GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #534: SCHOOL'S OUT

 To be read to the tune of this.

A few of you have heard me talking about my three 3-hour IOP meetings since I got out of detox. Yesterday, on my 76th day without booze, I attended the final one of those. Not bad for a guy who had decided, during detox, that he was going to drink on his 44th birthday. Not bad at all.

I remember when I first heard about the meetings, and it bummed me out a bit. I really didn't want to lose nine hours a week to attending, but I committed to it because I thought it would be an important part of my recovery. It turned out to be true. In all honesty I'm kind of surprised that I got through it. But it's quite an achievement, I think.

I remember my first meeting. There were four of us, and it was the host's first group. I'm the only one of those four who got through to the end. It always makes me feel bad when someone attends a lot of these and then suddenly disappears. You hope for the best but you always think the worst. I felt especially bad when my roommate from detox stopped going. His act of kindness upon meeting him helped me get through this, especially those first few days. I was morose. I was shaking like a paint can at Ace Hardware. I felt downright miserable, and he was the first person I met there on the same level as me. He was cheerful and gave me a vigorous handshake, and I couldn't help but think, "How the hell is he in such a good mood? He's only been here a half an hour longer than me."

I'm glad I got to tell him how that helped me. I hope he's doing well out there. I hope all those who stopped attending are doing well. Who knows? Maybe they just went to different IOP meetings.

There's a part of me that will miss those meetings. There were a lot of great people there, and I'm glad I got to know them. But IOP has to end at some point. It's not meant to be a long term treatment. Eventually the baby bird has to learn how to fly, and I hope I do a pretty good job of that.

This is my 77th day. I told myself that I would stop counting the days after IOP stopped. I thought it was a bit morbid at times, but I've decided to keep going. I want to see my high score continue to go up.

Sorry if this GF column was overly cheerful. My regularly scheduled misanthropy will resume next week.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #533: THE FORGOTTEN FULLERSBURG ISLAND

 

Fullersburg is probably my favorite forest preserve ever. I've been there so many times I know the place intimately. So intimately that I know about a place that is fairly secret there, where they have a second waterfall. Everyone knows about the one by the Graue Mill, but very few know about that other one. I remember when I first found it I knew I'd been the only one to set foot there since the early 'Nineties. I found empty Pepsi cans with the old design from back then. That's how I know. If someone else had been down there, I feel certain that shit would have gotten cleaned up.

It sucks because now I can't get to the place. I can see the waterfall, but not the area I found nearby. For that you have to jump across the stream, and that involves jumping to a sturdy branch that overhangs said stream. You need two good feet for this, and I've got none. You know about my bad foot. My "better" foot is down a couple of toes. Possibly I'll be down another toe soon. I have a hole in the one next to the two stumps, so . . .

But that's not what I'm talking about tonight. See that bridge up there? It's closed off now. Has been for a few years. I'm not entirely sure why. The last time I had a close look it seemed to be intact and safe enough to cross. I'm irritated because I loved crossing that bridge and exploring the island there. There is one path, and it circles the small island, and there is one rest area with benches, tables, etc. I remember many years ago there had been a flood, and when I found the rest area, which is encircled by a stone wall that you have to step down into, there were fish stuck there. The flood had to have carried them in and stranded them when the waters subsided.

Maybe the flood is the reason they blocked off the bridge. I don't know. I miss that place. It was also good for watching deer because not a lot of people went over to the island. Not that there is a lack of deer in the woods, but they're more likely to stick around when viewed on the island instead of loping off into the wilderness.

It was also a good place to find frogs and turtles, and in the spring you could easily see armies of tadpoles swimming in the shallows.

Every year I hope they'll take down the barriers, and every year I'm disappointed. Here's to hoping for spring 2023 . . .

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #532: THE NEW QUANTUM LEAP

(spoiler alert)

 

I am a huge Quantum Leap fan, but I've found the new series pretty frustrating. There are a number of reasons, but the ones that seem important to me are the only ones worth talking about.

