Thoughts on booze

I was reading President Obama’s Dreams from my Father just now, and he was talking about how he was getting back into outreach programs, when he stumbled on some Marxists arguing. They were debating Trotsky’s place in history. As he left, Obama overheard them scream at each other, “Stalinist pig!” and “Reformist bitch!” It was then that I think I figured out why I drink so much more now.

I have been thinking about drinking and why I do it nowadays. At first, my gut’s reaction was to say it’s because I live in a country in which I barely know the language, far from my friends, subjecting myself to loads of change. Now, though, I think that’s only part of it.

These days, I’m fairly well adjusted. I can speak, read, and understand Korean well enough to go do whatever I need to do, if pressed. I’m not afraid to go outside of my normal routine. So why do I still booze so much more frequently than before I arrived here? Is it because I’m no longer in school and don’t have to worry about work after work? Possibly, but as I read Obama’s words, I realized what it was.

Remember the Stalinist pig and the reformist bitch? They remind me of the academicians I was surrounded by in graduate school. I remember the academic arguments that, prior to joining the ranks of academia, I thought were so admirable. Those of you who know me, know I formed a strong aversion to the vocabulary, attitudes, and mores of the academy. I would do little things to, I don’t know, I guess rebel against academic norms. I’m not saying I’m proud of acting a little foolish, I’m just exploring my observations.

Graduate school is now about 9 months behind me. I’ve left the country – the continent! – and have a 9-5, so to speak, yet I drink more now than ever. Why the booze? I still feel that aversion. I am proud of my academic accomplishments, I recognize that I have some skill derived from and useful because of school, but whenever I feel like something is expected of me, or that I should behave a certain way, I feel the tug from the old neighborhood watering hole. On Fridays, I tell my coworker, Julie, “My beerometer’s pegged,” and motion with my arm like it’s the needle of a gauge, quivering as it strains to show the true desire I have for a drink. She laughs, and I’m not sure she fully understands because her English, while good, is not perfect by any stretch of the imagination.

Yesterday at dinner, I said, “I’m not going to drink on weeknights this week. Well, not counting Monday night, since it was a holiday. And not counting Friday, because that’s the weekend, and I gotta drink at our R&D party.” Well, I’m breaking that little promise as soon as I finish writing this. I had no real desire to hit the sauce until I read “Stalinist pig,” and “reformist bitch.”

Shit. Leave your angry ideologies at the door! They weren’t even talking to me, nor did I have to deal with them, but I still know their type. Time for a fuckin’ drink, man.

p.s., If anyone still even reads this, especially my grad school friends, please don’t take offense. I think you’ve all heard me say this before, or at least guessed it, but this doesn’t mean I hate or look down on any of you; I simply don’t care to be a part of that social group in an exclusive (or at least close) sense anymore. Love you all bunches and bunches.