will not be a mistake I do again, and if that means completely cutting him off from his grandmother, then so be it.

The Sister-in-law is in the final stages of her alcoholic dependency. Link to recent Dean’s post here.

I just discovered this comment on the disease that’s worth remembering:

Alcoholics and addicts not yet in recovery behave as if they were fighting to preserve life itself. They act as if they are citizens in a malevolent society where operatives are using every technique including authoritarian force, manipulation and seduction to attack their existence. They valiantly resist all efforts to effect change. They may not like to lie, but they will if necessary. They use specialized psychological defenses including denial, minimization, rationalization, blaming, intimidation and proclaiming the right to make their own decisions in life. Like victims of oppression, they go underground in their attempts to protect their freedom. Their defenses become habitual and function smoothly even when cognitive faculties begin to fail. – Dr. Jeffrey Smith, Commentary Alcoholism and Free Will . Hattip: The Downward Spiral

The Sister-in-law is slipping into paranoia now, believing that the reason she can’t hold a job is because the Wife is calling her employers and telling them lies. At her penultimate job she was found passed out in the parking lot, and her last one she was let go after being sent off to rehab for a month (after being found unconscious in her apartment and throwing several gran mal seizures in an apparent attempt at detoxing herself.

For those who don’t understand this disease, it must be hard to fathom. I’ve been lucky in that I have seen life through the bottle and without it. Sometimes that’s just what it is: luck. I’ve been lucky to survive the insanity, and to find the… whatever you want to call it: higher power, god, Superego, Magic – that keeps me sane.

But the demon is in the recesses. I hear him breathing. Watching the destruction of my sister-in-law doesn’t fill me with feelings of superiority…

It scares the living hell out of me because I see myself dancing off the edge – while believing, truly deeply feeling that I could walk on the clouds.

The Sister-in-law got kicked out of a half-way house in Maryland. The head of the house said “She doesn’t give a fuck about anyone or anything but herself and drinking her Listerine.” Apparently she was threatening the other girls’ sobriety – which is a bit surprising to me since the Sister is jaundiced, has a bit of a pigeon-toed gate, stringy hair and speaks with erratic gestures and slurred words.

Yes, my sister-in-law’s “drug of choice” is alcohol in the form of mouthwash. Her liver is so shot now that it doesn’t take much to send her sailing and keep her there. A normal liver detoxes about an ounce of alcohol an hour: hers doesn’t work much, and so the stuff circulates in her bloodstream for days.

So of course, the Mother-in-law wrings her hands and waits for magic to happen – for someone to make a decision about what to do with this person. An AA member takes the Sister in – but her boyfriend doesn’t like that idea, so they’ve driven her up to the Mother-in-law’s house.

Sister convinced Mother to take her in: “I just want to apologize to you and (the Wife) and say my goodbyes.”

Hear the violins? Yeah, I do too. Too bad they don’t work on me. Mother-in-law is pissed at me because I refused to drive down to Maryland, pick up the Sister-in-law and drive her to another half-way house locally. Only later does she admit that you can’t just dump somebody off at a half-way house: she just wanted someone else to make a decision for her. I told Mother that all the sister had to do to get back in to her first half-way house was to admit that she was using.

After all, the counselor showed her the results of a positive BAC test done that very morning – and it read .4 (that’s coma time for non-drunks – normal for Sister-in-law). Sister-in-law denied she’s been drinking.

Mother-in-law is sick with codependency; a year and a half in church basements at AlAnon meetings have not gotten through to her at all.

It’s okay, I tell myself. There is plenty of room on my workbench behind the Buddha statue.

That’s where her husband’s ashes are for the moment. The Sister-in-law’s will go there too.

I write about it here at Dean’s World
For those of you who knew me before then, you’ll understand what an accomplishment this is.

Originally posted at Dean’s World

I first discovered Dean’s World through Instapundit linking to a cry for help from Rosemary over Dean’s drinking problem. Although the link piqued my curiosity, I am not one who normally tries to intervene in people’s affairs. My family has its own problems and I’m too busy trying to earn a living, being a decent parent and husband, and keeping the organization I founded, the ITPAA, going than to poke my nose where it really doesn’t belong. People are complex, and their problems are complex; to think that you can help without spending a lot of time getting to the root of the problems is a bit of self-conceit if you ask me.

