LENT IS OFFICIALLY DEFINED as "forty weekdays from Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday; a period of penitence and fasting." But how about calling it what it really is?

It’s Forty Days of Hell, especially if one decides to "give-up" alcohol! Every spring, millions of well-intended folks, both Catholic and non-Catholic, search their consciences and decide to shed themselves of some thing or things they really like. There seems to be some collective belief that the more you enjoy something or indulge yourself in its pleasures — especially if it is remotely "bad" or hedonistic — by denying it, a person will somehow elevate to a better standing in the eyes of their maker. Of course the primary questions becomes what to give up and why.

Galveston Island, or "Galvatraz," as it is affectionately termed by the locals, is no exception to the great Lenten adventure in denying self. This island of misfit toys that boasts of more bars per capita than any other Texas city has gone largely dry for at least forty days.

Since its early days as a shipping town filled with sailors, merchants, watering holes and brothels, Galveston has been a haven for the hedonist. Today, this "New Key West" is a tourist destination filled with fun, frolic and festive times. This little clump of land in the Gulf of Mexico has matured into a paradise full of seamen, ferries and dykes.

WITH THIS MATURATION HAS COME A thriving population of good gay folks that really enjoys the benefits of the Demon Rum. The bars are usually bustling with ethanol-induced revelry, as are the gaily-decorated grand rooms of the many mansions that fill the oak lined streets.

Once the hangovers of Fat Tuesday have worn off and the last beads of Mardi Gras have been removed from odd places, many islanders make a decision to embrace the Lenten tradition and give up the monster that led them down such a wicked path in the past months. Some do it for spiritual reasons; some, for health. Some just do it to be in the groove.

For whatever reason or reasons, it becomes a period of denial resulting in an all too clear view of a messed up world! Where once bar conversations consisted of topics ranging from sexual conquests to who has the nicer package (and more of the latter depending upon the amount of alcohol consumed), things take a shift to a more somber discussion. "God, why did I give up alcohol for Lent."

The casks of club soda and baskets of sliced citrus have been well depleted by the third of fourth week of Lent and some folks find themselves drooling as some "sinner" hoists his or her container of the devil. Also, there emerges a new type of friend that does their best to get the non-drinker to waltz in the vats of sin. It becomes a sport, if you will, of seeing whom one can get to fall off the wagon. For many, the defeat is quick. Not only do they fall off, but are repeatedly trampled by the wheels of the wagon.

Some find a way to "fudge" a bit, by simply agreeing with their own psyche to give up only one aspect or variety of the wicked elixir. Some, who normally drink beer until they whiz like a cow peeing on a flat rock, might now only drink wine. And one imbiber told me that for Lent, he gave up drinking anything he can’t see through.

SO HOW DOES THIS PERIOD OF DENIAL effect the economy of the local bar community?

"Terrible!" came the reply from a local gay bar owner. His daily sales were way down and he was even running out of non-alcoholic drinks. I reminded him that in a few weeks, everyone that stopped will be clearheaded enough to know the first thing they will want, après-Lent, will be a good stiff drink. He’d better get a huge scraper to pry folks off the floor come Easter Sunday.

A priest friend of mine in San Francisco says it is best to "offer up things like anger, hatred, gossip — little things that you sort of crave, but don’t kill for." I guess he means like cussing or flying your middle finger at the bastard that has just cut you off on the interstate and has the balls to glare at you as they do it.

This is my first year to give up alcohol totally. I am not enjoying it, my friends are not enjoying it — or me — and the local economy is not enjoying it.

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