Tagged with drinking

Programmed to Drink Alcohol

 

Drink! Drink! Drink!

Yesterday was Day 64 of my Year Of Living Sober. It was a Friday. Like any Friday I did some writing (mostly on my two blogs, a little on my next novel), got in a little exercise (a walk in the drizzle with my pregnant wife) and then finished the day—and week—off by doing what I often do on a Friday: I got pissed while watching television.

Wait a minute—no I didn’t.

In fact last night I didn’t have a drop of alcohol. What’s wrong with me? Why am I not with the program anymore? Oh, that’s right, I’m not drinking any booze for a whole year. I’m on a YOLS. And I’ve still got about ten months to go.

No problemo.

For me, this reprogramming hasn’t really been too difficult at all; once I decided to quit for a year, I did. As soon as I say that though, I realize maybe it has been more difficult than I think.

Maybe I would have experimented with sobriety a long time ago if it hadn’t been for a powerful force, a force working on both my conscious and subconscious self, a force of such great influence and everyday presence I couldn’t see it for the manipulative, malevolent energy it really is.

I am of course talking about…Facebook.

No, not really. I’m talking about advertising (though FB is now doing more of that than ever!) and advertising is abso-f*cking-lutely EVERYWHERE.

Television? TICK. Cinema? TICK. Mobile Advertising Platform (you might know it as a ‘Smart Phone’)? TICK.

Advertising isn’t just in between the television shows, film and ‘news’ presentations available to us all day and all night—and whether we are at home, on a plane or taking a leak at the local pub (I’m not sure if they have little video screens pumping mini-commercials in the ladies water closet but they are popping up everywhere in the gents)—it is right there in the ‘proper’ entertainment too.

I’m not sure what film, television show or ad (or combination) first led me to believe putting Stolichnaya vodka in the freezer was a ‘cool’ thing to do but I do remember beginning to think that way somewhere around my early twenties.

Someone, somewhere GOT TO ME.

I used to love pulling the bottle of syrupy Russian spirit out of the freezer and explaining to my not-so-with-it friends how this was ‘how you did it’.

Now whilst my memory of what media spokesman (or woman) first told me that was how you did it is unclear, the message most advertising for alcohol delivers is very clear:

Drinking is sexy.

What’s more, according to a medical study published January 11, 2012, in Science Translational Medicine, it makes you feel good.

“Drinking alcohol leads to the release of endorphins in areas of the brain that produce feelings of pleasure and reward.”

(N.B. Big thanks to Bron at Everyone is a Moon for emailing me the link to this booze study!)

So, I hadn’t been making it up all my life? Alcohol makes me feel good. And, since all the sexy, successful, slim and rich folk in the movies and on the idiocy box drink, it’s totally natural that I would aspire to drink the best, to drink regularly and to drink a lot.

Isn’t it?

Maybe.

But maybe it’s also totally natural for me to want to take five (or longer) from boozin up all the time. Even if my body is programmed to drink alcohol (externally by advertising stimuli; internally by a chemical reaction) maybe it is also programmed by something even more powerful than pavlovian instinct?

Maybe my body is also programmed to respond to the urgings of my soul, that part of me that gives me my humanity, that part of me that makes me more than a robot.

“Cheers!” to that part.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 64:

An advertising executive walks into a bar and the barman says, “What are you having?” and the advertising executive says, “Coke,” and the barman says, “In a glass or a bottle?” and the advertising executive says, “On a mirror.”

*read in manic voice* Oh, man that’s funny. That is SO funny. I am THE MAN! This is the campaign right here. I’ve written the copy without even trying…

How about you? What influenced you to drink a particular alcoholic beverage? Maybe it wasn’t advertising at all? Please leave a comment.

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Straight Edge Daddy in the Night Garden

Iggle Piggle contemplates a 'near beer'

Yesterday was Day 63 of my Year Of Living Sober. It was a Thursday. And like any other day of the week I had jobs to do and responsibilities to meet. But come evening time I was ready for a drink. Unfortunately I couldn’t have one. Because, you see, I’m on a self-inflicted imposed year off drinking.

