Pop! Fizz! Glug! Drinking in the morning? What an Alcoholic is and What it is Not

Imagine the sound of a can of beer being popped open. Pop! Fizz! Glug! 

WHAT'S THE USE IN GETTING SOBER? 

(YOU'RE JUST GOING TO START DRINKING AGAIN)

Imagine that the first thing out of the mouth of that person holding that beer and popping it open is "Good morning to you!" Pop! Fizz! Glug!   

Imagine that this scene is happening at dawn... Perhaps 5 in the morning. Pop! Fizz! Glug!

Imagine that the person popping open that beer at 5 am is saying "Good morning" Pop! Fizz! Glug! And he's chugging it down and smiling. 

That person is me. Is that person an alcoholic?


No, there are more details you need. I have actually had this experience many times. You see, this is my dream in life. When I retire, I want to do this everyday of the year. Pop! Fizz! Glug!


Where am I in this scene? I am on a deep-sea fishing boat out in the Pacific Ocean a hundred miles from the coast. I am with my friends. We are on vacation. We left the harbor late last night and the fishing boat is just arriving, after a 10-hour journey, to the fishing spot.


It is a beautiful day. We are out in the middle of the Pacific ocean. There is no other humanity around excepting us on that boat. The boat's engines stop. The boat floats. We gear up our fishing poles and drop line waiting for fish (and drinking more beer). It is heaven. Pop! Fizz! Glug!


So, I ask again, is this person an alcoholic? Nope. Just on vacation and just fishing. It is wonderful.  

Drinking and fishing is good enough for Babe Ruth

so it's good enough for me! (Oh, but the Babe

had a serious drinking problem it seems!)

A few posts ago, I put to blog my thoughts on "What is an Addiction?" From that post, I have received many mails from people asking me what I thought about various addictions such as nicotine addiction and my take on the casual drinker.


Those were all tough questions to answer and, I suppose, like I stated in my article that since each chemical affects different people differently, then I guess it goes to reason that each person's method of abusing their body will affect those around them differently and how they (and their "amusement") are perceived.


Even if one's self-ordained medication doesn't seem to bother the partaker to the point of failing in their work and home duties, if it affects the thinking of those around, then I suppose, using my logic, it must affect their human relationships.


Once again, to recap what an addiction is for those who missed the first article, in a sentence or two from What is an addiction, consider:


Addictions are not the problem of alcohol, drugs, gambling, sex or whatever. Addiction is not a problem of the substance abuse in and of itself... Addiction is a problem of human communication.

For example, drug addiction is not a problem of drugs. Drug addiction, like all addictions is a problem of human relations. This is the part about addictions that people fail to recognize for what it is. Drug addiction, like all addictions become a problem when they start to interfere with your human relations and communications with the people around you.   


So that article discusses what an addict is. This discusses (with a hopefully humorous story) what an alcoholic (or addict) is not.


So, what isn't an addict? Now there's a tough question to answer!


It's only the middle of October and Christmas and New Year's are just around the corner. With this story, I cannot answer the question as to "what is an addict"? But I sure can answer what it is not. 


I'd like to share this humorous true story with you about exactly what isn't an alcoholic but is perceived as one. 


Perhaps I can get away with this unseasonably untimely article because I saw, at Tokyo's famous and extremely fashionable Takashimaya department store, people already lined up for New Year's "Oseichi Ryori."

Lining up at the start of October for Oseichi Ryori for January 1!

Crikey! The Christmas stuff wasn't even out yet! 

But, as I often do, I digress...


Trust that if you never drank alcohol or ever took any sorts of drugs at all, and you witnessed someone doing so in the early morning or sneaking off to do so where they wouldn't be seen, you'd think they had a serious addiction problem. That's happened to me... At my wife's parent's house.


That's the story today.


But first, let me recall my very first New Year's Day in Japan. It was in 1980. I was in Japan for vacation and visiting my then, and soon to be, first wife's house. I didn't know it at the time, but my soon-to-be wife's father was the president of a construction company and they had a dormitory. Several (many, all?) of the workers lived on the first floor of their house which was that dormitory. I stayed on the second floor of their house during my entire three week stay in Japan.


I didn't know what was going on with all these people living and staying at this house (my fiancee wasn't good at explaining things) so I thought this arrangement was a bit bizarre and figured that these people were all workers and/or family members. They were all very nice people and were always friendly to me, though I didn't know exactly who they were.


