Whatd you get up to last night?
Got wicked drunk.
Yeah? Whered you go?
I didnt go anywhere. I drank at home.
You had a party and didnt invite me? Who showed up?
No one. I got drunk by myself.
No shit? Whats wrong, man? You wanna talk about it?
I do wanna talk about it. Not about what my friend wrongly assumed was the dark motivation that would drive me to drink alone, but the very act of drinking alone.
Somewhere along the line people got the idea that solitary boozing is a sure sign that the drinker is about to slip over the edge into something dark and sinister, whether it be suicide, skid row or a staff position at a drinking magazine.
And on the surface, it makes sense. Alcohol is the original social lubricant, after all, it makes any gathering loose and friendly, it has the unique and beatific ability to spin laughter and camaraderie from the dry straw that is the strained silence of the sober. Strangers become friends, friends become cliques and cliques become vast drinking scenes. It is the golden bond that connects you with most of your friends and acquaintances. It sure as hell isnt a collective interest in stamp collecting that holds the gang together.
Drinking alone, on the other hand, is a much more pure and forthright form of imbibing, and I say that because it focuses entirely on the simple act of putting alcohol into your bloodstream. It tosses aside all the half-hearted pretensions about merely using alcohol as a social tool. It gets down to what drinking is all about: getting loaded, and by doing that, getting down to the inner you. The inner joy, the inner madness, the subconscious you, the realyou.
Now, there are those who abhor the very idea of spending a moment with themselves. Put them in a quiet room for five minutes and theyre picking up the phone or turning on the TV. Deep down in his private heart, no man respects himself much, Mark Twain was fond of saying, and he was dead right. Why should those people want to hang with their inner selves? That entity is, for all intents and purposes, a stranger, and worse, a stranger who knows all their deepest, darkest, most terrible secrets.
Which, ironically enough, is exactlywhy you have to hang with him, because sooner or later that bastard will turn on you. The longer you keep him locked up by himself, the weirder hes going to get, and he will eventually manifest himself as a nervous breakdown or very self-destructive behavior.
Thats where your old pal booze comes into play. You already knew the sauce is the supreme moderator, a perfectly charming go-between when dealing with friends and strangers, but did you also know it is as equally adept at opening up internal lines of communication? Whiskey is the key that sets the monkey free, goes the old saw, and that monkey is your Id, your subconscious mind, the inner you. Instead of letting that monkey out in public, where he tends to go berserk (or so they tell you the next morning), set him loose in a calm room. A quiet place bare of predators and prey. Get to know him. You might be surprised. You might even start liking the little bastard.
Find Your Circle of Solitude
So I stayed in bed and drank. When you drank the world was still out there, but for the moment it didnt have you by the throat.Charles Bukowski
Just as it is nearly impossible to write anything worth reading while someone is looking over your shoulder, it is just as nearly impossible to tap the subconscious mind while drinking in the company of others. Which is a shame because never is the subconscious mind more lucid and willing to speak than when you are loaded.
So find your quiet space. Lower the lighting and unplug the phone. And for the love of God, turn off the TV. That evil box is the antithesis of inner thought, it is a jabbering knave that never shuts up or listens, it is expressly designed to steal your attention and direct it to its own petty needs. Turn it off or, better yet, throw it out the window.
A dining table, in my opinion, is the best place to drink alone. There is something about having the glass and bottle sitting right in front of you, ready for action, it brings to mind Bogart in Casablanca, except you dont have Sam sitting at the piano, tickling the ivories. But that doesnt mean you cant have some music to set the mood.
The Soundtrack of Isolation
The only thing better than one of my songs is one of my songs with a glass of scotch. Jackie Gleason
While you may prefer metal, rap, punk or, egad, techno when youre out swinging with the gang, the point of drinking alone is not to get pumped upbut to hunker down with the inner workings of your psyche. Slow and melodic, even nostalgic music is best. Tom Waits, the Jackie Gleason Orchestra, Johnny Cash and Portishead work for me. You know what puts you in a meditative mood. Find your slow inner beat and cater to it.
Choose Your Moderator
I let my drinking do the talking. Humphrey Bogart
Whiskey on the rocks is Johnny Carson. A cocktail is Conan OBrien. A strong burgundy with some bite is David Letterman. Beer is Jay Leno, which is why I stay away from it. And make sure youre well stocked. The last thing you want is Johnny, just when the show is starting to roll, taking a powder on you.
Now that youve picked your host, youre ready to start rapping with your Id, right? Wrong. Before you can get acquainted with yourself, you have to get acquainted with the bottle.
