Sunday, March 15, 2015

Climbing Up The Topsails, I Lost My Leg


This is why my favorite drinking holiday is Wednesday. Not this coming Wednesday, mind you, but Wednesdays in general. Mondays, too. Not many people out on those days. I don't have to worry about competing for a parking place or a spot at the bar, waiting long for post-drinks food, or squeezing through unruly, inebriated crowds while on my sober-up walk.

Of course, let the calendar plop a drinking holiday on a Tuesday and I'm sober for two weeks. Or would be, if I had thought this one through. I'm sitting at Dee's Cafe, listening to Rick Astley - of all people, Rick Fucking Astley* - and watching buzz-cut-headed bros sit on the covered pool tables in complete defiance of the notices placed by management. Amateur drunkards tend to clog the streets starting with the weekend before the holiday, and every night thereafter until the actual day after. That's what happened to me last Halloween - I decided to hit the bar on November 1st (unlike the previous Halloween, when I went down on the actual holiday, which was a clusterfuck in its own right) and was still greeted with dozens of goofballs in costume and having trouble holding their liquor.

Better yet, the ridiculous patronage means that the glassware Dee's is using has temporarily turned disposable and therefore contra-aesthetic, and I was hoping for a nice photo of my first drinks to head up a post I'm working on.

I consider myself one of those who approach their time hitting the bar with at least a little bit of reverence - ironically not unlike how the faithful among us seem to approach going to church on Sunday. I might even go so far as to say that going to the bar on a drinking holiday reminds me of my hometown church being bombarded with worshipers at Christmas and Easter services. I imagine that most Christians are glad to have so many willing to come worship (and simultaneously wondering how to persuade them to stick around the other 50 Sundays in the year); but for a reverent drunk a la Bogart's Richard Blaine, the swell of boisterous, Lite-swilling goofballs on drinking holidays can be vexing, to say the least. And they take up the pews - uh, I mean stools, that us regulars always, always claim when we arrive on normal visits.

It's rough watching amateur night at my favorite bars; if only 'amateur' still meant someone who does something out of the love of doing so. Perhaps they'd have learned something about drinking if they approached it that way. Inexperienced drinkers can be distracting at best and dangerous at worst - from their loss of spatial sense, indoor voice and personal boundaries to disregarding all the advice about getting behind the wheel while under the influence.

For those who want to enjoy drinking - who want to truly get good at it (as good as really is possible - I mean, seriously - drinking as a skill? Who could take the idea seriously, besides me and a few I know?), I would actually recommend drinking at home. If you want to drink on a holiday renowned for alcohol consumption, throw a party at your place and make sure you have enough room for people to crash. You're in a familiar place, with people you know, and if you or your guests aren't certain of their tolerance, spending the night there is your best option. It's safer. Besides, if you don't drive, more time to drink!

I also should lay out a few of my own ground rules for going to the bar. Proper reverence for a night out drinking and being merry starts with having a good idea of your tolerance. You do not want to blaspheme at the feet of the porcelain gods, as it were; or end up arrested for a DUI; or acquire the legit nickname of Duncan Drisorderly (I think there's a punk rocker who already goes by that anyway). Sure it rhymes, but it's no less true - beer before liquor, ever sicker; liquor before beer, never fear. If you arrived operating any motor vehicle with a steering apparatus (how you'd drive a GP30 to the bar**, I have no idea), you may even wish to avoid harder spirits altogether.

Once you start to feel it, stay calm. This might seem like a counterintuitive rule, but I grew up in a Presbyterian church and we're pretty placid in general, really. The last thing you want to do is get kicked out for being a drunken oaf, or piss off your fellow drinkers and the bartender. Just stay relaxed.

The last key rule is to tip well. You can tip every drink (i.e. 'keep the change') or wait until you head out, but never give a bartender a small tip. Be generous. You actually get better service when you tip well and regularly. Even better, thank the bartender as well. Sure, AC/DC says that money talks, but it's not really everything. A little human contact is always appreciated; bartenders are people first, not just alcohol dispensers.

I do have to admit that in the particular case of St. Patrick's Day, one detail that most people overlook, and does irk me, is some ignorance of the reason for wearing green. The symbolism of green does represent Irish republicanism, but all you have to do is look at the flag and learn why one-third is orange. Protestant followers of William III, King of England (who actually invaded England, deposed King James II, and won the crowns of England, Scotland and Ireland), took his heraldic color of orange as one of their symbols in the religious conflicts of the time. In the flag itself, green can be taken to symbolize Catholics, and as stated the orange represents the Protestant minority; with the white being an appeal for peace between the two factions. As for myself, I'm pretty sure there's no Irish ancestry in me, so if you ever spot a guy wearing a t-shirt with either the Scottish or Welsh flag, it's probably me.

I should probably get out of here before it gets any crazier, but I sure wish some of my fellow bar patrons would read this and take a few pointers with them. Maybe I'd be more inclined to hang out with them on the weekend, instead of having to be the only guy at the bar at the beginning of the week.

* The reaction is more aimed at 1) the blatant violation of Rules 1 and 2, 2) the fact that Astley is British rather than Irish - specifically a Lancashire lad, and 3) that there does in fact exist the possibility that someone here tonight may be a legit fan.

** In the UK, this becomes 'driving a Black 5 down to the pub'.

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