Godammit, I’m Mad!

A federal appeals court in San Francisco ruled Friday that a parolee cannot be obliged to attend an AA or AA-affiliated program as a condition of staying out of prison. For those who believe that 12 step programs are indeed religious in nature, and that “the God of my understanding” refers to the Christian one, this decision may come as welcome vindication.

But what else is an addict to do?

I have attended 12 step meetings in support of a loved one. The god issue was always a huge sticking point. Seasoned 12 steppers always dismiss that sort of attitude as a form of resistance to The Program. For me, it is a resistance to pretending I believe in a higher power. I know and accept that I personally am not the creator of the universe; but I don’t believe in a higher power in the sense that I can’t surrender my will to “It” if it doesn’t exist.

I’ve read about one person who decided that the law of thermodynamics would be his higher power. I’m happy if it saved him from the tragedy of addiction, but I can’t think of anything similar for my own purpose.

So, if not a 12 step program, how can an addict break free of substance abuse? A book called Romancing Opiates convinced me that addicts (in particular, opiate addicts) are addicts by choice. Not victims, not slaves, but people who lack the moral fortitude to step out of the cycle they’re caught up in. Statistics based on American Vietnam veterans suggest that the majority who returned to the US as drug addicts were able to stop using without seeking outside help.

Those statistics are refuted by everyone who uses the addiction-as-disease model. They insist that the vets who got clean did so because they weren’t as badly addicted as the group that continued to use.

“The Heroin Diaries,” a book by Nikki Sixx of Motley Crue, was reviewed here by a writer whose main complaint about it was that Mr. Sixx was really only a coke-head and therefore not worthy of the respect due a real junkie (ie a real Suffering Artist.) It struck me as irresponsible as well as stupid to perpetuate the myth of the noble junkie. I even wrote to the reviewer in the hope of having a dialogue with him. He didn’t write back.

More recently, I read a piece in the New York Times magazine by longtime Times reporter David Carr, who has written an account of his addiction called “Night of the Gun.” His writing blew me away. His brutally honest depiction of his bad behavior is difficult to take, but it is certainly bracing and honorable. For some reason, though, the comments his excerpt provoked are mostly angry and bitter. I still can’t understand why, unless it’s the fact that he doesn’t beg for the reader’s forgiveness.

If you love an addict, or have an interest in addiction, I can’t recommend both David Carr’s book and “Romancing Opiates” highly enough.

If you are an addict, you are breaking more hearts that you can possibly imagine. Choose life, damn you!

If you are neither of the above, thank the god of your understanding for missing this particular bullet.

I’m sorry, I can’t seem to avoid penises.  This time, I was browsing some gossip site and saw a picture of director/douchebag Brett Ratner at a party celebrating the launch of a new book. Sure enough, it turned out to be a new title by Taschen called ‘The Big Penis Book.’

“This hefty book is profusely illustrated with over 400 historic photos of spectacular male endowments, including rare photos of the legendary John Holmes.”

Okay! What’s not to love about this book? You can look at some of its contents at the Taschen website, but I personally am afraid to do so.  Maybe I will once the kids are asleep.  Let me know what you think.

In this essay, a writer discusses how we tend to judge people by the books they read. In my life, this is certainly true, although I don’t think I’ve broken up with anyone on that basis. The essay is full of book snobs recounting how disgusted they were upon discovering that a suitor was reading Ayn Rand, or even worse.

It’s pretty stupid when you read about it, and now I’m regretting my snobbery. One guy in the essay is repelled by anyone who claims to be reading Samuel Beckett. But Beckett is so good! Why shouldn’t one be allowed to read him without being considered an asshole?

Personally, I hold my greatest contempt for anyone who even talks about reading Ulysses. I know they’ve never read it, or else they tried and failed. I’m not crazy about anyone who loves Cormac McCarthy, but I’m aware that some otherwise great people appear to worship him. People who read or mention Anais Nin are also a red flag. It makes me feel sad for them.

The people in this essay seem to feel superior to everyone whose taste isn’t as highbrow as their own, but that is a problem for anyone trying to maintain their sense of elitist entitlement. For me, it’s a distrust of pretentiousness. Even a whiff of it will annoy me. At the same time, I would be hesitant about anyone who reads best-sellers.

I’ve solved this problem somewhat by not reading any more. I still buy books, but I have no attention span. I read book reviews and feel nostalgic about the transcendent pleasure of good fiction.

I recently found my self pretending to know the works of Gogol, rather than admit my ignorance. I feel I should get credit for Gogol, since I’ve read my share of Tolstoy. And I once became infatuated with someone because he loved “The Pigeon” only to find out later that he’d never read it.

I worry that I may be losing my edge, since I’m not as disdainful as the book snobs in the essay. I used to ruin many a dinner party by arguing about books. However, I do think it’s funny that there’s a dating site for fans of Ayn Rand. Ugh! They deserve each other!