Songs of My Life

I, like almost everyone else on the planet, have certain songs that take me into very specific places in my past. They're not even all songs that I necessarily like, but as soon as the introductory music starts, I'm taken back. A few examples:

"The Ocean Breathes Salty" by Modest Mouse--This just came on my Pandora station (a modified Hold Steady group). This is the song that I quoted on the title page of Edgar's Ashes. I was exhausted, sitting in the Mac Lab, writing out Matthew's storyline in maroon crayon when this song came on. Modest Mouse didn't usually come on that channel, so I had to tab over and see what was playing. And I loved it. Sure, it's from an album that a lot of people didn't really enjoy, but the line "You waste life, why wouldn't you waste death?" became the dedicatory quote for the play. And hearing it takes me back to those exhausted, middle-of-the-night writing marathons where I was putting that show together. It feels like a burned mouth from too much coffee

Eddie Izzard's Definite Article CD--For a while in the spring of 2007, I fell asleep every night listening to spoken word stuff. It usually was an Eddie Izzard CD, because I enjoyed it but I knew the CD well enough that it wouldn't keep me awake. I did this for a few months until I slung my mp3 player across the room in my sleep and broke it.

"You Oughta Know" by Alanis Morrissette--My senior year in high school (2004-2005), I began listening to this CD non-stop for about two months while I was doing errands around town or driving to-and-from school. Mix that in with my expressive interpretations and the fact that it looked like I was screaming at invisible people in my car when I was driving led to some interesting conversations with people that I knew that had seen me driving. I eventually had to take this CD out because it was making me too angry and it was starting to make men piss me off as a general concept. Needless to say, that wasn't going to work any longer.

"The Pineapple Song" from Cabaret--This song actually has little to do with me, but it does go into that same era when I first got a car in high school and I fully believed that the most important part of driving was what you were listening to. I permanently cured my brother of worrying about driving with reckless drivers because I would veer into oncoming traffic if I didn't like the song tha twas on. Well, I would always sing full-out. And after a few months, he started lightly singing along. Then, I wouldn't sing a certain song or whatever, and I catch him singing. And the moment that I knew that I had infected him, at least a little bit, is when we were driving home from the S-curve in front of The Little Pantry and he asked if we could listen to this song because he thought it was hysterical. Score one for musical theatre.

Falling Into the New Year

On New Year's, my brother hosted a party. About twenty people showed up to drink a little bit, dance a little bit, play cards, watch TV, and just generally hang out. As 2008 drew to a close, our friend Martin punched himself. In the face. Which is ridiculous, but people do stuff like that all the time. But no, Martin hit himself in the face hard enough to knock himself through a window.

As the glass shattered, my brother and his roommate hauled him back in through the window and extracted the glass shard about the size of a deck of cards from his ass. There was a little blood, but nothing to infect anybody or make anyone pass out. The room went quiet. The music was turned off. And my brother made an announcement:

"Everyone leave. Grab a DD and get out." And they did. Within fifteen minutes, his apartment went from a party house to empty. Mason walked around and turned the lights out and called my father.

"I'm afraid my neighbors are going to call the cops."

"When did this happen?"

"Like fifteen minutes ago."

"Well, if the cops aren't there yet, they aren't coming. They're out in force, especially tonight." This comforted my brother somewhat. My dad offered to send me to go pick him up so that the apartment would be abandoned in case anyone showed up. My brother declined...they would be able to figure out whose apartment it was with the most minute of efforts.

"I'm just going to go to bed."

"Where is Martin?"

"Sean drove him down the street."

"Sean's been drinking!"

"And it's just down the street." With that, my brother hung up the phone and maneuvered into his bedroom in his pitch-black apartment. And he went to sleep.

The next morning, waking up to see the hole in his wall, he duct-taped a sheet over it, and called a glazier.

Now, this story is funny to me because someone punched themselves hard enough to fall through a window. I don't masochists with that sort of willpower. It just goes to show you the evil of drink. I feel likke after one of these stories, I should now tell awful prom night stories and tell you how many empty calories are in beer. But I don't really believe that. I like wine a lot. And sometimes, I like being tipsy.

But, just because you're in college doesn't mean that when you drink too much consistently, you don't have a drinking problem. Just because it's cool to drink every weekend and practically expected doesn't make that not borderline compulsive. Alcoholism is one of the unspoken diseases of the young.

How do you deal with something like this? As much as I love a bulleted list, I don't know what to say. You can talk to the person, but they won't be receptive. Due to the cultural factors and the normalcy of the problem, few people would actually seek help. And it's not every one looking for a good time, but there are enough people with problems to make this story an uncomfortable chuckle on the iceberg of larger problems.

So, I'll continue to see people show up drunk to shows. I'll continue to watch people drink fifths of vodka by themselves. I'll watch an Oprah special unfold right before my eyes.

And I don't know how to stop it.

But this is making me sad. I'm going to go have a margarita and feel better.