Young Millionaire

March 2010

Two years ago I wrote a criminally under-appreciated piece about the merits of alcohol after losing myself to a year long relationship. After a seemingly endless battle of late- night-fights, public blow outs, and beach side temper tantrums, I broke up with my girl friend as I inevitably lost who I was; (apparently at the time I was a pretty shitty boy friend). However, coming home to friends and an endless array of jack’n cokes, roofy colatas and Jagger bombs, I found myself, dignity intact, in the bottom of a pint glass. And shit did it feel good to be home.

Fast-forward to 2010 and I again find myself touting my absolute love of God’s urine. True, the circumstances have changed; last night I found myself calmly cruising home in my parents ’99 Suburu with a lovely king can of Honey Brown coursing through my veins. The weapon of choice (lager) was carefully selected to match my Thailand tanned skin; I hope my buddy and his girl friend appreciated the complimentary contrast between my skin tone and the aforementioned amber ale; (alas, they did not). Regardless, driving home with a slight buzz, the hockey game on the radio and the heat seaters set to toasty was the best I’d felt all day. Its no wonder most drunks are so happy! With just enough alcohol in the system, life tends to take on a certain clarity. Matters which were once complicated seem less complex; originally clouded visions seems to part with a new found simplicity. I equate it to finally cleaning a smudged pair of glasses with a vodka soaked rag; one can simply see things a little more clearly, and feel good about themselves in the process.

Now in contrast to finding myself (who am I, what I think etc) through drinking, what would it say if I found my significant other through drinking? What would it say if I really connected with someone through a series of parties, escapades, and general tomfoolery? Have I met my soul mate, or just someone that likes to get as fucked up as me? Moreover, what does it say if I kind of dig that?

With that being said, is it cause to sound the alarm when one beer starts to make me feel better than a days worth of aimless distraction? When you start drinking to feel good isn’t that when it is time to stop? Isn’t that really when one starts to develop a dependency? However, is depending on a drink to make you feel good worse than depending on anything else? People depend on variety of vices to get them through their crummy lives; how is ending the day with a glass of scotch worse than escaping through hours of TV or inane conversations in chat rooms. Don’t we all have our crutches to help us limp through the finish line? Is spending 2 hours on Facebook any worse than 2 hours of bird watching (side note: I fucking hate Canaries!)? Is it simply because some of these dependencies are more socially acceptable than others? What would receive more judgement; clearing my head by going for a jog, or by sitting back and watching an episode of Gossip Girl. What if I did both? (for the record I do watch GG because is awesome and is along the same lines as mid 90’s Spice girls and late 80’s Cocaine; everyone’s doing it, no one is admitting it). Aren’t these dependencies simply judged by the adverse health effects involved with their participation? Does this boil down to tax dollars vs personal freedoms? This creates a problem, which inevitably needs an answer. As it seems to difficult to solve on my own, I’m going to need a drink. Dependency indeed.

Editors Note:

While there is a lack of creativity in again professing my love for liquor, I will make this point; ask any grade 10 English teacher for advice and they will tell you 1) not to become an English teacher (zing!) 2) write what you know about. Believe me, I know about booze. I’d re-write the alphabet D-U-I if it made any sense. It does not matter if I’m 16 or 26, the majority of my weekends have started with booze and ended with an absolute litany of apologies. Even my first time drinking at my friend Toby’s barmitzvah did not end well (hence a long over due apology to the Friedman’s; there I said it, I’m sorry).

Ironically, the longer it took me to write this the more the buzz wore off, consequently decreasing my enthusiasm and energy for the project. By the end I was just another lazy cynical blogger ripe for parody and my own Doonsbury cartoon (zing again!)