Salutations, fellow denizens of the digital domain. You can call me KP, and this is my bar. If you haven't been here before, take a look around. There's really not much to see. That's because this is a blog, not the fucking Smithsonian. You want links? Apps? Games? That goddamned Foursquare QR code? Go back to iMasheep. Better yet, go fuck yourself. You notice I don't have the ubiquitous icons for Facebook and Twitter in my sidebar? There's a reason for that. And, before you say it, I'm aware of the irony of using a blog to rant about the excesses of frivolous technology. I'm just that avant garde. But you'll find more than just tirades about Tweeting here -- in fact, if you scroll down, you'll discover I think a lot of stuff is stupid. Don't agree with me? Think I'm an insensitive, arrogant, out-of-touch prick? You may be right. But I have a blog. And this is my bar.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

On the Subtle and Noble Art of Proper Imbibation and Consequences Arising Therefrom

We all have our specialties.  Some people can play music or sing, others execute trigonometry in their heads or skateboard as if gravity were more a guideline than an actual law.  Talents are as varied as the people who possess them.  But I have noticed over the years that one skill is relatively rare, despite the droves of people trying to master it day and day out.  No, I'm not talking about driving again (yet).

It's drinking.

More specifically, drinking alcoholic beverages.  For the record, I am good at this.  Really good.  As in, I am to drinking what Jordan is to basketball.  What Michelangelo is to painting.  What Criss Angel is to . . . whatever the fuck it is Criss Angel does.  (Scare the shit out of tourists, I think.)  Simply put, I am at the top of my field, a master of my medium.  When I say this, I am not referring to simply the ingestion of intoxicants, which many people excel at, but the subtler Art of Drinking.  I am one of the few to elevate it to an art-form in the Modern Age.  Benjamin Franklin was reputedly a prodigy at this as well, which is why they bypassed however many presidents and gave the kite-flying, bifocal-crafting, French-debutante-slaying motherfucker his place on the $100 bill; the highest denomination currency in regular circulation, and America said, "George Washing-who?  Fuck that, B-Frank's the man!"

His most commonly-cited quote on alcohol consumption, right after the more-popular, but oft-misattributed, "Fuck you, I'm drunk."
So what is the Art of Drinking?  Simply put, it's drinking to awesome effect.  I know that sounds suspiciously like an addict's reasoning, but we prefer the term "enthusiast," please.  Drinking is a delicate balancing-act, finding that perfect point of inebriation at which your full potential is realized before tipping the scale into drunken dipshittery.  It's like adding just the right amounts of each chemical into a beaker to achieve the formula for trinitrotoluene, except the test tube is your body, and the chemicals are working against you the entire time, hoping you blow yourself up.  Can you appreciate the skill this requires?

I am not saying my drinking career is devoid of inglorious episodes.  Far from it.  It took me eight years of hangovers, regretted decisions, and damaged property to hone my art, which I still haven't perfected.  Everybody has off-days, right?  Do LeBron and Manning win every game they play?  Of course not.  Some days you crank out Hamlet, others you can only write Henry VIII.

Methinks that wenst a bit over thine head, didst it not?
Point is, if you're good enough at something, the people will generally praise you no matter what you do, even if it's not your best every time.  I have garnered such a reputation in the drinking circles of my town.  "But," you whiny, self-righteous, judgmental boors opine, "think of all the terrible consequences of drinking, all the bad decisions and damage to your body!  How can you glorify such vile behavior?"

Like this, bitch.

Beer and society go hand-in-hand.  The leading theories of human civilization argue that the cultivation of crops en mass led to increasingly complex societies where non-starving folk could spend more time inventing shit like law, medicine, scientific methodology, bitchin' pyramids, and pimp flying machines.

Wait, that might have come a little later.
Not even touching upon the creative powers drinking unlocks in our species, beer in its primitive form was one of the ideal crops to produce because it was easy to make, easy to store, and easy to drink (thus was born the first beer slogan).  Consider: it's already fermented, so it takes a long time to turn bad, and vermin won't nest in it (the first failed beer slogan).  What do you think kept day-laborers farming the shit out of the fields in those days, tofu?  Why do you think beer is still considered the workingman's juice?  Because it has been since roughly, oh, the dawn of freakin' time.  It's high in calories, carbohydrates, and nutritional value, plus it gives you superpowers.  Well, maybe only the delusion of that last, but, seriously, real beer (ie. not Milwaukee- or St. Louis-made fizz) is real fuel, and when it's relatively low in alcohol content, most of which you sweat off during hard labor, you're not getting wasted in a hurry.  So, notice how your loved ones are living past 35?  Love that Audi R8 you drive?  In part, you have alcohol to thank for those advancements.  Beer=Society.