My first complaint is that it's supposed to be a continuation of the original series, right? Remember that when this originally aired in the 'Eighties, the modern day was the futuristic world of the 'Nineties? The new show's modern day is 2022, but shouldn't it be an extension of their version of the 'Nineties? I think it should, but we get a regular looking 2022 that we could just look out the window and see. Where are the Al Calavicci suits?

Like this one!

And this one!

And this glorious fuckin' thing!

Quantum Leap 2022, you have greatly disappointed me.

My next complaint is the thing that made the original work is because a lot of it has nostalgia value to the viewers. Sam Becket is the same age as the demographic of the audience, and he can only Leap within his lifetime (with a few rare exceptions). That means that the audience gets to relive some of those older days. The important thing is, the focus of the show is on the past, not the present. The new show is focused on the present, and the past is almost incidental. The coolest parts, for me, of the original show were the ones from the present because they were so, so, so very rare, and when we got a glimpse of it, it was always awesome. Remember when Lee Harvey Oswald escaped into the world of the 'Nineties? That was fucking fantastic! I have no interest in the modern day 2022 portrayed on the new show.

My biggest complaint, though, is that it ruins the beauty of the ending of the original series. Here we have Sam, who has been Leaping for years, putting right what once went wrong. He always hopes the next Leap will bring him home, and it never does. The only help he has is from his best friend Al, who is a hologram to him. Without Al's help Sam probably doesn't know what he's supposed to do or how to Leap to the next story.

Let's talk about Al for a moment. He's been married, what, six times? He's miserable about the whole thing. His life has gone wrong, and he can trace it back to the moment he lost his first wife due to circumstances beyond his control. He missed out on his happily ever after because of this.

Sam suddenly finds himself in a position to give his best friend the greatest gift ever. He Leaps back to Al's first wife and makes sure that she sticks with Al this time. Sam knows that if he does this, he will never find his way home. Al would be taken out of the equation because if Al is happy, then he never meets Sam. As a result, Al never joins Project Quantum Leap. Sam would no longer have his best friend, and he's willing to make this sacrifice just to make Al happy.

So he does.

Sam not Leaping his way home is a downer of an ending, but it's actually a beautiful ending because of his sacrifice. It was perfect. We didn't need a continuation of the series. I felt bad for Sam, but I couldn't have asked for a better ending.

And here we are with a new Quantum Leap series, and they're refusing to acknowledge that Al's life changed. According to the new show he grew old, had a daughter and died, but he was definitely there. So did Sam sacrifice himself for nothing? The new series ruins the ending of the original. Kind of like The Rise of Skywalker renders Darth Vader's sacrifice at the end of Jedi pointless.

You can see my frustration, yes?

Argh. Just fucking . . . argh.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #531: NOT WALKING

 I miss being able to do a lot of things because of my bad foot, but the one thing I miss more than anything is night walking. I used to walk two and a half miles almost every night, and I got a lot of thinking done on those walks.

The most important thing I thought about during such sojourns was writing. That's when I figured out most of the writing problems I got myself into. I unpaint my way out of corners during these times. And I really don't have any way to do that now. I'm pretty much working without a net now.

I don't know if my writing has suffered because of it. I have a suspicion it might have, but I'm not sure.

I really, really miss my long walks. Now? I might make it around the block if I'm OK with being in agony for a while. An agony I can no longer drink away. Although I did manage to get some walking done in Oak Park the other day, and I managed to stand up for more than an hour on that day. The pain is always there, but it was pretty minimal that day.

Fucking hell, I wish I could walk my usual circuit again. Just once. Just one more time.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #530: DRUG DREAMS?

 So I've been going to IOP meetings for a couple of months now. Those are the 3-hour meetings I go to three times a week in my attempt to stay away from booze. The first thing we do is check in, and each of us goes over a checklist of things. One of the questions is, do you have drug dreams? They include alcohol in that, as they should. It's the PAWS part I almost always say no to.

But over the weekend I had a pretty strong drug dream. I dreamed that I was at a bar with friends, and I did what I always do at bars: I drank. A lot. Then, after a while, I remembered HOLY SHIT! I'M NOT SUPPOSED TO BE DOING THIS! The first thing I thought about, in my dream, was having to admit that I'm no longer on my winning streak. Remember how last week I talked about how rare it is for me to feel shame? I felt a deep shame in this dream. I thought, how could I show my face at my IOP meeting on Monday?

