What the hell was I doing?
It might be 2008 but let’s journey back to the days of the leisure suit and disco shall we? Specifically 1975. A little movie called “Jaws” scared the crap out of people and also scared them away from the beach.
Why do I mention this? Well, I was one of those people who saw “Jaws” and stayed away from the ocean. At the time I lived in South Florida. Not more than 10 miles from the beach did I reside. I was a real danger seeker back then!
I remember at the time Jacques Cousteau was traveling the world saying that Great White sharks don’t act the way being portrayed in the movie. Hey, Jacques shut your croissant hole and don’t confuse us with the facts. We’re watchin’ a movie here!!
Intellectually I knew that the esteemed oceanographer was right but despite that knowledge I just couldn’t go into the water. I just couldn’t. I literally didn’t step a single toe in the Atlantic Ocean for seven years. It wasn’t until 1982 while visiting family in Fort Lauderdale, Florida (I had moved to Pennsylvania three years earlier) that my brothers grabbed me and proceeded to toss me into the water. I had a great time.
Say goodbye to seven years of irrational fear.
Say hello to 1977 for my next adventure. 1977, the year I graduated High School and wondered what the hell am I going to do with my life and why am I paying for my own graduation dinner? Thanks mom and dad.
The summer of 1977 was also the time when a friend of mine attempted to teach me how to ride his motorcycle. We went to a section of a supermarket parking lot that rarely had any cars go by and he proceeded to teach me the basics about how to ride a motorcycle.
After many stall outs (and I mean “many”) and only a few feet of distance traveled I thought that maybe I was making some progress. After all I had actually gone several feet before stalling out the bike.
Then came the moment of triumph! I actually got the thing going and I was gaining speed. And I continued to gain speed. This wasn’t turning out to be a good afternoon. All of a sudden a cement parking block got up, ran over to a spot about 20 feet in front of me and sat down.
Having inconveniently forgotten how to stop the forward momentum of the motorcycle I proceeded to ram the block of cement. I remembered thinking “this is not good” and “god, this is going to hurt”.
It did. I went flying over the handlebars and tumbled about 10-15 feet. Every part of my body hit the pavement except my head. I was lucky because I wasn’t wearing a helmet. I survived that day with a banged up back, a 1 inch square area below my right knee scraped clean of hair and 2 very small cuts in that now hairless area. By the way, the motorcycle landed right next to me with a rather deep dent in one of the tail pipes and some scratches on the gas tank. Thank God it didn’t land on me.
I was very fortunate that day.
Because of that incident in 1977 I’ve been on a motorcycle during one day and I do mean only one day since then. Approximately 10 years later I was visiting family in New Mexico (for crying out loud these people are everywhere) and out of necessity one of my younger brothers transported me on his motorcycle.
The little bastard did his best to scare the urine out of me every second I was on that thing. I have to give the punk credit because he did a good job of it too. Despite his evil assault on my senses I still love him.
What is my point? Where am I going with all this?
This past Friday I met up with my friend Al, whom I’ve written about before on this blog, at a liquor store in New Jersey to pick up a variety of good beers for a little gathering at his home.
It was a very simple progression: we picked up beer, we went to his house, people came over, we talked and drank. Like I said it was very simple.
Unfortunately, I drank to an extreme excess. At least I feel that way. All the beers were very good when it came to flavor and very “big” when it came to alcohol content. Just like many people at the time I didn’t think I had that much.
Yeah, right. I had to stay over at my friend’s house to sleep off some of this beer. To put it rather simply: the rest of the weekend was wasted by being in bed in agony with a horrendous hangover. I haven’t been that drunk for more than 20 years. It is now Tuesday and I’m still feeling a trace of the mess that was my life during this past weekend.
I’ve talked to Al a couple of times about all this and the point he brings up concerning ageing is valid. I’m almost 49 years old. The body changes. It’s the natural order of things. Like anyone else approaching 50 I hate the changes in my body but like I said it’s the natural order of things. I love beer. It’s one of the great pleasures of life. I’ve angered people, including Al I think, with my insistence that crap on tap people should wake up and grow up to better beer than they’re drinking.
This event has had a huge impact on my mind. Many years ago I researched the biblical question of alcohol. My conclusion was even though I could understand the old Jewish prophets of the Old Testament it was a matter of individual choice.
My choice, at least for now, is to give up alcohol. I have no idea if this is a short term thing or lifelong I just know it’s the right and proper choice for me. I just don’t want to feel that horrible again. I didn’t mean to make that kind of purchase last Friday but I’ve come to realize that the price paid by my body was way too high.
Am I thinking too much about all this? Maybe. Better to think too much than not to think enough.
Peace.
Tags: old testament, Beer, Jaws, Florida, Pennsylvania, New Mexico, Atlantic Ocean, Beach, Leisure Suits, Disco, Jacques Cousteau, Croissant, Fort Lauderdale, Great White Shark, Motorcycles, New Jersey