One day, it became New Year's morning, at about ten am, I went downstairs to the living room (I'm sure with a hangover).


When I got downstairs there were eight or so men, who worked at my girlfriend's dad's company who were passed out on the floor - drunk. I stepped over them and wanted to go to the bathroom... There was my wonderful future mother-in-law Komako and she smiled at me. She said,


"Akemashite omedetou gozaimasu!!" (Happy New Year!) and she offered me a drink of sake.


"Wow! I love Japan! What a wonderful country!" I thought. "People drink from the morning and enjoy life. I love this place!"


That was my very first New Year's in Japan. It was a wonderful memory and I'll never forget it.


Later I would soon learn that the Japanese had strict societal "rules" about alcohol drinking. It was considered fine to drink on holidays and special occasions from the morning, but to drink during the week, during work hours, or to drink so much that one missed work, was totally forbidden (though, of course, some people are alcoholics and do that). 


Japanese people who are gainfully employed still, to this day, and to my knowledge, never drink during work hours. This, as opposed to Americans who are known to have two-martini lunches (I sure did before I came to Japan - and those at my bosses' behest!) 


That New Year's day had a profound effect on me as to so-called "responsible drinking."


Fast forward at least twenty three years later...


I was a producer of many TV and radio shows and had gone the rounds with the people who are gainfully employed in the mass media. Let me tell you, those people can drink.


I have learned a few things about working in the mass media and sales in Japan (if you are in the mass media, then you are salesman, if for nothing else, selling yourself) then you have to drink. And that means drinking a lot. Drinking  a lot nearly every night of the week. The weak drinkers and faint at heart need not apply. If you want to succeed in those businesses, in Japan, then expect to drink heavily.


Let me give you one example. Mr. Sugiyama, Taro, Mikey and me. Four of us. Start drinking at 5 pm. Finish drinking at 8 am when the bar owner kicks us out. By then we have consumed 5 pints of beer each and between us downed 6 liters of Korean liquor that is 25% alcohol. I was so drunk that I couldn't walk. 


It wasn't the first time I'd been that drunk. It wasn't the last...


I do hope, though, in my old age, that I don't do that again...   


Now, I am a responsible drinker... 


But there are still two people who think I might be an alcoholic. Those two are my wife's mom and dad. 


They don't drink alcohol.


They don't smoke cigarettes. 


They don't gamble.


They live in the country and there's nothing to do there except go for walks and, for exciting entertainment, go to the one and only department store for miles around. Woop-dee-doo!


So, it used to be, I dreaded going there because there was nothing to do. They live out in the middle of the sticks. Even going to the department store is a good 8 minute drive by car... Walking? Oh, there's a 7-11 convenience store about 8 or 9 minutes walk from their house... I'd guess it's at least 1 kilometer away (about 3/4 mile or so). 


This 7-11 convenience store would be the exact cause that my in-laws think I am an alcoholic. Here's what happened:


It was New Year's Day. My son wasn't yet born and wife and I had gone to stay at her parent's home for the holidays. I was dreading that because, like I said, they don't partake in any particular, shall I say, "escapisms." In fact, they are very serious people and quite conservative about many things. 


I love my in-laws and they are good and kind to me, but they are definitely quite the prim and proper middle aged Japanese couple: Little sense of humor; he was the former president of a large Japanese corporation and she was the head dietician for all elementary schools in all of Kanagawa prefecture. (Imagine a person who was head dietician for all elementary schools in, say, Texas and you get the idea). They both had received numerous awards from Japanese prime ministers and came from strong and upstanding families and all that.


Me? I am a lowlife American who liked to drink to excess with friends at work nearly every night and smoked cigarettes and loved to gamble.


It was New Year's morning. I prepared for it by buying two large cans of beer from the 7-11 convenience store the night before. I knew that I would be the only one drinking at that household and that I would have to control myself; that's why I only bought two cans. I figured that I could probably drink the two cans really quick, get a buzz (maybe) then go back to sleep until it was time to go to the shrine and then food!


I sat at the dining table. It was about 10 am. I opened a beer. "Good morning to you!" I said to my mother-in-law. Pop! Fizz! Glug! She sat down by me looking very worried,


"Is it OK that you drink so early in the morning?" she asked.