And here’s the thing: I really miss beer; I miss wine too.

There I’ve said it. I can admit to the fact my Year Of Living Sober has reminded me why I drink alcohol.

Because I love it.

Maybe not in the same way I love my wife or my daughter—or even in the same way I love the sensation of catching a wave and body-surfing all the way to shore—but I do have a soft spot for the spirited stuff (and I’m not talking about paranormal fiction).

But so what? Acknowledging my deep fondness for liquor won’t change my resolve to take a year off boozin’. I just have to frown and bear it. And though I am trying not to be too sulky about it sometimes I think my face tells a different story, a story that begins at about 6pm: baby bath time.

Lately, my wife looks at me sitting all forlorn looking on the bathroom tiles, waiting for her to finish washing our baby, and wonders out loud what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” I say. “Just thinking about my writing.”

“So you’re not feeling like a beer at all?” she might enquire perceptively.

“Maybe,” I reply. “Maybe a little.” Her expression questions my forthcomingness. “Okay, maybe a lot.”

Before I began my YOLS I’d often grab a beer when I finished my day’s writing, which was—and is—generally around the same time Honey Rose is due for her bath. Since my little girl has her bath with my big girl (my wife, Pauli) my job is to remove nappy (from Honey) and deliver naked-leg-kicking-smiley-faced cherub to her mother (who has already run a bath and climbed in). After washing bub is all done I’m responsible for retrieving Honey, drying and dressing her, and combing her hair.

All this I used to do with a beer on the go. Maybe not in my hand, but at least close to. Not anymore though. Nor do I then, once finished with the early evening baby duties, progress to a bottle of wine (invariably red), which I would still be enjoying when I’d take a break to put Honey to bed.

But these days I’ve got no alcoholic lubrication greasing the wheels of the Ninky Nonk Pinky Ponk Night Garden imaginary Daddy train; I’m a straight edge Daddy.

Okay, maybe it is easier—in a way—to do my Daddy tasks stone cold sober (and I don’t have to skip to the loo as often as my beer-drinking self did either) but if I do have a ‘danger time’, a part of the day when I most think about my not-drinking: it’s the end of the day.

By the way, I have tried a non-alcoholic red wine replacement and it’s not the same. Well it is the same: the same as vinegar mixed with fermented pigs blood. Luckily those Cooper’s non-alcoholic beers taste pretty good. Good enough to get me through a Year Of Living Sober I reckon.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 63:

How many wine tasters does it take to change a lightbulb? Two. One to change the lightbulb and another to savour the delicate yet bold—subtle yet brilliant—glow characteristic of modern craftsmanship meeting vintage methods.

How about you? Do you fancy a beer or a wine—or something stronger at the end of the day? Are you a domestic multi-tasker too? Please leave a comment.

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Who Do You Guru?


"Guru. Gee...you...are...you!"

Giving up drinking for a year wasn’t all my idea.

For years I’ve read self-help and spiritual books expressing the concept that self-discipline (of thought, action and particularly of ‘habit’) is vital to lasting happiness. Eventually, those suggestions, combined with my inner voice, led to me making a new commitment to myself:

For one year I wouldn’t drink any alcohol.

For some that wouldn’t be difficult. For alcoholics, or binge drinkers or habitual drinkers like myself however, it is a real challenge. But like a fourteen-year-old boy who’s accidentally swallowed a Viagra pill, I’m totally up for it. And, like a donut perched upon an obese man’s tummy I’m on a roll too.

Budda bing, badda boom!!

Yesterday was Day 62 of my Year Of Living Sober (today is Day 63—but it’s not finished yet!). And though I’m going fine (except for the occasional craving) I haven’t got this far alone. I’ve already received lots of encouragement from complete strangers, people who read this little blog and kindly decide to leave a comment or send me an email.

