No Coffee, Just TV
Take me away from this big, bad world
I’ve never had a problem with drinking. I drink, but, as I say when the doctors ask me how much I drink, I drink socially. I don’t drink alone. I don’t really drink during the week at all. I don’t count how many drinks I have per week, though, because only cops and 15-year-olds count beers.
One of my favorite songs, however, is about quitting drinking forever because you have a problem.
I’ve used “Coffee and TV” by Blur as a song to calm myself down the same way people use a glass of wine to calm down when life seems especially staticy. As soon as I put it on, I feel things slow down a little. When I hear it in public, it feels like the algorithm is playing something especially for me, maybe telling me to chill when I don’t even realize I’m feeling anxious.
Blur guitarist Graham Coxon wrote the song about his own alcoholism, finding comfort in substituting coffee and tv in place of drinking, facing judgment from others, and the trouble of now socializing with people without the crutch of a drink (or too many drinks).
I’ve never had those problems, like I said. Believe me, I’ve had hangovers that have made me seriously consider never drinking again, but typically that only lasts a day or so. As the hangovers have gotten gnarlier as 30 looms larger, I’ve cut back even more, and appreciate the hangover-free weekend mornings.
But sometimes a few beers is just what the doctor ordered—until it’s the opposite.
Because I never had the problem Coxon did, and held myself to a pretty good standard of that moderation that they always preach, it felt unfair to me that I suddenly had to cut things like drinking out of my life, possibly forever.
When I wrote about my cancer diagnosis, I mentioned that early scans looked like it might have spread to my liver. I’m not sure how familiar you are with the human body and the effect alcohol has on it, but your liver is the one that takes a good bit of the beating alcohol delivers. So, by that logic, if I did have a pesky tumor on that little guy, drinking would pretty much be the worst thing I could do.
One night, that first week where things were chaotic and we had more questions than answers, Michele looked at me while I was cleaning dishes and said, “Brendan” almost as a question - a thing she does that I know by now will be followed by something heavy.
“If this spread to your liver, you can’t drink anymore. You know that, right?”
“I mean, yeah, I guess so,” I replied. “But, do you mean, like, forever?”
“...Yeah.”
Not going to lie, that sounded like no fun, but doable. Like I said, I’ve had more than a few hangovers that have made me question whether I really needed alcohol in my life.
I remember going to a PUP concert on a weeknight a couple of years ago and deciding I wouldn’t drink there, and it felt like a weird rubicon to cross—going to a concert and not having any beer. Being in my mid-20s and with no interest in being in “the pit,” I faced a dilemma of what to do with my hands. Where do I stand? Will it even be fun? The transition from throwing my entire body at others to calmly standing on the outskirts was made easier with a beer in hand.
And as someone who started taking his own physical fitness more seriously in his mid 20s and read a ton of GQ articles and Men’s Health articles about wellness and looked at what guys like Paul Rudd did to get all jacked and live forever, I accepted it. There were moments where a life of extremely clean eating and giant fuck-off water bottles and fancy juices and nice workout shorts seemed appealing.
“Yeah, I mean I’d rather survive than have beers I guess,” I replied.
By this point I had already attended my old college roommate’s wedding, just days after the initial diagnosis. I hadn’t told anyone yet, because I didn’t quite know what I was telling people. So, in a crowd of guys I had spent four years with drinking heavily and having fun with, I drank club soda with lemon, not telling anyone I wasn’t drinking but not telling them that I was either.
The hammer really dropped when Michele said that I’d probably need to take more precautions with my diet, too. This meant things like processed food, shitty pizza, all the things I liked to eat especially after a few drinks, were potentially out the window.
Oh, and likely coffee, too, being that caffeine is inflammatory and I was currently very inflamed in my digestive tract—at least for the time being.
For the first time since the diagnosis, I lost my head a little. It’s weird – It didn’t take being told I have cancer. It wasn’t after I was told that it likely spread. It wasn’t after being briefed on my impending chemotherapy treatment.
It was the idea that coffee, such a simple but necessary pleasure in my life, was now likely gone – at least in the way I knew it.
I was left with only TV.
“Well that fucking sucks,” I said, now taking a break from cleaning the dishes to throw a minor tantrum and existential crisis. “What am I supposed to even do then? No one is going to invite me to go hang out a bar if I’m not drinking, and if I’m the guy who can only eat at home and can’t drink coffee, what’s the point of even living in a city when I can’t do any of the things that make living in a city fun?”
In this moment, I was convinced I’d lose all my friends because I couldn’t bullshit at the bar with them. I couldn’t go for pizza or try some new restaurant that makes some enormous plate of food that you regret eating later on in the bathroom. I couldn’t even meet them for fucking coffee. The best I can do is invite them over to watch sports or something. Maybe I could make a dip that I could eat with plain organic crackers.
My life now, as I saw it in that moment, consisted of decaf coffee, plain chicken and organic vegetables, and TV.
Why invite the guy who can’t participate in anything you’re doing? Who wants to hang out with the guy at the restaurant who asks the server a million annoying questions about the food preparation?
I can’t even be the designated driver because I don’t have a car!
As Coxon sings in “Coffee and TV,” “Sociability is hard enough for me.” I was facing a situation where now most of the things you do in your 30s with your friends were now no longer options for me.