I replied, "Oh, sure! You kidding? My friends and I drink much more than this!" I think I shouldn't have said that. My mother-in-law looked on with a worried face as I drank the next can of beer immediately. Pop! Fizz! Glug!  


Later on, my wife got mad at me and told me not to drink in front of her parents. She told me that they think I have a drinking problem.


"What!?" I said, "I only had two cans of beer!" 


"I don't care!" My wife said. "My parents don't drink at all, so if you are going to drink, go do it somewhere else!"


"Nonsense!" I thought. 


Later that day, I decided that I wanted to drink and smoke. Couldn't do it there at the in-laws house so I told them that I was going to "take a walk." I did. I grabbed some money from my wife and headed down to the 7-11. 


The 7-11 is a good walk down a fairly steep mountainside... The coming back up hill would suck, but I still wanted the booze... And there's not much to stop a man who is bored out of his mind, in the country with nothing to do, at a house where people do not drink or gamble or smoke, so I took the walk.


It was a brisk afternoon. I entered the 7-11 like a kid in a candy store. "Oh boy! Booze!" I grabbed a few large cans of beer and some cigarettes, paid for them, and walked out of the store...


When I walked out, I looked for somewhere to sit. Somewhere that I could leisurely relax and enjoy the sun and my cigarettes and beer. There wasn't any place good, so I popped open the beer and lit a cigarette in the parking lot.


"Wow! Drinking in a parking lot!" I thought. "Just like when I was a university student." It felt good!


I took another large swig of the beer and then walked over to the street corner to look around at Stickville. Nothing! Nothing to the left of me, nothing to the right of me excepting rice fields as far as you could see and closed shops and houses.


"Shit!" I thought. I took some more puffs and downed the beer. I put the empty can back into the vinyl bag and opened another. Pop! Fizz! Glug! 


Then it happened.


Just as I was standing on the street corner downing the second beer, they came. Right in front of me. My mother and father-in-law drove by in the car and they were looking right at me! They were shocked and had their mouths gaping wide open. I could read their minds. They were thinking,


"Oh, my god! Definitely Mike does have a drinking problem! He is sick! Our daughter married an alcoholic! What shall we do? He's standing on a street corner drinking like some homeless person! Oh, the shame!" 


They drove by gaping at me. I saw them too and probably looked like a deer caught in the car's headlights. I quickly tried to put the beer behind my back as they drove past. I tried to look nonchalant and smiled as I waved with my other hand that was holding the vinyl bag with the empty beer can. It was probably obvious that there was an empty in the vinyl bag from the way it looked.


Eyes wide open and staring at me. Their mouths gaped open like baby chicks waiting for their mother to feed them. They turned the corner and drove down the street in the opposite direction.


"Shit!" I thought. Pop! Fizz! Glug!  


Later on, when I returned home, my wife told me that her parents didn't want me out drinking in public because they didn't want the neighbors to see me and know that their daughter had married an alcoholic foreigner. They said that if I insisted upon drinking, that I should do it at their house where no one would see me. My mother told my wife that she thought I might need to seek professional help.


No thank you. I know how to drink. I don't need a professional teaching me how to do that.


That's been at least 7 years ago. In spite of what you think, I am not an alcoholic. I deny that completely.


Why can I deny that? Because we go to my wife's parent's house several times a year. I have come to enjoy going there now. I control myself and don't drink when we go there


Why? Well, when I go there,

I don't drink alcohol.

I don't smoke cigarettes. 

I don't gamble.

In fact, whenever I go to my in-laws house, I usually go three or four days in a row without any of the above (I take lots of naps). It's kind of like doing a body cleansing. I do feel much better whenever I return from visiting the in-laws house.

It's when I get home that the process repeats. 


Pop! Fizz! Glug!

Admit the Worst Thing You've Ever Done and Be Happy

Most people have done some pretty bad things in their lives. Most people wouldn't admit the bad things they've done. I think that most people wouldn't believe the terrible and sick and pathetic things others have done in their lives before - all the while not wanting to admit their own evil deeds... 


But those admissions make great reading. 


Unless, of course, you are like someones prudish grandmother. In that case, tales of hair raising schemes and being chased by the police will just cause shock and disgust. Stories like that, when told to prudish "church-lady-types," are kind of like when W.C. Fields asked the old bitties who complained about his behavior, 


"Do any of you ladies have any empty gin bottles?" 


To which the insulted women replied, "Do we look like we drink gin?"


