Confessions of an Alcoholic: Finnish Nazis and Moonlight Serenades
“A man’s got to believe in something. I believe I’ll have another drink.”
— W.C. Fields
My name is Dylan and I’m an alcoholic.
It feels good to admit that, I’ve already admitted it to a few of my closest friends. As it turns out, the minute you realize (and admit) that you’re an alcoholic, every living creature on God’s green Earth is driven to place an alcoholic drink in your hand.
Listen: I won trivia the other night with some very recent friends. It was at a bar, a standard Irish pub in Manhattan. Vintage Guinness advertisements provided siren calls — “There’s Nothing Like a Guinness!” There isn’t anything like a Guinness. I got a Coke.
“Things Go Better With Coca-Cola!”
What was the prize for winning trivia that night? Shots. I got a second Coke.
“I’d Like to Buy the World a Coke.”
I used to casually joke that I was an alcoholic, a subconscious admission that soon became too apparent to ignore. I started drinking when I was 14 years old, I used to say it was because there was nothing to do in my neighborhood. There isn’t anything to do in my neighborhood. There was a block party every year in the summer, right before school started up again. We would steal beers from unattended coolers, the adults were too intoxicated to maintain sentry. I remember hating the taste initially, I suppose everyone does at first. Now, as I write this, I’m craving a drink.
“There’s Nothing Like a Guinness!”
Half of the appeal of alcohol for the underage youth of America is the fact that it’s banned, verboten, illicit. “Don’t think about pink elephants,” said Ronald Reagan and the Mothers Against Drunk Driving. We all thought of pink elephants. The other half of the appeal is how damn confident it makes us feel. That was the most addicting part of it for me, I felt like I could do anything. I could do anything.
I joked that I was an alcoholic with friends one night while we were visiting Washington. Our nation’s capital is fueled almost entirely by alcohol. Nixon was so drunk one night that he attempted to nuke North Korea, his advisors stopped him. When we got drunk, George Bush Sr. died, though North Korea remained unmolested. My friend, in response to my claim of alcoholism, said that being an alcoholic meant not going a day without a drink, craving one every single day.
My name is Dylan and I’m an alcoholic.
I met a couple on a cruise one night, I found out the boyfriend was a former Nazi over drinks and chicken wings. I took him at his word that he was a former Nazi, he seemed genuinely embarrassed to admit his prior affiliation at least.
“I was younger, lots of dumb decisions.”
A lot of Germans probably said the same thing in 1945.
“Ich war jünger, viele dumme Entscheidungen.”
I don’t even remember exactly how we ended up meeting, I was boozing the entire night and ended up falling into multiple conversations incidentally. I exchanged words, or whatever we could make out of our shared language, with an Englishman at the casino bar. This was before I met the Finnish Nazi and his girlfriend. I was an ambassador that night.
Unfortunately, only the fact that I met these individuals remains in my head, the other details are murky and faded. What do I remember? The bottom of many, many glasses.
“There’s Nothing Like a Gin & Tonic!”
What is a cruise other than a collection of alcoholics with a shared passion in nautical activity?
My name is Dylan and I’m an alcoholic, ahoy!
I feel as though it was unfair on my end to entice you with the headline referencing the Finnish Nazi, only to provide barely a passing mention of him. The second part of the title, “Moonlight Serenade,” refers to my late night activities after I left the company of the couple. This was around 4 AM, my usual sleep schedule was largely ignored on cruises. I decided, in the state of my drunken stupor, to walk aimlessly on the upper decks and sing songs from the “Great American Songbook.” My only audience was the Moon. What did I sing to the Moon?
“Blue moon, you saw me standing alone
Without a dream in my heart
Without a love of my own”
The ocean was ink, dark as the starless sky. The stars were hidden by the light pollution the cruise emitted. Even at 4 AM, the cruise operated as if it was rush hour in Manhattan. What did I think to myself after serenading the Moon?
“Boy, I sure could use another drink.”
Alcoholism is usually the point in which an individual drinks in non-social settings, or, by themselves. I started drinking by myself at 14 years of age.
“Lord, I don’t want no clothes,
I don’t even want no bed,
For to lay my head.
I don’t want no clothes,
I don’t even want no bed,
To lay my head.
Just fill me with good liquor
And I’ll be good to you instead”
Amen.
I realized at one point during the pandemic that I had abstained from drink for six weeks straight. This was the longest I had ever went without a drink since I was 14 years old. It was an accident. How did I celebrate this realization?
“Oh show me the way to the next whiskey bar
Oh don’t ask why, no don’t ask why
For we must find the next whiskey bar
Or if we don’t find the next whiskey bar
I tell you we must die
I tell you we must die
I tell you, I tell you
I tell you we must die”
The Doors sang that, it was originally from a German play called “Little Mahogany.”
“Ich war jünger, viele dumme Entscheidungen.”
I thought about how many memories throughout my life were lost to the “little green fairy.” The “little green fairy” was the purported apparition that appeared to drunkards who indulged in the dreaded liquor absinthe. I have never had absinthe, but I’ve had just about everything else. If you ask me what memories I cherish most from my childhood and adolescence, I’d most likely have to sigh and say, “Well, there was this night in the summer, I was 14 years old…”
I am a teetotaler. This is an archaic term, I’ve used it derogatorily all of my life. It means “someone who never drinks.”
My name is Dylan and I’m an alcoholic.
Honesty is liberating — “and the truth shall set you free.” The man who said that turned water into wine.
I have been sober for two weeks and change, I am sitting comfortable on the wagon. As long as I stay on, and here’s hoping I do, I’ll be singing this:
“I’m goin’ down to the river of Jordan
Just to bathe my wearisome soul
If I can just touch the hem of his garment, good Lord
Then I know he’d take me home”