My YOLS (Year of Living Sober) guru is at once invisible and multi-faced; nowhere and everywhere; inside me and out.

I love my Guru.

In fact I love all gurus. I love them but I don’t worship them; I try not to put any living being (or dead character) on a pedestal: gazing up that way just gives me a crook neck. I am, however, grateful for anyone who shares an enlightening idea with me.

And, in 2012, when seeking divine peace, relationship harmony or the keys to a new Lamborghini, who are the guru’s average folk like me are meant to turn to anyway? Who are the big gun gurus? And how many are there?

These days it seems like there are hundreds. And I’ve been ‘touched’ by many of them; I’ve read at least one book by all of these spiritual G.U.R.U.’s:

Shakti Gawain, Dan Millman, James Redfield, Neale Donald WalschGeshe Kelsang GyatsoEckhart TolleDr Wayne DyerLouise Hay, Deepak Chopra,The Dalai LamaAnthony Robbins (THE guru of wealth/happiness manifestation for everyone from car-salesmen to politicians—two professions of not dissimilar breed) and Stuart Wilde.

Mr Wilde (or ‘Stuie’, as he’s known to regular readers) is probably my favourite spritual-self-help author, one who is often described as a ‘metaphysical guru’. Now, I love Stuie, and he has some brilliant ideas and perceptive insights to share, but he is not my guru.

Or is he?

Maybe. Or maybe all those metaphysical writers/philosophers are my guru’s?

Because as it is defined in my computer’s dictionary (and isn’t that all anyone really needs to understand the deep meanings in all things) a guru is simply:

‘a spiritual teacher, especially one who imparts initiation.’

And in some way they have all initiated me into a new part of myself: the non-drinking, clearer-thinking, fun part? An idea here, a new thought there—they, as well as many others, have all helped me on my road to self-discovery: a journey of unmasking, unveiling and revealing my omniscient, all-loving centre.

Phew.

That’s a bit of guru talk!

How ’bout tellin’ us how you FEEL, Ben?

Okay. Sure.

I feel like…who am I to offer advice to anyone.

But then, near the end of writing this post, as this self-doubt of my self-worth crept up, I clicked on my open Twitter account tab and saw this Tweet:

“Do not wait for leaders; do it alone, person to person.” ~Mother Teresa

Now, perhaps the person who quoted Mamma ‘Tess’ Teresa would like to be seen as a guru herself, or maybe she just wants to spread some love? Whichever it is, I agree with her (and Mamma Tess) in what I’ll expand upon by saying:

we are each the other’s guru when we speak kindly, with encouragement and the simple truth.

And that’s something worth doing.

The truth for me at the moment is even when I really feel like a drink sometimes, I don’t have one. And I won’t. Not for another 303 days.

But don’t get me wrong. I’m not telling anyone else what to do. I didn’t write this blog to set myself up as the ‘Guru of Booze Abstinence’ (even if my ramblings happen to inspire the odd reader to break some habit of their own); I’m just a guy going 12 months without a drink. I chose to share my little exercise in self-discipline for two reasons:

1) To make my commitment so public I couldn’t possibly retreat (into a bottle)

and

2) In case anyone else might enjoy reading about it.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 62:

A Buddhist monk walks into a bar and the barman says, “Sorry, guy no gurus allowed,” and the Buddhist monk says, “No problem, I was looking for Nirvana but I can see it’s not in HERE.”

How about you? Do you have a list of gurus or just one?

Please leave a comment or use the contact form to send a private message.

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Calendar Boy

We all count the days.

It’s not just folk like me, someone who has resolved to make a change a day at a time, who like to mark off the 24 hour milestones of another day done.

We all do it.

Why else would we need calendars? Sure, sometimes we might use ye ol’ Gregorian date keeping devices to ‘plan ahead’, but we also use ‘em just to keep track of what day it is. For me, today isn’t just Wednesday (the day before I have to put out the rubbish) though, today is also Day 62 of my year of living sober. And this means I have gone two whole ‘calendar’ months without a drop of alcohol.