And W.C. Fields retorted, "OK, then. Do you have any empty vinegar bottles?"

W. C. Fields: "Don't say you can't swear off drinking. 

I've done it a thousand times."

I've done some pretty bad things in my life that I am ashamed of telling anyone. But today, for some reason, I've decided to admit some stuff because I feel that things aren't going as well as they should so maybe I need to get this stuff off of my shoulders. Think of this article as a sort of catharsis for Mike Rogers today.


I've done at least several very stupid things so far in my life that I have only admitted to just a few people because they are embarrassing. They are so embarrassing and so dumb that I've been reluctant to admit them before. 


Not that I didn't want to. I do want to admit my wrongs.  Why? Because I don't think you can be truly happy unless you admit your wrongs and your shortcomings and then move forward. Don't Catholics and Christians think this way, too? Aren't we supposed to ask for forgiveness?


Aren't we supposed to love ourselves first?


Not admitting bad things you have done is having skeletons in the closet. Maybe I am anal retentive, but I don't want any skeletons.


That's why I write a blog. I've been writing a blog, or writing for another blog, for nearly 8 years now. That's a pretty long time as far as blogger lifetimes go, I reckon.


I like writing these blogs and these blogs posts because they allow me to spill my guts and cleanse my soul. It's sort of like confession sometimes and I get to admit some of the bad things I've done to people before in an attempt to clear my conscious and, perhaps, start from a clean slate.


I've posted to this blog and others about stupid things I did and some of the bad things that happened to me. You know, they say "What goes around comes around!" So, I figure that if I tell the truth and admit my wrongs and shortcomings then good things will come back to me. It's worth the risk, no?


So, don't think I'm being magnanimous in admitting my wrongs. It's actually selfish. If I admit my wrongs, then maybe so many bad things won't happen to me or my family and friends. 


Or are these thoughts that I have the thoughts of someone suffering from delusions of grandeur?


All of us have things we'd like to hide. Especially if we are looking for a job.


Have you ever had the police pointing guns at your head and yelling for you to get down on the ground? I have. More than once. The first time I was only 17-years-old. Have you ever been arrested? I have. More than once. But I have never been convicted of a crime and have no criminal record (so don't tell me that there's no God!) I was never a criminal, per se, never stole anything or shoplifted or robbed or beat anyone or anything like what goes on today.... I was a prankster... My calling card was hijinks and playing tricks on people.


Have you ever drank so much that you couldn't walk? I have. Far too many times to count. I used to like drinking myself nearly blind. If you don't believe me, ask my friends. I'd get so drunk I couldn't hardly stand up (and being so drunk once that I actually forgot my own then 5-year-old like a piece of discarded luggage when I got off the train and walked away).


How about getting divorced twice and married three times? Yeah. Been there, done that. 


In Japan, a very conservative and proper society, people who have these experiences will usually never admit them publicly. I used to host a very popular FM radio show and admitted these things freely. That garnered me lots of fans. I even admitted to going into drug rehabilitation on the radio before and that in a country that will lock you up for possessing even a minuscule amount of marijuana. That was a shocker. The program's ratings skyrocketed.


The ratings skyrocketed because I believe that people were ready to hear from someone who wasn't perfect and had all the same flaws they did (I don't have perfect pearly white teeth, slicked back hair and a pink cadillac either).


My 5 weeks in drug rehab happened in the late nineties. Thanks to that experience, and my wife saving my life, I've been off drugs with no desire to do that ever again... Though I will admit that, looking back, drug rehab was a lot of fun and I met some of the wildest people there. 


Please refer to Drug Rehab for George from Lew Rockwell:

Like the time I put myself into drug rehabilitation for speed addiction. The little voice was right about interning myself — I just about had no choice. But darned if that little guy didn't change his mind and start telling me to plan an escape within the first few days of being there; Which is it? Get high or stay straight, make up your mind, will you?

