[Continued from Part 23. Previous installments may be found by entering "wuz" into the search box at left.]

Mike was already at the restaurant when I arrived. He was neatly dressed in a plain button-down shirt and slacks. I could see that he'd put on a lot of weight since I'd last seen him about four years before, in mid-'95 or so. But he still had the same short, thick, dark brown hair, the same prominent brow, the same pot of flowers ... huh?

As he got up from his table to greet me, I couldn't help noticing a large, pink-foil-covered pot brimming with orange mums. He pushed it toward me as I sat down.

"These are for you," he said sheepishly — still with the same sandblasted James Cagney voice — indicating that the blooms were a sort of peace offering.

"Uh ... thanks!" I said, rather taken aback. I'd received unexpected flowers before, but never a big, heavy pot of them. It reminded me of the time, more than 18 years earlier, when the mean boys in my bar/bat mitzvah prep class decided to give me a "Chanukah bush" — so they pulled up a big shrub from the temple grounds, put some Christmas ornaments on it, and dumped it on my desk. (I guess one could say they were a bit prescient in their feeling that I would appreciate something Christmassy.)

This time, it was clear right away that the gift wasn't a joke. Mike started talking about his journey; he had given up not only alcohol and drugs, but also his work in the pornography industry. Currently, he was applying his journalistic skills at Chemical Market Reporter.

With all the fervor of a new convert, he told me about how he came to see that his old life was destroying him physically and emotionally. He had made the decision to get clean, separating himself from harmful acquaintances as well as harmful substances. It was a struggle, but he was determined not to return to his addictions.*

Needless to say, while he was telling me about these things — and also apologizing for the way he'd treated me in the past — I started to find Mike attractive. I had never felt terribly drawn to him physically; it was his wit and intellect that had first attracted me — well, that and his edgy Voice personal. Now, to see that same wit and intellect matched to a changed lifestyle, a renewed spirit, and a new, penitent heart — it was jarring, mysterious, and enticing. Plus, of course, there was that clunky pot of flowers, endearing and awkward-looking in their way ... like Mike.

The fact that I didn't come on to Mike (other than the adoring look in my eyes that I always have when I like someone) is, in retrospect, a sign of God's grace. I remember that I reined myself in by reminding myself that (a) Mike and I still had a lot of water under the bridge from his Selwyn Harris days, and (b) being in the midst of his recovery program, he was going through some serious emotional stuff. Despite the sort of benign hedonism that marked my relationships at the time, I somehow realized that it would be wrong to push myself on someone who was trying to get himself together.

While I didn't know much about 12-step programs, I knew the steps included faith in a higher power. From our first date, I remembered Mike had told me he was Catholic; he had attended a school run by Jesuits. I asked him if faith was part of his recovery.

His answer, as best I can remember, was yes — and no.

He did have some faith, he said, but his beliefs were syncretic. I think they involved two disparate schools of theology — Buddhism with a hint of Christian Science, or something like that.

My inherent dislike of New Age-style mix-and-match spirituality made me feel a little sorry for Mike — no, scratch that; I was annoyed, though I didn't show it. I thought, here's this guy who's had a dramatic reversal in his life, where he's finally free from some of the demons that had damaged his mind and body, and made him miserable — and he can't see that there's a point to it all? He has to make up a religion of his own from conflicting schools of belief?

If one doesn't have solid faith, I thought, it's better to admit — like me — that one does not believe, and yet appreciate the beauty of a coherent, God-centered theology, than to claim a mushy sort of faith that hinges on transparently man-made claims.

Looking back, it's hard for me to believe that I was riled about Mike's religious beliefs at a time when I lacked faith of my own. I would almost think that our lunch occurred after I became a believer, were it not that I have a clear memory of bringing the big pot of orange mums back to my desk at kimsvideo.com. I know I was not a believer while I worked at that place — however much I wanted to be one.
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*According to the last information I have on him, an undated online interview with porn-industry gossip Luke Ford, Mike says that he is still free from alcohol and drugs — but he's back in the pornography business full force as a writer and Web entrepreneur. His hiatus from that world was brief.

ADDENDUM: A few hours after the above post appeared, Mike McPadden responded in an e-mail with some corrections — which I've made — as well as some general clarifications and thoughts, which he has permitted me to publish. He writes:

My respite from the porn industry endured from 1997 when Genesis magazine (which I was editing) was sold and relocated, to 2002, when I took a job at Celebrity Skin. During that five-year interval I worked for the homeless charity Ready, Willing and Able; the theatrical trade paper Show Business Weekly; Brooklyn College; Organic.com (one of the most spectacular tech-stock Hindenburgs); and The Chemical Market Reporter. I also put in eight weeks at the "art and fashion quarterly," Black Book, the only job of which I have been ashamed. Along the way I freelanced for numerous online businesses that have since vaporized, as well as The New York Press and Hustler.

The series of lay-offs that followed the dot-com crash exhausted me, and I longed to return to the world of nudity and crude jokes with which I am so comfortable. Hence, the move to Celebirty Skin and, since 2003, MrSkin.

My confidence in my own sobriety also figured into this decision. For a long time, as I was adjusting to living both without mind-altering substances and attempting to find a spiritual path, I felt guilt and shame about my own interests, desires and ideas as to what's amusing in this world. My favorite line in all of AA literature is this: "We are not saints."

God doesn't hate my predilection for eyeballing nudies, I concluded, nor anybody else's.

At least that's my take on it now, and it has been for some time. It can change. It probably will change. All I do is try to not resist the flow.

One essential reason, I believe, that the 12-step program has proven effective, not just to me, but to millions, is that it allows members to utilize "God as we understand him." AA initially grew out of the specifcally Christian-oriented Oxford Group. Long-term sobriety eluded many of its members due to the religious orthodoxy.

By opening the door to spirituality just a crack, the alcoholic -- who is, point blank, insane -- can work through his resentments, fears, misgivings, doubts, prejudices and other obstacles to enligtenment. By his own nature, the alcoholic is contrarian and contemptuous of authority. Many are also enfuriated at God and the hand that "He" has dealt them when they arrive at AA. So by simply planting the seed, the spiritual life can grow in its own time or, if you will, God's time.

AA, in fact, explicitly encourages members to "see where religious people are right" and to explore the faith of their upbringing. I've done both and concluded ... well, I'm no longer a practicing Catholic, nor do I feel the connection, even culturally, that I long did to the Church of Rome.

But that, too, can change. And, in fact, it probably will.

A quick round-up of my road to sobriety: I made a first attempt in late 1993, after moving to Los Angeles. It lasted about a year. I moved back to New York in December 1995 specifically to drink full-time. I came back to AA in Fall 1996. From there, I bumped along, putting together various clean times and then falling off the wagon for a night or two. By September 1999, I hadn't had a drink in over two years. Then I had a bunch one Saturday. And then the next Saturday. Since then, I've worked the program diligently and maintained a sober existence. God willing (indeed) on September 25th, I will celebrate seven years since my last consumption of alcohol and drugs.

In light of all this, there is another AA phrase that tickles me It describes members on the journey thusly: "We trudge the happy road of destiny."

The choice of the word "trudge" is genius; in fact, I dare say, it may well be divinely inspired.

Be well. Keep writing, rocking and reveling.

MM

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