Bring out the champagne!

Wait. That’s not going to help. Besides, it’s too early to celebrate. I’ve got another ten months ahead of me. Another ten months of not drinking booze in order to prove to myself I can break a (near) lifetime habit of drinking almost every week since I was fifteen—and almost every night for a year or so previous to embarking on my YOLS.

So, for the next ten months my calendar is very important to me; I love it. But in truth my fondness for calendar’s probably set-in last year.

In the run up to my early New Year’s resolution I published a post (on my other blog) lamenting the fact the 30 Rock desktop calendar was not available for 2012. I had enjoyed reading a snippet from the show every day and would have liked to continue into another year with the company of all the hilarious characters in Tina Fey’s brilliant comedy.

But it wasn’t to be.

Instead, in 2012 I have to make do with my own sense of humor, coming up with a new Little Booze Joke—as I do—every day for this blog. And I had to make my own calendar.

My calendar for 2012 is not a desktop one—more of a stick-it-up-on-your-wall one: all I did was combine two years onto a single page so I could cross off each day I didn’t—I don’t—drink. And that’s what I’ve been doing.

For 61 days.

Then it occurred to me how some of the readers of this blog might like a Year Of Living Sober calendar of their own. A few people have told me how they too are taking a year off booze this year. Other’s have expressed a desire to cut down a bit on The Drinking in 2012.

Maybe my little calendar could help keep track of all those sober days?

Marking off each booze-free day—and month!

Even if you only mark off the odd booze-free-day, by the end of the year you can look back on all your little victories. And add them up. Perhaps your YOLS will spread out across a few years?

Anywho, if you’d like a FREE calendar (it’s a png file I can easily email you) just let me know HERE.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 61:

Just-any-old-arsehole walks into a bar and says, “Give me a glass of your best scotch,” and the barman says, “Sorry, we don’t serve Just-any-old-arsehole the best scotch.”

How about you? Are you keeping a daily record of any New Year resolution? Or maybe you’re counting down to a Big Goal Day or something else important? Please leave a comment or use the contact form to send a private message.

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Top 5 Teetotaller Responses When Offered A Drink

Teetotaller fish

“Why aren’t you drinking like a fish?”

Teetotallers are fishy.

I’m not saying non-drinkers smell bad, or that they have gills where boozer’s have rosy cheeks, just that they are not to be trusted. Why else would some people become so defensive when encountering one in a social situation.

“You’re not drinking? Really? WHY?”

Such is the kind of comment—and personal question—commonly heard by anyone who used to drink but has had a change of liver. If you were once a drinker then suddenly present yourself to the world as a Teetotaller, get ready for a backlash.

Some people simply don’t like change; big drinkers despise it.

When attending parties, work functions, sporting events with friends or any other social gathering where booze consumption is considered par for the first course, second course, third and more (“dessert wine, Madam?”), non-drinkers—especially new non-drinkers—quickly learn (as I did previous to my YOLS, when I used to take the occasional month off from boozin’) to expect such commentary on their choice of temporary abstinence.

“You can have ONE can’t you? YOU don’t have a drinking problem. Do you?”

And there will be more questions.

“Is it a medical thing or a health issue? Are you on antibiotics?” Some people will also feel empowered to enquire about your spiritual life:

“Are you a Jehovah now or something? Mormon?”

So, what do you say? What does someone like me—someone who’s decided to take a year off drinking just to make sure I can, someone who felt his habit of nightly drinking, though not out of hand was still something he wanted to break—say?

Nothing.

He writes a blog about it instead. And he (me/I) spends more time at home than an agoraphobic bear during hibernation season (actually, since we don’t have bears in Melbourne maybe I’m more of a wombat in a hole during a bushfire: I feel cool and protected in my burrow).

