Jack Lemmon - Days of Wine and Roses
I've never been much of a barfly drunk. Never saw the social or economic benefit in it. I don't feel comfortable striking up conversations with strangers so I don't use the venue as a place to make new friends. And, until recent retail price hikes have made beer costs closer in parity to it at a bar, it didn't seem at all affordable. Not at the volume I've become accustomed to.
But when hanging out with Ric, who is very comfortable in his favorite sports bars, I see the true face of alcoholism in the harsh glow of neon signs and ESPN-fixed TV screens.
The title of this post is a subtle reference to the penultimate alcoholic co-dependency film of probably all time, "Days of Wine and Roses." In it, a young couple spiral into the hazy life of escalating mutual drunkenness until it eventually destroys their relationship. At the end of the movie, one of the main characters played by Jack Lemmon who's found his way to sobriety via an arduous journey is unable to rescue his wife Lee Remick and they, perhaps for good, split ways to continue in their now incompatible lifestyles.
Yesterday, Ric and I went "out to lunch" to have "a couple." In planning the get-together, Ric was particularly keen on stressing he didn't want an ad hoc Beer-Fest where we guzzle brews from neighborhood bar to neighborhood bar until we can barely stand. But of course, we've had our decades-long, oft-repeated history of benders just like this and, like muscle memory, an afternoon bar food lunch oh-so-easily segues into an evening of credit card burning booze mania.
Because I was pulling essentially an "all-dayer" (the night shift workers' equivalent of an "all-nighter") I was pacing myself. This allowed me to stay sober enough to watch Ric decay, rather rapidly, from a polite, logical and amicable buddy into a bitter, grudge-holding, instigating drunkard. Yet again. Like the old saying goes, "some things never change."
We didn't get into any out-right fights. Probably because I let his passive-aggressive salvos bounce impotently off my well-worn broadsides. This sure ain't my first time at this rodeo, as you know. (Me and my mixed metaphors again, ugh.)
By the onset of twilight, I was well ready to disembark from this crazy train (Yup, another mixed metaphor) and I made us walk back to his house where I crashed in his guest room until hours later when I was sure I could drive home.
So yet again, like so many times before, I think I'll back-burner our friendship. I have too many personal issues with solo drinking, never mind lumping the added physical, mental and financial devastation of weekend bar hopping to the mix.