The Last Temptation of Charlie

As many of you know, I am still mired in the middle of a three-and-a-half week stretch wherein I can't drink. I still haven't touched a drop of alcohol in almost two weeks -- a career-best stretch that nevertheless is not without its temptations.

Yesterday came perhaps the most arduous test of all. Yesterday, my buddies threw a party that both commemorated the end of the Fall MPRE and the birthday of two friends. I went to this party, determined not to drink, and now I know what it was like for Jesus when he was out in the desert and was tempted by the Devil.

As Marc said, in what is one of the Top 5 compliments I have ever received, "You not being able to drink is like when Beethoven went deaf."

I was tempted from the start. Almost immediately upon arriving at the party, I was commissioned as a beer pong partner. After explaining to my partner that I could not drink, she graciously agreed to drink for me. Terrific. I started playing, and that's when I began to have trouble. Perhaps it is instinct, perhaps it is muscle memory, but every time the opposing team made a cup, my hand reflexively went for the cup in order to drink, only to stop with a start when I realized what was going on. Pavlov could not be more proud.

The party continued in that vein through the night. I spent most of it alternating between soda and regular water packed with ice, as all those around me got progressively rowdier. The soda water was so I would have something to do with my hands. Having rarely never been at a party without the comforting anchor of a drink in my hand, I found myself wondering what the hell to do with my hands. Where do I put them? How do I use them? So instead of leaning against a column like some greaser in the 50s, I chugged soda water like it was Pepto Bismol. Surprisingly, it worked.

At some point, a group of undergraduate girls came to the party -- whether they were lost or whether one of us is a sketchy, sketchy bastard is still undetermined at this point. Then the party turned into a dance party, people started singing, someone nearly fell down a flight of stairs, etc.

And there I was, sober as a Mormon, sipping maniacally from a cup of ice water.

But you know what? I actually had a lot of fun. Despite being literally the only sober person at a huge party, and despite the certainty that, when the cops inevitably came, I would be the one to talk to them, the party was very enjoyable. Before I knew it and much to my surprise, two in the morning had rolled around.

It is comforting to know that I can still enjoy myself in a situation where I'm the only minority in the room (yes, yes, I know). I yelled at people, sang loudly and out of tune, and toasted to the passage of the Health Bill, all without the aid of the special sauce. Perhaps booze is to fun as ketchup is to fries -- all it does is put the Spring in Springfield.

Plus, you know what? This no hangover thing is kind of great.