To  be clear, I’m not purposely avoiding big drinking gatherings I am also waiting patiently for the birth of our second child;  pub/gutter-crawling isn’t really on the agenda anyway. I was, however, quietly happy I had a good excuse (staying home with my pregnant wife) not to surround myself with intoxicated buddies (and strangers) over the Christmas and New Year period. Not that I was worried about being tempted. I’ve made my commitment and whatever it brings up, I’m ready for it.

Year of Living Sober WITTIDOMS

So, what about when I return to the ‘party’ circuit? How will I prepare myself for the inevitable enquiries? Maybe with some of these responses to the somewhat annoying, if well meaning, passively aggressive judgments of NS (new sober) behaviour.

When someone next drops their jaw at my wave-of-a-hand decline to an offer of a beer, wine or spirit—even a FREE beer, wine or spirit—I might choose to explain my abnormal response by saying “Thanks, but no thanks,” and anyone of these follow ups in reply to the inevitable “How come?”

Here is my…

Top 5 Teetotaller Responses When Offered A Drink

1. “I used to drink but I also used to poo in my nappy. Now I’ve grown out of it. I don’t drink anymore either.”

2. “Sure, I used to get off getting drunk but that was before I found out women prefer a man who can stay UP long enough to get THEM off.”

3. “In the past I loved drinking to get drunk but in the past I also used to love drinking to get milk from my mother’s tit. These days I’ve matured and my taste buds have evolved. Besides, Mum moved interstate.”

4. “Some people drink to loosen up but I’ve discovered, for me, not wearing underwear does the same thing. Now I cruise sober commando. Cheers!”

5. “Alcohol used to be such a big part of my life I decided to make some room for something more exciting. Like spontaneously stripping naked at parties—without needing to be wasted. Here, let me show you.”

Judging from that list it would seem I have a slight preoccupation with nakedness. Oh well, nobody’s perfect. At least now I’m fully prepared for, and eager to get to, the next party. Well, sometime after my new baby arrives, anyway.

Teetotaller response

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

(N.B. Yesterday was Day 60 of my Year Of Living Sober. It was a Monday. Today is Day 61. But it’s not over yet.)

Little Booze Joke 60:

A prostitute walks into a bar and says, “Give us a drink,” and the barman says, “How much?”

How about you? Got a good line for when somebody questions why you’re having a ‘night off the piss’ (as we say Down Under)? You do! Would you like to leave a comment?

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Elvis is in the Nursery

Yesterday was Day 59 of my Year Of Living Sober. It was a Sunday.

On The King's mic at Sun Studios

And like every Sunday, Elvis was in the nursery. That is to say, his music was playing from morning to night.

You see, while I am a big Elvis fan (and am currently working on the final draft to an Elvis inspired novel) my wife is just as enthusiastic about The King, so much so she has taken to playing Elvis—almost exclusively—to our 16-month-old baby girl.

Honey Rose loves it. I love it too. Often I’ll take Honey into her room to change her nappy and be surprised by how well I can choreograph wiping poo and baggin’ stinky nappies to That’s Alright Mama.

And yesterday, as I dressed my little girl in cute jeans, reminiscent of a 50s ‘greaser’, I realized it was Elvis’s birthday.

On my 59th day free from drinking The King would have been 77; Elvis fans across the globe know the 8th January is a special day.

But here’s something not many people—even big fans like me—know about Elvis. While doing some extra research for my novel I learnt something about Elvis I didn’t expect: he wasn’t a big drinker.

From all accounts, while Elvis did drink occasionally (and had been known to get drunk), it wasn’t his favourite way to get a ‘buzz’. Friends, family and colleagues all seem to agree that Elvis loved pills more than booze.

But whatever vice finally took its toll on the boy from Mississippi one thing’s for sure:

Elvis lives. His music is the soundtrack to at least one young girl’s life, all the way down under in Melbourne, Australia.

