Vices...

Today, I had a discussion about alcohol. Usually, the only time I enjoy alcohol as a topic of conversation is when the bartender asks what kind of vodka I want in my tonic. This time was no different. I hate when people ask why you drink. It's a completely ridiculous question, like asking why you eat chocolate or wear the color red. Like asking a crack fiend why he smokes crack. He likes crack. It makes him feel better. It provides a brief escape from this big, twisted, rigid reality. Let's face it, alcohol really doesn't taste great. You're always going to meet people who say "I don't like the taste," or who will take a sip of your drink and make their face cringe like you just gave them a tall glass of sour milk. I don't care how many fancy garnishes you put on the rim of a martini, or what colorful fruity cute name you give it, you aren't drinking a Cosmopolitan because it's delicious. It isn't.




People will use one excuse after another to disguise the fact that they want a pretty little buzz at some point in the day. It really doesn't matter if you have one drink or ten, the motivation remains the same. Sure, some people drink when they are depressed or angry, or just because it's Tuesday. Some people drink to loosen up, to take the edge off of a long day. Obviously, people really shouldn't drink at all, but it makes no reasonable sense to point fingers. You might as well go around telling smokers that they shouldn't smoke and overeaters that they shouldn't eat. I'm fairly sure they are aware. But thank you for the memo.

My point here, other than confirming the fact that mostly I would prefer people to mind their own business, is that we all have our vices and our small means of escape. I'm pretty sure the majority of the free world has vices. Sex, drugs, talk shows, pick your poison. At least I'm not a serial killer. Buy me a screwdriver or get off my back.

It's that time, again...

Birthdays. The perpetual anniversary of the day you popped out of your mother's womb, slimy and caked in fluid, wrinkled and crying. People rejoiced at the confirmed existence of an innocent, still ignorant to the ways of the world. Anti-abortionists can argue the point all they want, but you really aren't alive until you're born into that white room with the antiseptic walls, the forceps and the rubber gloves. The doctors snap the ambilical cord, wrap you in a blanket and proclaim another human being. Success! We have a girl, or a boy, or a future college dropout. A lawyer. A scientist. Today, we have a new life waiting to be wasted or fulfilled. And so we take once a year to celebrate.

The spectrum of celebration is a wide range, anything from gross inebriation to extravagant gifts and vacations on private islands. These blessed events, getting older but not always wiser, nearing death, feeling the desperate anxiety from a fear of running out of time. They are trivial in the greater scope, and have become nothing more than a clever excuse to buy greeting cards with witty punchlines. It makes me wonder about the origin of holidays in the first place. On birthdays you should have cake.




You should receive presents and people should sing. Personally, I enjoy cake on just about any occasion so it just makes me question why most celebrations neccesitate cake. It's delicious, but not expensive by any means, and it isn't hard to come by. You will never hear of anyone going out of their way to procure a yellow cake with vanilla frosting. This fact alone, in my opinion, is really counter-produtive to a "special occasion." A memorable experience. One night I want to turn to a friend and say "Hey, it's Thursday. Let's have some cake." Or maybe I'll say "Happy birthday, here's a can of sardines."



My birthday this year has come and gone. I feel as though after you surpass your teenage years, birthdays are just anti-climactic. Chances are you aren't having a Spiderman theme party, going bowling, or playing pin-the-tail-on-the donkey. Frankly, you're just getting old. Somehow we've managed to commericalize everything.

Don't get me wrong, I still believe in the hope that is offered by these mindless celebrations, a valid reason to overeat and drink too much hard liquor. You wake up on a Wednesday morning with a migraine and tell people "It was my birthday." It makes us human, real and flawed. Absolutely sub-par insane, it makes us normal for wanting to be belligerent throughout the 24-hour span of a birthday. The day when people call at 12:01am and feel special, like some bizarre pecking order where they are moving ahead for promptness. Let's skip the facade. It's another day, another year, another party with cake, feigned enjoyment and helium-filled balloons.

Birthdays. All for the love of wax candles and wrapping paper.



Happy Birthday!

Alcohol Edumacation: Hi, My Name Is...

I think I just found my vision of the Perfect World...

Oh, right...that's freaking impossible. And anyway, since I've stopped drinking, I'd probably get exiled soon after the vodka-tsunami hit.

Giving up alcohol is always a good thing. Especially when we're talking about health concerns (i.e. my poor, spiteful liver), maintaining control of inhibitions, and preventing inebriated hazards including but not limited to: destitution, imprisonment, unexplained injuries, IHOP, waking up in strange places, slurring, Taco Bell, accidental fires, beverage spills, unintentional violence, bad karaoke, betting on parlor games, stealing street signs, McDonald's, breaking things, losing personal belongings, getting ejected from nightclubs, making ridiculous toasts, getting lost in parking lots, being excessively obnoxious, Burger King, confessing secrets that have no need to be confessed, Denny's, dancing to the music in your head, yelling for no apparent reason, crying over spilt milk, cooking terrible eggs (or other 5am food), hugging strangers, vomiting in public places, falling, overall loss of dignity, and generally making an ass out of oneself.

Not to mention hangovers. And sleeping through morning alarms.

However, after approximately 1:00am on any given night, there is absolutely no reason for a sober person to be awake. None. But I am. Always. Thank you insomnia, thank you so much for shunning the evils of liquor and becoming a part of my life. Because of you I am able to partake in late-night television, be home early on Saturday nights, research useless information on Wikipedia, and aspire to one day have bloodshot eyes and pretty purple bags beneath them. I can't wait, I'm almost peeing with anticipation.

But until then, I will continue to spread my useless knowledge and opinions to the masses.

Dipsomania is a term which describes an uncontrollable craving for alcohol. The term breaks down as "compulsive thirst" but when used, is primarily related to the excessive consumption of alcohol. As a result, a Dipsomaniac (commonly called an alcoholic, but that's such a harsh word) is a person with the constant physical and psychological urge for ethyl alcohol, especially liquor.

By the way, ethyl alcohol, (also ethanol, grain alcohol, or drinking alcohol), is a volatile, flammable, colorless liquid. It is a psychoactive drug consumed since ancient times. After the cavemen discovered fire, they found alcohol (and we wonder why the Flintstones seemed so dumb). Interestingly enough, ethyl alcohol is also found in: thermometers, by-products of petroleum refining, solvents, scents, flavorings, colorings, medicines, fuel for heat and light, and also fuel for internal combustion engines (so that's why whiskey burns my throat). I always knew my stomach was a combustion engine! The good news is that if you're ever broke and out of booze, you can just crack open a thermometer. I'd recommend it on the rocks.

Now that's how to think like a true Dipsomaniac.

Luckily, most Dipsomanics tend to be very amiable, fun, and outgoing social butterflies; they just happen to fall off the wagon every so often, blackout, and make fools of themselves. But I've found that using big words can often get you out of sticky situations. So if you tell your peers that you are a Dipsomaniac, (after scratching their heads in confusion) they won't think you have a problem, they'll just think that you're really smart. They might even think that you're a snob, that's how intelligent you'll sound. You will then be free to sip your martini once more, without the hassle or distraction. Just don't say it when you're actually drunk, because then you'll just sound retarded.

Hey Look!

Bong Spirit Vodka

http://www.bongspirit.com/

(Real) Scorpion Vodka

http://www.thailandunique.com/

Oh the memories...all the Dipso's out there, forget your homies, drink one for me!