Saturday, January 24, 2009
I went out last night with the stated intention of drinking. I met up with a buddy of mine who likes to drink beer, and I had the full intention of drinking lots of beers and blowing lots of hot air like all the people in the brewery always seem to be having such a great time doing.
Well the beer, the food and the conversation were great. My friend is a world traveler who had just returned from Brazil, so I knew he'd have adventure stories.
And he did. For example, did you know that in Brazilian nightclubs, all you need to know how to say in Portuguese is "My name is..." and "What's your name?" and then the kissing starts? Just like that. Brazilian nightclubs are just giant hook-up sites, bursting with interested single people. Hmmm.
If we had ended the evening there, everything probably would have been ok.
But we had the bright idea to head over the Arcata and do the Plaza crawl. Honestly, I felt like an anthropologist in a strange land, observing the unusual behavior of exotic natives.
For one thing, everyone in the Arcata bars on a Friday night must have just celebrated their 21st birthdays last week. They were babies. They looked 12.
My friend's roommate joined us there, and I felt happy to be hanging out with these two nice guys. And now, with the presence of a sober driver, I switched to hard liquor.
I tried a new thing: Red Bull as a mixer. This didn't exist back in the dinosaur days when I drank in bars. Judging from the reaction of my body and mind, the idea behind mixing your downer (alcohol) with an upper (taurine) must be that your body metabolizes the alcohol faster, perhaps more effectively.
This was a mistake.
It took all my concentration to maintain my dignity on the tall heels of my black boots as we walked back to the car. Back at home, I wasn't well (I say euphemistically) and this morning, I was even less well.
Everything in life is a trade off, according to gift theory. And the pleasure of drinking alcohol is not worth the misery of a hangover.