And this Daddy-o couldn’t be happier about it.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

 

Little Booze Joke 59:

Elvis walks into a bar and the barman says, “Hey, Elvis I didn’t think you were a big drinker?” and Elvis says, “I’m not. I thought this was a 7-Eleven.”

☆ Follow on Twitter @YearOffBooze

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Day 44: I Love J.C. and the Hero’s Journey.

Yesterday was Day 44 of my year of living sober.

It was a Saturday—Christmas Eve.

My daughter chooses Joseph Campbell.

On Christmas Eve I took this photo of my daughter, Honey Rose. You can see at the bottom of the frame a copy of one of Joseph Campbell’s books. Honey often takes other books by other authors out of my less and less well-ordered shelf but she seems particularly drawn to Campbell, much in the same way I was some twenty-odd years ago: repeatedly.

The book Honey most often carefully places on the floor, at the feet of my swivel desk chair, is Pathways To Bliss, a gift from my wife for my birthday two years ago. Pathways To Bliss has a few dog ears but is by no means as well read as my copy of Campbell’s perhaps most famous work, The Hero With A Thousand Faces.

But J.C. is not only one of my favourite authors he is also one of my favourite speakers. Thanks to The Power of Myth television interviews he did with Bill Moyers I have been able to enjoy Campbell’s eloquence directly from the comparative mythologists mouth. Well, almost directly.

One famous saying attributed to Campbell is “follow your bliss” and whether we know it or not, Campbell has either directly or indirectly influenced most people alive today; if you’ve ever heard of a movie called Star Wars you have benefited from some of Campbell’s work, lifetime study and investigation into the reoccurring themes expressed across cultures in myth and religion.

Campbell knew better than anyone how the religions and mythologies of diverse people’s all share symbols of sometimes varying appearance but always relatable—often identical—meaning; the names in our stories may change but the path we tread from birth to death is greatly shared.

Campbell focussed a great deal on something he described as ‘the Hero’s Journey’. He was fascinated by the stages any individual encounters when making a major change or encountering an unexpected life-challenge. While I have not yet mapped out what I might expect with the rest of my Year Of Living Sober, I imagine I will be able to identify the stages Campbell first described in his seminal (always wanted to use that word) book, The Hero With a Thousand Faces.

The ‘Hero’s Journey’ of a man choosing not to drink for a year might include these basic stages inspired by Campbell’s analysis:

1) Normal World: In which a man thought nothing of drinking alcohol everyday. Generally not to the point of wild drunkenness but more than he knew was healthy.

2) Departure: After a series of excruciating migraines this man begins thinking it is time to make a change in his drinking habits. After an especially painful post-wedding (not his own, fortunately) bout of heavy drinking,  and the subsequent blinding migraine, he vows to go a full year without drinking alcohol

3) Initiation:  The man’s resolve is tested by everything from seasonal celebrations (Christmas/New Years) to the temptation to mark the birth of his second child with a single glass of Champagne. Other challenges come from within, when the would be hero doubts his own intentions, citing his need to keep a public blog about his endeavour as proof of his own egomania and narcissistic tendency. Searching within for the part of his self which embraces change and fears not judgement from the world, the hero continues on his adventure with the aid of helpful allies (his wife; his parents-in-law; a few understanding friends) and reaches his goal of 365 days without a stiff drink.

4) Return: Having accomplished his goal, the hero learns that it was only part of what the universe had conspired to ‘teach’ him; living now with the realization life can be more than a pint of cold beer with mates, or a bottle of wine alone with a David Lynch DVD, the hero brings a new moderation to his ‘new’ normal life, secure in the knowledge when it comes to booze he can take it or leave it: the important thing is he knows he always has a choice, and one he has the self-discipline to employ.

Campbell broke the hero’s journey down into more stages than these four but hopefully this gives a basic idea of what he was on about.