But I know addiction. I know how good a cigarette tastes after a meal and how uncontrolled your thoughts become when you haven’t had one in a day or three. I know how wonderful a glass of Mondavi red smells, and also the smell of vomit and cold fear while searching my darkened memory, wondering how I made it home from a party. I kicked cigarettes cold turkey 9 1/2 years ago when I got tired of the Wife nagging me, and I kicked the booze 5 years later when she gave me the choice between keeping the bottle or my family. I chose my family, and it’s a decision I have never regretted but one that hasn’t been easy.

Dean isn’t a big fan of AA. He’s leveled some serious criticisms at the group which I understand and relate to. However AA isn’t one “group” or organization; it’s more of a collective of individuals having one thing in common: a desire to quit drinking. There is no central authority; no dictates from above that you must subscribe to. Instead what you have are a lot of people sitting in church basements. Some are desperate to stay sober; other’s aren’t. Some talk; others stay completely silent. Some groups are fun; others are boring, and still others are downright wastes of time. How do you know which is which? You don’t until you go.

How did I quit? It was a combination of the Wife, my own will or conscience, Zen Buddhism and a loud elderly man by the name of John B.

If you want compassion, don’t talk to John B. If you want to wallow in self-pity, then you really don’t want to call John B. Why? Because John will give you an earful, tell you to stop thinking about yourself. He’ll tell you that you choose to drink, and maybe it’s time to make a different choice. He’ll tell you to start by going to AA meetings to see what works for people. Then in the end, he says, if you think drinking works for you then by all means go for it.

John taught me drinking or giving in to any addiction is a choice and choice, as anyone living in our society where stores stock 150+ types of breakfast cereal knows can be a heavy burden to bear. When faced with a choice, people often take the easy way out to avoid it. For addicts that often means using, but addicts are not robots. Junkies have not lost free will. Drunks aren’t victims of the bottle. Drunks drink because they choose to drink; I don’t drink because I choose not to drink.

And there is power in that choice. There is strength in taking control of your life – and that’s what John B. was trying to show me and which Dean tried to show in this post. It’s about personal responsibility; I am not a victim of this disease because I choose not to be a victim. I like power too much, and beating addictions make you powerful.

While I was wondering what my higher power was I began reading Zen. The great thing about Zen is that it is a philosophy of action not thought. If you are thinking about Zen, then you really don’t get it. “Chop wood, carry water.” Focus 100% on your task to the exclusion of all else. There is no goal. There is no reason. There is no thought – just action.

For a recovering addict it is crucial to think about anything BUT yourself. Addiction is a selfish behavior. After all, a cigarette makes you feel good, not anyone else. Ditto a shot of vodka. Feeding that addiction makes one become even more selfish. Your drive to the liquor store costs you time with your children. Your “sanity (smoke) breaks” outside are borne by your employer or by your family (in cases where you are docked for the time). For some, that selfishness leads to the collapse of the personality into what I consider a psychological black-hole: the narcissist. These people are incapable of thinking about anyone other than themselves. Worse, like a black hole they will suck you into them and use your energy if you get too close to them. Harlan Ellison once described them as emotional vampires. That’s too nice a description since Anne Rice’s romantic vampires were set free to roam our imaginations at the term.

Addicts are collapsing personalities. Addiction deflates your spirit and makes it increasingly two dimensional. Quitting halts that process, and selflessness reverses it.

John B. said that it takes at least 2 years of sobriety to get your marbles back; I’ve gotten mine and am now doing everything in my power to keep them. For me that means helping others when I can, ignoring them when I can’t, and working hard at learning the difference.

If that sounds like the Serenity Prayer it should.

Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
the courage to change the things I can,
and the wisdom to know the difference.