That's why these types hate booze.
Bearing that little history lesson in mind (you're welcome), my area of expertise doesn't seem quite so disreputable, does it?  Who was it that said, "The first sign of a cultivated society is the cultivation of spirits and a parlance pertaining thereto"?  Oh, yes, it was me.  Moving on . . .

In essence, the Art of Drinking is based on one central precept: hold your liquor, even if your liquor is beer or wine.  All other principles and rules flow (no pun intended) from that basic tenet.  Getting back to our old drinking buddy Franklin, "Do everything in moderation, including moderation."  From the ancient Greeks to the Buddha, a lot of wise old dudes have basically said, whatever you do, just don't overdo it, and you'll be fine.  And Ben's tongue-in-cheek maxim above suggests it might even be all right to go overboard every once in a while, so long as it doesn't become habit.  Unless your only true objective every time you drink is to become the proverbial "That Guy" - a shit-faced and blacked-out specimen of singular and unenviable oblivious stupidity - you must recognize how your liver and brain cope with your intake of intoxicants.  If you are a lightweight, own it.  If you can drink with the likes of Hemingway, Dr. Thompson, and Wolverine, drink on, soldier.

A few general guidelines will help you stay on top of your game, no matter your skill-level.

(1) Know what you're drinking 

Seems obvious, but I am always amazed at how many people seem unaware of the alcohol content of their beverage.  God did not create all spirits equal.  If all you drink is beer that features bikini-clad chicks and foam-finger-sporting morons in their ads, or the brand is actually too cheap to afford a marketing campaign, chug away.

Go ahead, see if you can get drunk.
On the other hand, if you love IPAs, Imperial anything, or Rumplemintz, pace your fucking self.  One of those drinks every hour will get you where two of those piss-water pilsners would.  Which reminds me . . .

(2) Lay off the straight liquor

Perhaps you've heard of John "Bonzo" Bonham, the virtuoso drummer of Led Zeppelin.  The dude could literally destroy a full drum-kit in one show with his bare hands.  That's how hard he rocked.  Unfortunately, he drank even harder, meaning he died of vomit-asphyxiation after downing roughly a fifth-and-a-half of vodka in 1983 (no, not in the whole year, in one night, dipshit).  Sweet.  The moral of the story is don't try to put all the liquor on the planet into your body at once.  A few shots per session will provide the desired effect, believe me.  And remember Rule 1: Watermelon-Kiwi Pucker is not the same as Sailor Jerry, despite both sounding equally gay.

(3) Drink often

If you want to succeed at something, practice.  Getting hammered once every two weeks is not going to transform you into a drinking champion, just like skipping training and being a total jackass during games didn't get Allen Iverson a single ring.

If this guy's "the Answer," the question must have been, "Who's the NBA's biggest douche?"
In spite of what AA may tell you, your body will adapt to having alcohol inside it on a regular basis.  That's not to say your blood-alcohol content will be any lower, but you'll be more-accustomed to the effects of the booze and better able to gauge your status - Awesome, Awesomer, or Awesomest?  Notice how teenagers are typically wasted after three Smirnoff Twists, while middle-aged men can put away a six-pack in the same time with barely a slurred word?  There's a reason for that, and it's called a built-up tolerance.  Just as your immune system needs exposure to various contagions to raise its defenses, your digestive and neural systems will only handle alcohol well if they recognize it.   If you have not worked at it, you'll forever be that idiot you were when you turned 17 and ended the night at 12 AM rolled up in a piece of outdoor carpeting in a sheet-metal outbuilding next to a five-gallon bucket of puke and esophageal lining.  (What, just me?)

That being said, we all know the main reason people drink is to break down social barriers and lower inhibitions, plain and simple.  Sure, booze can be tasty, and sometimes you just need to self-medicate after a hard day at work, but we drink for fun.  Alcohol is the social lubricant that renders your otherwise dubious behavior acceptable in public.  And you know what?  Sometimes that's just fine.


Feel like dancing to the Thong Song on a table?  Cool.  Want to talk to that hottie you'd normally spy on creepily from the darkest corner of the taproom?  Go for it.  Pretty sure you can take the loudmouthed asshole who looks like a WWE reject, only more 'roided out?  You can't, but odds are a lot of people would love to see you try.  Epic nights of mind-erasing indulgence are what separate the true barstars from the chaff.

However, a word of advice: accept the consequences of your actions and, for the love of Bacchus, don't drive home.  Every plastered jerkoff who smears someone else's life across the pavement gives a bad name to lushes everywhere, resulting in ever-harsher punishment for any alcohol-related offense.  As someone who has been through the legal ringer once, I can tell you this is something you want to avoid if at all possible.  My preferred modus operandi?  Recline that car seat, toss the keys in the back, and sleep that shit off.  Think of it as an impromptu camping trip.  If that doesn't work for you, try taxicabs or DDs (though I don't think I have encountered these semi-mythical people more than a handful of times).

Whatever you do, heed the Man's word:

"Stay thirsty, my friends."

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