After Campbell, Christopher Vogler continued helping writers like me (and anyone interested in the art of great storytelling) to understand the nuances of mythic structure, in his book ‘The Writer’s Journey’. If you are lucky enough to get anything by Campbell or a copy of Vogler’s book this Christmas, and you know nothing of either’s work, you are in for a real treat.

And some kind of journey.

Merry Christmas!

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 44:

A one-eyed monster walks into a bar and the barman says, “Eye.”

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Day 43: Christmas Eve Cheers from Sam Malone

Yesterday was Day 43 of my year of living sober.

It was a Friday—Friday 23rd December 2011, to be precise. Which makes today the 24th December—Christmas Eve.

How young does Woody look?

So close to Christmas I’ve been thinking about how millions of people will enjoy a glass of bubbly or some creamy eggnog or something else festive during this holiday season. But since I won’t be joining in I kind of feel a bit…alone.

Even though I know I won’t be alone in choosing sobriety over sloshiness this year, I feel like Sam Malone, Ted Danson’s character in Cheers. I feel like the alcoholic barman who, knowing his weakness and tendency for over-indulgence chooses to serve others alcohol without serving a drop for himself.

Watching Cheers as a youngster I remember admiring Sam a lot—and not only for his good sense of humour, his love of life and his (frustratingly to Shelley Long’s ‘Diane’) great success with woman. No, I also liked Sam because he was like Clint Eastwood: he knew his limitations.

My limitation is self-imposed. But unlike Sam, who swore off the liquor for good (forever), I’ve decided to go just one year without drinking alcohol. So however hot it gets in Melbourne on Chrissy day I won’t be having even a single beer.

In my Year Of Living Sober not even a fantastical transportation down the stairs of that famous Boston fictional bar would be enough to tempt me.*

“Nothing for me Sam,” I’d say. “I’m on a YOLS.”

“Cheers Ben!” Sam would reply. “How ’bout a club soda?”

We just call it ‘soda water’ in Australia but I’d still know what Sam meant and would gratefully accept his suggestive sell.

“Cheers Sam.”

And for everyone who is drinking this year, please have one for me.

Merry Christmas Eve!

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 43:

A flashing pedestrian sign walks into a bar and the barman says, “Keep walking.”

* Back when I was acting the closest I got to a Cheers appearance was when I met Norm (George Wendt) on the set of a London television show (Noel’s House Party Christmas special 1993′ish). Unfortunately for my ego George didn’t watch Neighbours, the Australian soap which had made me briefly famous enough to do pantomime in England, but he did shake my hand. That’s one degree of separation from Sam Malone himself!

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Day 42: Not a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster In Sight

Yesterday was Day 42 of my year of living sober.

A hitchhiker's guide to everything. Really.

It was a Thursday. I spent a good part of Thursday putting books my baby girl removes from my shelf back.

One of the seemingly selected books Honey Rose delights in re-shelving on my study floor is Douglas Adams’ The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy and, having made it to the magic Day 42, I decided the universe (or at least Honey Rose) was trying to tell me something.

“Congratulations Daddy. You have made it to the day of the BIG answer.”

Because as anyone who’s read The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy will know: the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe and everything is simply 42.

Now that I’ve gone the magic 42 days without a drink does that mean I suddenly have perfect clarity, understand everything and have no more questions about the meaning of life? Nup. No way. But reaching this milestone did remind me why I chose 42 as my number when I played basketball as a kid.

It was fun. Just like my Year Of Living Sober.

Forty-two also happens to be my age as of writing this. And though I’m not sure whether I read THHGTTG before I started drinking or not I do know that even if some things change over time (like me not drinking for a WHOLE YEAR), some things stay the same.

The answer is still 42.

Now, in dedication to the man who was directly responsible for my parents having to buy four iron-on stiff felt letters (two small ones for the front of my b’ball singlet; two big ones for the back), here is the recipe from THHGTTG (in Chapter Two) for a very stiff drink: the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster.

