Here and Now: Post Puking in Korea, ADHD On a Tractor

The 'here and now' is sometimes hard to take but it is sure one hell of a lot better than 'the dead and gone'.

Unless, of course, you believe in a glorious after life. But old Jews like me don't believe in an after life.You do good for good's sake so that you can leave a good name not because you want to go to heaven. For me there ain't no heaven and their ain't no hell.When I die I will be stone cold, fucking dead.

'Here and Now' was the name of a AA Sunday night meeting started by a tough little Irishman named Jimmy. Jimmy had empathy but no compassion. If a practicing alcoholic showed up at the meeting, in the bag, Jimmy would throw him out.

Strangely, the meetings that were held at the VA facility in Palo Alto didn't draw flies. The weird part is that booze was big time in the service (dope and pills hardly at all) in my days.Getting drunk at every opportunity was a sign of manhood. I was very big time Macho in that department.

At 21 being blotto and getting an erection is possible. At 51, and beyond, being in the bag and getting an erection is every man's dream..

At my first AA meeting, at the Vets, there was only one other guy, the secretary and me. After listening to the 'other guy', a Viet Nam vet, it seemed to me that the poor son of a bitch needed to be put away. He was the product of dope and booze and a real mess. More looney than sane.One more meeting was my emotional limit.

When farming in Iowa, getting half in the bag on weekends felt like my only way out. Slopping hogs, milking cows, plowing corn, needing to take an outdoor shower in the summer before the Princess would let me in the house for dinner, deserved some reward. Weekend booze was my reward.

Actually one of the most memorable farming experiences was spending days on end plowing corn. Sitting on a fucking tractor, going up and down endless rows of corn at about one mile per hour and having to concentrate on staying in the dirt, between the rows of corn, tested my ADHD. At the end of each day I was really wired for sound and could have probably lit up the city of Philadelphia. So, often a little booze and a roaring screamer with the Princess were my outlets.

My drinking companion in Iowa was often my first father-in-law but he complained about me drinking his whiskey, the whiskey he had paid for. So I told him, in no uncertain terms, to stick his whiskey where the sun don't shine aka 'stick it in your ass'.

We continued to drink together, but each out of our own bottle. We were attached to one another by an electrical bond of mutual disrespect and dislike.

We had a great trade going. He disliked me for my in his face attitude and in turn, I disliked him for what he was. He drowned fishing in that fucking fish-less, loaded with weeds, Clear Lake, Iowa.

Getting in the bag on warm sake in Seoul, Korea was fun until it wasn't. I made my first and last trip down Sake Alley (warm or not) in Seoul. I barely made it back to the barracks to puke my brains out. Getting sick from drinking was no big fucking deal in the Army. That was just part of the whole Army scene.

Out here in the Land of Milk and Honey and Fruits and Nuts, there was a guy, a sometimes drinking buddy of mine who loved heated red wine. He drank that bullshit heated wine which got him in almost instant motion or numb. Sometimes he just passed out at the table. He called it falling asleep.

I concentrated on Grants 8 year old scotch. He died of alcoholism and here I am at 91 1/2.

The moral is an old AA 'truism' that God takes care of drunks and fools and since I qualify on both scores here I am, still around, full of piss and vinegar. And still, thank God, without a filter between my brain and my mouth.

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