“I woke up Sunday morning trying to find a way to hold my head which didn’t hurt.”
It can be a rewarding experience when you discover a song that nails an emotion or feeling that perfectly resonates with your life experience. It knocks you for six when the combination of sound, conviction and lyrics combine and all you can think is right on brother* too true. The above lyrics are ones that get it pretty right but I’d be quite happy to still have them stored in my much larger category of songs that leave you thinking what the bloody hell are they on about eg. “Roll out the cannon boys, steal us some wine, puff Tijuana smalls shake hands with beef”. Or for those of you more classic hits than 90’s alternative “Aroooo werewolves of London”.
Recovering from a couple too many is definitely young man’s sport. These days the self-inflicted self-pity following an over indulgence is much like how I imagine an aging pugilist feels, after waking up from a brief lie down, having stepped into the ring for one pay day they probably would have been better skipping. I’m sure the much more regular trips I made in my youth down to the dreadful place on the corner of Morning-after-the-night-before St and No-one-to-blame-but-yourself Rd did not feel as bad as they do now. I thought I knew what Kris Kristoferson was on about 10 years ago, I think I know more about that feeling now**
Worse than headache and nausea though is the fuzzy recollections of, did I do that, did I say that, did I really provide fashion advice to a bouncer then steal the velvet rope when he didn’t like my shoes? Luckily my transgressions have generally stayed in the realms of self-inflicted stupidity and never strayed outside the (generous) boundaries of my peer group of the given time. Had I been in a more studious crowd perhaps my sheepishness would have found greater justification on the morning after, but even the most outrageous transgression on my part have generally been met with amused dismissiveness or even insignificance given the drunken competition. As I’ve aged and started a family however, there is no place for complete abandonment of sobriety even for a night and what was once an amusing anecdote for a degenerate peer group to laugh at becomes the type of offence it probably always should have been considered. An offence I’m sure will continue to be brought up for years to come. Given the judgment that awaits when you are older, got responsibilities and have no excuse for acting like your shoe size you better be telling yourself, never again, the morning after or you really need to be seeking professional help.
They say alcohol does not change your personality just lowers your inhibitions but I don’t believe that is true. Lowering your inhibitions implies you do things you want to do but are too shy (or inhibited) to try. That is clearly not true, I don’t enjoy or secretly want to perform acrobatics, urinate in public or ring somebody I shouldn’t to tell them something they don’t want to hear. Drinking just affects your judgment, that is why you shouldn’t drive, talk to your boss or ring a celebrity whose number happens to be in a mates work phone for business reasons, fail to block said mates number and then ask the celebrity to tell a joke on air. It is not like I am too shy to climb a tree, test the tensile strength of a letter box using a mixture of explosive household chemicals or explain to a policemen how he could do his job better; these are just some of the million thoughts that go through your head all the time that get filtered out before even registering. Unfortunately a couple of sips and every idea becomes a good idea. Drinking ensures there is no judgment of speed, spatial awareness, centre of gravity or of thought. Rather than being a secret tonic to give you confidence it just means you lack the judgment to realise that every thought you have should not be instantly acted upon. What a combo, you impair yourself in physical ability but then act on every thought, how does that not end in disaster every time?
It is purely good luck not good management that I haven’t had to face the full potential consequences myself but people close to me have; it should have had me swearing off benders for life. Even if I hadn’t been personally impacted, I should be smart enough to realise the risk versus reward equation is fairly and squarely on the side of teetotallers. The cost to public health, relationships, the justice system and my 3 day old carpet is patently absurd and there is no justification for it. Setting people on fire, throwing explosives into fires, doing backflips off houseboats and answering rhetorical questions like, “What are you looking at” only add to the risks that ingesting a poison already have on your mind and body.
Unfortunately this not a redemption piece, because I can’t say I haven’t enjoyed a fair portion of my carousing. George Best summed up pretty well when saying words to the effect of, “I’ve spent a lot of money on booze, cars and women, the rest I wasted’. Knowing all the risks I still enjoy a good session with mates, a bit like walking my dog without a lead there is probably no way to defend my behaviour, I do it because I enjoy it. Unlike a politician claiming a friend’s wedding as legitimate business expense, I won’t try to rationalise my stupidity. All I can say is it is not good for me or anybody else, but it can be fun.
It is however a young man’s game and despite my immaturity I have given up most other young men’s pursuits. I’m not playing footy anymore (some would argue I never really did), I rarely listen to triple J and I’ve got no idea what anyone under 22 is talking about. I have even gone a step further and sound like an old man with points of view like; music was better in my day, people should bend their caps, pull your stupid pants up and enjoy the outdoors rather than constantly needing technological stimulation. So fair play, if I’m going to enjoy the next phase of my life by pointing out how much better things were when I was a youth, I need to stop this last immature indulgence. Despite what the ads say 99% of the time it is funny when a young buck*** has too much to drink, but at a certain point, long since passed for me, it is just sad to keep on treading this path.
I don’t drink to forget, I’m not that sad, I actually drink to get the party started, then keep it going. The opportunities to party down are fewer these days too, every weekend used to be an opportunity to lose friends and kill brain cells, now it seems to be in the annual category (maybe a touch more often). This means I am more excited when on the tear and I’m getting less practice at it, not generally a recipe for success. Perhaps the ads are right have a middy and stay a little bit longer. It sounds better than my occasional practice of crashing and burning in an acrobatic, clumsy, dribbling, obscenity riddled ball of colour and movement. I have hung it on mates for drinking girls beer but it wouldn’t be the first time I changed principle to suit myself, and I am damn sure it won’t be the last. So I apologise for saying we don’t need to switch to light beer we just need to wear flame proof suits, it has come time to abandon the reckless stupidity of youth and enjoy a more mature future.
I haven’t drunk since my last transgression but given it was only a couple of days ago and the injuries still haven’t healed that isn’t saying much. However, again I will say never again, again….until the next time.
*or sister as the case may be don’t get all political correct just yet.
**I still have no idea what or who the werewolves of London are though, Warren Zevon.
***Somebody else’s young buck. As I’ve written in the past my offspring are going to be completely wrapped in cotton wool…and given my history perhaps a Muslim country or Mormon city will need to be found by the time my brood reach drinking age.
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