I got mad at the idea that not only did I have to give up drinking as if I did have a problem, I didn’t even get to have any vices to use in its place. What if I wanted McDonald’s or something? Fuck having a beer. I can live without that. You’re telling me I can’t even shove a stupid chicken parm hoagie down my gullet at a diner after a night of forcing sober fun while my friends drink? I can’t chug coffee until I’m vibrating like an old cell phone? I can’t get Popeyes anymore?
“Is this seriously the hill you want to die on?”
Yes, I replied. Right then this was the exact hill I wanted to die on. I said I know this is childish as hell, but right now this is the one thing that hurts the most out of all of this.
And it’s not about McDonald’s. I could go the rest of my life without a Big Mac again. I don’t care. And it wasn’t about alcohol. I’m one rough hangover away from swearing off it for good anyway, and right now with chemo drugs giving me week-long hangovers with even more fun side effects, I’m less inclined to do anything that makes me remotely dizzy or lightheaded anyway.
It was the fact that in that moment, I realized that this really was going to change my life forever, and that scared the shit out of me and made me angry. To quote Anakin Skywalker: It’s outrageous. It’s unfair.
I could quit all of these things tomorrow with no problems, but it was the fact that I was forced to that upset me. I had no options. I felt like I didn’t karmically deserve this. Say nothing of getting cancer. That sucks, but we’ll deal with it. I was mad at the universe for taking away seemingly everything else.
So, of course I spiraled into unhealthy questions for myself and the universe, like why was I the one being punished? I spent my whole life eating pretty well, never letting drinking become a problem, never smoking cigarettes, turning down drugs, never developing any real vice that derailed my otherwise controlled and harmless existence around others. Why was I now in the same category as the people who didn’t have that self control or had brain wiring that didn’t allow them the self control necessary to indulge in any of this?
Why couldn’t I have a fucking cup of coffee in the morning? Why am I left with only TV?
I bought a bag of decaf coffee after a few days of tea. Coffee is, I suppose, the closest thing to an actual addiction that I have. But it’s not even the caffeine that I need, as this little foray into decaf proved. I’m addicted to the ritual of it all. But I was also acutely aware that this decaf coffee was a consolation prize. A cheap stand-in. I like a good cup of coffee with caffeine, man. Sue me. I like buying expensive coffee and swearing that I can pick up on all of the flavor notes listed on the bag. I like the perk.
On these days, “Coffee and TV” had a different effect. On these days, the lyric about seeing so much TV that you’re going blind and braindead became a warning. It was no longer the relaxing song about finding comfort in little things to cope with the loss of something else.
I couldn’t even have real coffee, the thing that Coxon used as a proxy for his alcoholism. One of the few comforts in his new life. A simple joy, ripped from my hands while it was still hot and I didn’t even get a chance to sip and say that I could taste the nougat and fresh peach undertones.
Obviously, this was a massive overreaction on my part. I know that now and knew it in the moment. I’ve justified it by saying that if that’s my worst existential freakout after being diagnosed with a disease like cancer, I think I’m doing OK.
And I haven’t lost my head too much since that day. I even admitted at the time that it was a crazy hill to choose, so I’m glad I didn’t fully commit to dying on it.
I try to treat the inconveniences of cancer and treatment as just part of the ride. I’ve left birthday parties early and missed others entirely. I’ve said no to free Sixers tickets because I was tired. I’ll have to turn down other fun things in the future that otherwise I would’ve said yes to. I’ve watched a shitload of TV. It is, as they say, what it is.
The cancer isn’t in my liver. I can and do drink coffee. Hell, I can even have some beers. I drink them even less now, though, mostly because I don’t love the thought of adding anything that makes me dizzy when I’m already feeling like I just got off a roller coaster a lot of the time.
But the other week, I had pizza for the first time in a good long while after my doctor told me I could “liberate my diet” a little bit, no longer quite as fearful that the dang tumor in my digestive system would block everything to the point of perforating the pipes and going septic, either killing me or forcing me to rock a colostomy bag forever (genuinely one of my biggest concerns throughout this whole thing).
That pizza was a victory worth celebrating. I felt like shit that evening and just wanted to go to bed after a certain point, but I would be double dog damned if I let feeling like shit stand in the way of me and my victory pizza. I ate a few slices with my friends, one of whom is the biggest pizza supporter I know and specially picked a good place for this particular evening. After a few pieces, I slumped in my chair and told Michele we needed to order an Uber home, and then I slept for about 11 hours with no interruption.
The next morning, I made coffee and I watched TV. Just like I did on countless other mornings before any of this was part of my life. My friends were still my friends, too. I feel bad that in my moment of weakness I downplayed the bonds of our relationships to only existing in places where we can drink or eat garbage.
Maybe one day a hangover will beat me up enough that I really do quit drinking on my own terms. I’m not totally averse to it. I just want it to be my choice. I just want coffee and TV. It’s sort of a “you can’t fire me, I quit” mindset.
And I can listen to “Coffee and TV” once again when I go for a walk, when work stresses me out, or when the weight of things just feels a little heavier than I’d like to lift that day.
When today is rough, tomorrow I’ll wake up on a new day and I’ll make coffee, and we can start over again.
Today’s Snakes and Sparklers musical guest is Kayleigh Goldsworthy.
In other news, I got to be a part of Spin’s year-end list of the best songs of 2021. I wrote about friend of the newsletter Bartees Strange’s “Weights,” which clocked in at number 15 on the list. Give it a read and, more importantly, give Bartees’s music a listen. He is so good.
How’s this for a mix of music writing and also cancer writing? I told you I’d still do both.