Intellectually, I know that I can do that easily. If you slip up, no one shames you. Yet at the same time I have this sense that if I did say, whoops, I'm one day from my last drink now, that my peers would be disappointed with me. Which wouldn't be the case if I did show up, by the way. As long as you're there, you're showing that you want to be better.

So it makes dream sense, but also at the same time, I think dreams do mean something. Nothing supernatural. Just a mishmash of shit that's moving around in your head. I'm pretty sure I subconsciously felt that I didn't want to disappoint the others in my IOP meeting.

That's probably a good sign, right?

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #529: TALK TO ME

 To be read to this song. Although it will be difficult because that song is fucking hilarious, and you probably won't be able to concentrate on what I've written.

A while back, and this was while I was still drinking between my second amputation and the death of my grandmother, I watched Steve Lemme and Kevin Heffernan's stand up special. If you don't know who they are, they are two of the Broken Lizard guys. You know, Super Troopers. The two guys who went on to Tacoma FD. I'm not surprised to discover that Heffernan is probably not acting very much in that movie, but Lemme has this bit about the shame of getting caught jerking off. I tried to find it on YouTube so you could see what I mean, but I laughed my ass off because I knew how true that is. I'm not going to repeat what he said because there is no way I could do it justice, but I'd like to talk about that feeling of shame.

For the most part I am shameless. Many of you already knew that, but I am very sincere when I say that it's hard for me to feel ashamed. These days it's because I live my life in a way that I try not to do anything that would make me feel that way. But also, I don't care who knows that I jerk off. Everyone masturbates except perhaps for people who are asexual. Although there was a period of my life that I went years without roughing up the suspect. I lost my virginity at an early age, and my first time out I got the clap. (I'd tell that story, but one of the two people involved in making that happen has passed, and he had kids since this event, so I don't want them to have that image of him. The other is very much alive and could possibly face criminal charges, so I'm keeping my mouth shut.) That put a damper on any and all sexual feelings I had at the time. But once I started having sex again, I returned to beating the one-eyed wonder weasel with gusto.

But before I lost my virginity was the Golden Era of Jerking Off for me. I'd do it four or five times a day at minimum. I should mention that this was when I was in junior high. The summer between then and high school was when I, in the Beavis and Butt-Head parlance, scored.

I've only ever gotten caught with Rosy Palm and her five sisters once. There were a few close calls, but as Lemme says in the standup routine, when you hear someone at the door you have time to do one thing and one thing only. I always made sure that I only had one action I needed to take.

Except that once. I was home from school sick, and I was in the basement watching TV. Even as ill as I felt, I still got a hard on because, well, I was thirteen. When you're a thirteen year old boy, it's easier to count the times you *don't* have a hard on. So under the blanket I started to pound my meat. I didn't hear Gramps coming down the stairs until I saw him from the corner of my eye. I hoped that he hadn't noticed, so I crossed my legs under the blanket and pretended to be watching TV with great interest.

"I saw what you were doing," Gramps said. "That's a very bad thing. Don't ever do that again."

Way to shame me, Gramps. But I felt it. I felt that shame Lemme mentioned like a rotten fruit in the deepest pit of my guts. I didn't like it. No sir. Not one bit. Which is probably why I have since gone to great lengths to never feel it again.

But as a great man once said, I'm too old to go jumping into lockers. So fuck it. You catch me, you catch me. I'm sure I'll feel that shame again, but who knows? Maybe by now I won't feel it quite so bad.

This is part of that standup special I was talking about. If memory serves, he started talking about jerking off after this bit.

GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #528: IT'S MY 69TH DAY WITHOUT BOOZE

Tee-hee!

 

Yes! It's true! It's my 69th day without booze! 69 long (heh-heh) days. 69 long (huh-huh) nights.

Not 68. Not 70 (that's tomorrow). But 69!

OK, that's enough. I'll stop now.

One more for the road.