Everyone else who found themselves trapped in drug rehab seemed to be hearing voices too. One day a guy, I'll call him "George," (not his real name) came up to me while I was secretly planning on tunneling out of the hospital complex using a tea-spoon I had stolen from the cafeteria to dig through concrete floor — à la that World War II movie The Great Escape (The little voice was also playing the theme song from that movie in my head for special effect). George sat down next to me, looked around to see if anyone was spying on us and then he whispered, "Are you a foreigner?" Sheesh! Duh! This is Japan. Do I look like a foreigner? I answered, "Yes." He said, "I thought so." He looked around again and then he went on to explain to me how he spoke to God and that a scar — shaped like a star — on middle of his forehead proved that he was the Chosen One. Well, he did have weird star shaped scar on his head and it's not often that I get to meet the second coming of Christ so I listened in. He explained that they had him interned because he knew too much — and had too much power. I would find out later that they interned him because his mom put him in there. It seems that he would wake up in the mornings and pour Vodka straight onto his cornflakes and eat that for breakfast and then not go to school — Funny that. I guess he'd been doing this since he was in 5^th grade. When I met him in the hospital he was 18 or so.

Later on George explained to me that, even though they had never met, the heavy metal rock band Mettalica had written a song about him. I think the song title was Master of Puppets (makes sense). The song was something about George being the second — or would it be the third — I didn't bother to ask — coming of Christ. I told George that if he really were The Chosen One, then he could just wiggle his nose like Samantha in Bewitched (Even though I liked I Dream of Jeannie better) and get us out of there. But he couldn't do it. Damn! And I had my hopes up there for a minute, too. You know, usually I'm a pretty good judge of character, but George had me fooled. What a big liar. Oh well, back to the spoon escape plan, I thought.

Now, a lot of you folks reading this might think, "Why did Mike sit there and listen to this nutcase?" And I might have to agree. But let me defend myself by saying that I was in a hospital full of screw-balls, so George's conversation was just as interesting — if not more than — anyone else's. I had nowhere to go, so I'd listen intently on what George would have to say and usually wound up thinking the same thing over and over, "How in the world did I wind up in this hospital full of these crazy people? Get me out of here!"

That was over 14 years ago. I don't do drugs anymore. There's no way in the world I'm ever going back to play my part as Jack Nicholson in One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest again. By the way, at least the hospital in the Nicholson movie had background music playing all the time. Mine didn't, yet we still had two or three people dancing all day in the hallway all the time.

The other reason I don't do drugs anymore is that drugs make you forget what you were doing. It was quite a shock one-day when my then 12-year-old daughter walked up to me holding my speed pipe and said "Daddy? What's this?" "It's my, er, asthma medicine, Stay away from it." 

I know she didn't believe me.

But even though rehab-hospital was a living hell, I'm glad I went to that hospital. You know why? Well, at the time I hated it. But now, looking back, it was a great (and funny memory) — but never again. 

The other thing about it that I am thankful for is that I was put through a rigorous method to break my addiction at the most famous rehab hospital in all of Asia — Matsumoto Clinic. And I did it. The doctor told me leaving Matsumoto and never returning was as tough as getting into the world famous Tokyo University and graduating. He said that the chance of retuning to drug rehab was about 96% for first-timers. If they re-enter after the first time, the chances for a full recovery are 1 in 10,000. Three times in and out of drug rehab means that the patient will usually spend the rest of their lives going in and out of the hospital (usually in secret). So now you know where guys like Rush Limbaugh most probably go when they claim to be "on vacation."


....I never went back, even once.

I hope that the above passage doesn't shock dear reader too much. There's lots more about that place that I will write about someday. Also, someday I will work up the courage to write about events leading up to drug rehab that will really blow your mind...

Like the time I rode my motorcycle ala Hell's Angels through the double front glass doors at a big building in the middle of the night and revved the engine in the lobby as I sat upon the bike waking up the entire neighborhood.

But not today. I'm saving that one up for a movie script.

1/2 of my reason for living... I see that I need to 

take a photo with all 4 of my kids and us together too!

I'm not perfect, and neither are you. None of us are. That's why we need to ask for forgiveness from our god and from our loved ones. We've all done stupid things and made mistakes. We've all done things we regret and hurt people we loved... Every time I do this, I feel better about myself and more positive about me and my life.

Admitting these things, like an alcoholic admitting that they have a drinking problem, is the first step towards a cure. And that first step is the first step towards true happiness.

Pray or meditate for a moment on a past wrong. Give a friend or a loved one a hug or a phone call and say, "Remember the time?...." and ask forgiveness. 

Today is a wonderful day. Like a butterfly emerging from a cocoon, you can spread your wings and shed some weight from your shoulders but just being honest and open and saying "sorry" (if even just to yourself).    

It's an easy way to spread love, share the light and to sooth the mortal soul.