Resolutely 2013

Well now, the month of January is almost at its zenith and it is time to look see the distance (if any) of my resolutions for the year 2013 and how it fares.

Ok. That was a short trip, as regular readers of my writing will know by now, my perseverance with such ill equipped wishes of flavorful minds is more often than not, rather short tempored. 

To the long suffering readership of this Blog, this will come as no surprise. I dare say in all other manner of life and career, I can be a rather compelling study; sometimes slow on the uptake but always articulate, quaint but never aloof; most people can see I was never engineered for abstinence… from anything godly nor those resembling the  sinful.

The needle on my genetic dial oscillates between “delightfully eccentric” and “occasionally unhinged” without ever going close to “stupid crazy”. Flirtation with self-denial has always been an affront to my DNA. Live and let Live, I say !

Why should I not shun the false allure of temporary withdrawals from indulgence, which often enough brings other rewards not least the avoidance of a delusional moral superiority over my brethren and other good men?

We are people who believe what we are told to believe. That is how they taught us in school, at work and during play. Sometimes, we are convinced of certain realities. Other times, we are persuaded into them. Most of the time, we just move clockwise with everyone else. 

But I dare say there are myths attached to the benefits of abstinence, including those of the dietary and sexual kind. These extend well beyond forgoing the occasional lunch time ‘quickie / snookie’ or even a few glasses of a chilled frothy beer during tea time with or without your gang.

To examine the ins and outs, as it were, of celibacy, what more do we need read, other than to call as chief witness for the prosecution, Mr Tiger Woods.

Between 1997 and 2008, he was the world’s finest golfer, winning 14 major championships. During this period, we later discovered, his performance between the sheets was no less dazzling than his exploits on the course.

To put it mildly, he was a serial philanderer with a penchant for cocktail waitresses.

Then, in November 2009, one of Tiger’s adventures was exposed by the National Enquirer.

His personal and professional life fell apart, leading to divorce and a 45-day programme to help overcome his problems. By all accounts, he has given up the meaningless affairs.

But here’s the mystery- with them, it seems, went his golfing mojo.

Woods is now merely a very good player, nothing more, with no major victory since before he conquered his “sex addiction”.

A study by Queen’s University Belfast, published 16 years ago in the British Medical Journal and later reproduced ad infinatum by other arty farty journals confirms that sexual abstinence among men above 40 is harmless, but only if practiced in short  sporadic bursts.

By contrast, those with a high level of sexual activity enjoy a death rate of half that of laggards who barely participate. 
So, guys/gals, when your partner catches you el flagrante delicto- be they male or female, and next asks, “What do you think you’re doing?” the appropriate answer should be: “Trying hard to stay alive.”

Anxious to avoid a similar mismatch with my biological make-up, I have for several years adopted a contrarian resolution to the New Year; give up nothing.  If anything, I drift towards mild excess, as an antidote to the most depressing time of the year.

Long nights of December/January, counting my cash left over in the wallet as the ang pow giving periods are here again !

With rainy, drizzly days ahead and a miserable, economy-enforced absence from my personal pleasures at the slot machines and from my twice weekly 2 hour massages for the duration of this period ( to save money and face) -when the time comes to visit the in-laws and their children.

Simply keeping the cork in my bottle, will not, I suspect, secure me a seat in the promised Kingdom. Neither will it guarantee good health if abstinence returns the bad mojo I would suffer should my dry spell be extended.

The more I observe friends giving up this and that for what they perceive to be the triumph of deferred gratification, the clearer it becomes that, for all but a blessed few, the sum of our vices really does need remain constant.

A few years ago, a certain party buddy of mine, a former Prisons warden turned multi level marketing entrepreneur, decided to abandon booze after waking up face down on the kitchen floor with a nasty gash on his head. 

To the amazement of his inner circle, including me, he had little difficulty staying off the drink for several weeks. (We suffered tremendously during his absence for want of a third leg)!  

In that time, however, he disproved the universal weight-loss theory by resorting to large portions of rice and meat to overcome his obvious desire.

The poor ass must have been simply suffering horribly, for when he finally came off the wagon, though his eyes were a little clearer, and his complexion marginally less darker, his waistline was ginormous !

Something similar happened to another player in our group, who quit the drink only to switch to junk foods and cigarettes. The last time I saw him, he was doing a passable impression of a rotund uncle in a Hawaiian shirt and matching trousers somewhere in one of the lanes leading to the Bunga Raya whorehouse.

What may seem to you readers as my silly remark is actually validated with a cruel stamp for about 15 years ago, my old man had been diagnosed with lung and liver problems of the Terminal kind.

Told that he had six months to live, Dad, then aged 62, bravely, but I believe foolishly, embarked on a course of clean healthy living in the hope of buying a little more time.

As part of the brutal process, he had to reduce his Roti Canai and Mamak mee routine & he was also told to give up all his Camels and fave brandy for breakfast routines’.

From that moment on, Dad’s deterioration seemed to accelerate. The trajectory of his decline became much steeper as his morale was low, and he was literally warned to abstain from what the doctors said was sinful living.

He died nine months after deciding to embrace his doctor’s advice rather than polish off the contents of his drinks cupboard. Having watched Dad’s ugly demise, I am now certain it was the wrong choice.  Whatever time he gained – if any – was not worth the sacrifice of indulgence. 

 

Thankfully, he left behind in his will to me, a dozen bottles of Grand Cru's, Single Malt Whiskies, many sticks of Cohiba and a special case of Chateau Baron de Rothschild.

I for one, now coming to my late 40’s, being independent of my familial duties, though with 2 grand kids; and with my other familial duties and responsibilities all dealt with and comfortably settled, am certain that his mistake is not one I intend to make.

Cheers everyone!