The Hitch Hiker’s Guide to the Galaxy also mentions alcohol. It says that the best drink in existence is the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster. It says that the effect of a Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster is like having your brains smashed out by a slice of lemon wrapped round a large gold brick.

The Guide also tells you on which planets the best Pan Galactic Gargle Blasters are mixed, how much you can expect to pay for one and what voluntary organizations exist to help you rehabilitate afterwards.

The Guide even tells you how you can mix one yourself.

Take the juice from one bottle of that Ol’ Janx Spirit, it says. Pour into it one measure of water from the seas of Santraginus V – Oh that Santraginean sea water, it says. Oh those Santraginean fish!!!

Allow three cubes of Arcturan Mega-gin to melt into the mixture (it must be properly iced or the benzine is lost). Allow four litres of Fallian marsh gas to bubble through it, in memory of all those happy Hikers who have died of pleasure in the Marshes of Fallia.

Over the back of a silver spoon float a measure of Qualactin Hypermint extract, redolent of all the heady odours of the dark Qualactin Zones, subtle sweet and mystic. Drop in the tooth of an Algolian Suntiger. Watch it dissolve, spreading the fires of the Algolian Suns deep into the heart of the drink.

Sprinkle Zamphuor.

Add an olive.

Drink… but… very carefully…

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 42:

An inter-galactic traveller walks into a bar and the barman says, “Sorry, we don’t serve aliens here,” and the inter-galactic traveller says, “O feddled gruntbuggly thy micturations are to me as plurdled gabbleblotchits on a lurgid bee.”

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Day 41: Knock Off Danger Time For Boozin’

Yesterday was Day 41 of my year of living sober.

Merry Christmas Tree at Melbourne's Joy FM

It was a Wednesday. Being self-employed/freelance I write pretty much everyday and take each day—and opportunity—as it comes. Yesterday turned out to be one of my busiest days in ages and involved a range of ‘business’ activities from website maintenance and upgrading to a radio interview on Melbourne’s Joy FM.

Doing a transfer from wordpress hosted to self-hosted blogging almost did my head in, but eventually I got there. There’s still a lot to learn but I’ll take each plug-in at a time and try and remain patient with my technological limitations (of which there are many).

Having been an actor in a former life, I still get the odd call from a casting agent seeing if I’d like to come in for a Television commercial audition. With one sixteen-month-old baby girl and another Mitchell offspring due any day now I definitely DID want to come in yesterday for an interview with the lovely casting girls at Chameleon Casting for a potato crisp (we used to call them chips in Oz) commercial which would pay more than I earn by selling approximately 1000 copies of my debut novel (which came out in April in Australia this year).

Then, after driving across town for the audition, I headed into the city to try and find a parking space close to Joy FM headquarters. After doing a few laps of the CBD I opted for a safe all day park (to avoid any damn parking fine) which required me to walk a bit further than I’d planned but gave me peace of mind that apart from a cheap won-ton soup in Little China Town, petrol would be my only expense for the day.

The point of this journal-like entry is by the time I got home I was bushed (as an old fogie might say). Being bushed—both mentally and physically—I would have loved a drink. Jeez, I would have killed for a drink! I really wanted a beer, then another, then some wine.

But I didn’t. Despite my mental craving I wasn’t really tempted to throw in the YOLS towel. I just had to frown and bare it, realizing yesterday that the hours between 5pm and 7pm are turning out to be the ‘danger’ period for me. This was when I used to turn to the bottle to ‘turn-off’ from my day’s work. Now I turn to ice-cream or, as I did last night, some left-over mud cake.

Sure, it’s not ideal to replace booze with sugar but at least I’m trying something different. Even if it is just alternating Peppermint with Rocky Road and throwing in the odd Cheesecake Shop special.

My name is Ben and I’m a social experiment.

Little Booze Joke 41:

How many workaholics does it take to change a lightbulb?

One. He can do everything.

PS. Check out Day 10 for a post about fellow workaholics Mark Zuckerberg and Donald Trump

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