That prayer sits at the heart of Alcoholics Anonymous and no matter how you feel about it, or whether it’s right for you, AA has taught me the beauty, power, and friggin’ frustration in achieving what that little 3 line prayer sets out. For that reason I owe AA, and while I don’t go to meetings much anymore, I’m glad they are around.

The ideas behind the 12 Steps are extremely complex and life changing yet they are stated simply, almost too simply. In fact I found an interpretation of the 12 Steps from a Buddhist perspective that may be easier for some who get caught up in the “God Language”. Here is the essence of the first three steps as I see it:

1. I’ve got an addiction and can’t fix it on my own.
2. There is help out there beyond me.
3. I choose to use this external help along with all my inner resources to control my addiction.

If anyone can do better, let me know. The bottom line is that they have helped me help myself – and that is what they are all about. God isn’t going to save me. He’s not going to send an angel stop me from going to a bar and tying one on – but my higher power is going to help me choose not to do such a stupid thing.

Wife’s father passed away this morning at the age of 80, his wife of 58 years and his daughters at his bedside. He took his last breath and simply didn’t take another. He died as he had lived – quietly and with dignity.

He was born in a hotel in New Orleans. World War 2 veteran who served with the US Navy Raiders in Burma. 26 years as an officer in the Navy. A research chemist who as a kid regularly blew things up in his parents garage.

He lived by the rules – and suffered accordingly – raising two sons and two daughters. He saw one of those sons slip away into madness, another die of diabetes complications. His last months were spent supporting his daughter recovering from alcoholism and divorce.

He was a quiet, gentle man who never complained. He was extremely rational, and taught me the importance and application of the scientific method in daily life.

The last conversation I had with him on Sunday was the only one I ever felt comfortable having with him. Our generations are too different – 80 and 40 – but his was by far the greater of the two.

He will be missed.

A month ago I wrote about a close family member’s struggle with alcoholism and divorce here. Here is an update.

One more month of sobriety, and the effects of not poisoning herself are beginning to show on my sister-in-law. Her mind has become sharper. She sounds like a completely different person on the phone and in person. She has also spent more time with the Wife in the past month than she has cumulatively over 25 years. Wife is playing the role of an AA sponsor by helping her become more independent, doing her steps, and facing reality. The reality she is facing isn’t pretty.

Earlier in the month, the charges of assault with a deadly glass of water – were dropped – lucky for the State of Delaware and the peace of mind of our ruling governor. Girly Man came to the court with a stack of papers prepared to make the state’s case, but the State wisely threw it out instead.

However the PFA still stands. Evidently this is how things work nowadays, according to a psychologist I know who counsels married couples. When a marriage is falling apart, one party will call the police and accuse the other of some kind of transgression in order to get a PFA. The PFA is granted without evidence or hearing, and the other party is completely barred from his/her own residence even when the accusing party isn’t there.

Consequently, my sister-in-law has been unable to enter her own house to get her own clothes. The only clothes she has are the ones purchased for her by her parents, or brought to her by her own children.

The PFA lasts for a year, and can be renewed. It can only be withdrawn through a formal petition to the court. According to the psychologist I spoke to, this is now the norm. People are abusing a law set up to protect victims of serious spousal abuse in order to pretty much remove the other party in a marriage from their lives. It’s a cheap and effective way of pretty much ruining your spouse’s life. This is divorce, after all.

Girly Man’s mistress has pretty much moved in to my sister-in-law’s house.

Throughout all of this, Sister-in-law remains sober. She doesn’t understand how powerful she is becoming by staying so and surviving this hellish reality.

Why do I care?

Because I like seeing good guys win. I like seeing bad guys lose. I want people to survive, triumph over adversity, and come back strong. In movies I never cheer for the villain; instead I cheer for his victim who survives and vanquishes him in the end. There is enough evil in the world, and contrary to what Taoists preach, there is no balance.

Usually Evil triumphs. Evil is the norm, Good the exception.

I have always been the underdog in fights, and in Life Good is the underdog. What is happening in my family is but one injustice in a world full of injustice. So I fight the injustices whenever I can, and cheer on those who do the same.

Sister-in-law is at war with herself, her addiction, her husband, and the State of Delaware. She deserves our support.