My Week Without Beer: A Harrowing Tale of Transformation
PROLOGUE -- Summer Solstice
The temperature hit the upper 90s yesterday, so I absolutely had to drink a bit --- a bottle of Bud during the hottest part of the day in a cool cavern of a place called DeShields, where semi-retired duffers watch 'The Price is Right' every weekday between 11 and noon. My '88 Cadillac, Sol, had just informed me out on the congested six-lane thoroughfare -- majestically looping past Old Navy, Big Lots, Home Depot, ad nauseum -- that it was 99 degrees outside (inside too, as I've got no (A/C). In the bar, it was good to watch the bottle of Budweiser sweating instead of me.
On the way home I stopped at a winsome convenience store and bought a big Dale Earnhardt commemorative bottle of Bud, while having a conversation with the au courant young woman behind the counter, who agreed with me that starting with Reagan (she was born in '81) workers' rights had been almost completely trashed in this country. She then observed, "Of course, we can't begin to anything about it 'til we get Bush out of there," and then went on to express a desire to see 'Fahrenheit 911'. Mighty suspicious --someone who actually wants to be well informed, judging information on its own merits & not through an ideological filter. Thus begins my descent into a strange vortex of intrigue. I can tell 'cos I hear Rod Serling's voice in the background.
DAY ONE -- Cooling Trend
99 degrees again, according to Sol. Guess we'll have to wait 'til tomorrow for that cooling trend promised by The Weather Channel. I'm fighting dehydration with a bottle of swamp-green Powerade, a potion I was drawn to a few months ago by childhood memories of occasional B-12 shots administered by my mom, the nurse. Turns out this is my last Powerade bottle. A friend was telling me yesterday that a prime cause of our epidemic of obesity and diabetes is the pervasive use of high fructose corn syrup in practically everything edible. She said, "It's almost impossible to metabolize that stuff, but the Corn Lobby is so strong they're adding it to any pre-packaged food they can think of."
When I check the label on my swamp juice, the second most prevalent ingredient, after water, is 'High Fructose Corn Syrup'. Thank you, Corn Lobby (AKA Big Corn), for making a mockery of my pretensions to health. Apparently beer is much better for you than Powerade.
DAY TWO -- Cooling Trend, Honest
Thankfully, it is somewhat cooler today, obviating the need for beer. Spent twenty minutes spinning those silver Chinese balls, switching them from left hand to right hand, clockwise to counter-clockwise. Their muting ringing is quite soothing..........
DAY THREE -- Apres Moi,
Terrible triple whammy of rain, lightning, and thunder today --- as bad as I've ever seen. A couple of intense downblasts in the middle of the storm ripped a high limb off our tulip poplar and wedged a thin piece of plywood between Sol's rear window and his faux convertible roof. I did drink a Turbo Dog, because someone had put it on the grocery list.
DAY FOUR -- Spherical Deprivation
Our cable TV was on the blink this morning and their phone lines were swamped with desperate people, terrified that they might be temped to read a book. No baseball all day, making it easier to eschew brew.
DAY FIVE -- Man, That Cat is Spry
Mowed the lawn today. Must've sweated out about 20 years worth of hops. With all the rain, the indigenous grasses of my yard were really taking off. They already had a good foundation, 'cos a couple of weeks ago my old red mower, while cranking on the first pull, would only run about ten seconds before cutting off. Turned out she needed a new carburetor. I say 'she' to appear to be wisely rustic, in tune with all the hard work of reaping and sowing, although actually about all I do is cut the grass a few times each summer.
The mower was diagnosed and repaired by Mr. Collins, who will be 92 years old in October. After he explained to me what he'd done and advised me to add a couple of drops of Marvel Mystery Oil to the gas from time to time, I started to wheel Ol' Red up the driveway toward my car. Mr. Collins looked reflective at us and said, "Do you need any help loadin' that?" In wonderment, I merely replied, "No,
thanks."
DAY SIX -- Channeling the Intimidator
After being terribly rude to the recorded-voice lady on the cable TV company trouble line, I discovered that my neighbor, overenthusiastically landscaping with a borrowed backhoe, had severed our cable line. The cable guys figured it out, too, and dropped an ominous black cord from the nearest utility pole, snaked it across the surface of our yard, and plugged it into the stucco wall of our house. I have to feel good about having intimidated a phone recording, thus forcing an intractable corporation into ordering a hastily improvised repair. Score one for pent-up rage over technology.
DAY SEVEN -- City on a Chill
Tonight, I'm playing guitar at The Pickin' Parlor, a good room that encourages walk-ons from the local musicians. Usually, that works fine, although I did hear the most excruciating version of 'Me & Bobby McGee' there once. As a performer, I will be required to drink a few of those $2 Sierra Nevadas. It's part of the code. I don't mind.
I think I've learned in the last week that abstention from beer drinking can result in freakish, even dangerous weather changes, not to mention the interruption of vital communication and entertainment links to the outside world. My conclusion: it's irresponsible and fundamentally selfish for me to stop drinking beer for several days in a row. I've got to start thinking about the larger community and the impact on them.
However, I'm grateful to have made it through this particular desert without being picked clean by metaphorical buzzards. If it hadn't a been for those shots of tequila, I don't know what I would've done.
-------------Lp
