Take With Plenty of Alcohol

There is something about the social animal that is known as homo sapien that has always caused me a certain amount of confusion, admittedly there are a great many things that cause me massive discombobulation in trying to fathom or figure out about this genus that I am SUPPOSEDLY part of, but this one thing is my current head scratcher of the day.

Now before I go into full contemplative ramble, it should be known that I don't partake in intoxicating substances, legal or otherwise. This was a decision made after realising how incredibly lucky I had been on my path of mass and obliviously unaware self destruction. I am far from an innocent in the matters of consuming intoxicating substances, I had two very distinct nights out: the rock night and the rave night. Both nights brought their own selection of fuels for the upcoming events. The rock night was entirely booze fueled, I would start out at home with my bestest girly friend, she would be tanking back cheap cans of Red Stripe Lager and I would have a liter bottle of the cheapest vodka I could find, mixed with whatever neon coloured pop tinkled my fancy that night. . red cola, pinappleade, cream soda, limeade. . if it was slightly glowing I would drink it. Once we were suitably buzzed we would shamble along to our favourite pub where the walls were decorated with superheroes and supervillans. They had a whole menu of shots that were criminally cheap which we would usually we would make our way through, alphabetically. Once eleven o'clock would roll around, we would pry ourselves from the bar and make the short walk to the club, not forgetting to stop off at the crepe stand and have lengthily conversations with the vendor in drunken and cut and paste French. We never had to pay to get into the club, I had been going since I was fifteen years old, all the staff knew me and I was very close with the manageress and her kids. I was always guaranteed entry, regardless of how full it was and once I was inside, I never had to put my hand into my pocket. I was "taken care of". The drinks went on to what the British call "alcopops" and what I believe are called "coolers" here in North America, I also devised a beverage that, now looking back on it probably wasn't the smartest combinations of alcohols to ever be combined. I would take a pint of cider, usually Scrumpy Jack, sup a few mouthfuls from the glass then dump a double peach schnapps it fill the glass back up. I would on average consume a good half dozen bottles of sticky alcopops and I'd say a good half dozen again of my special cocktail per visit. So let's look at the tally so far. . spirits, I would have drank in total about a liter and a half then cider which has a slighter higher alcohol percentage than beer, a good six pints. Now, bear in mind, I'm a wee thing, I'm five foot three and at that time I was probably no more than one hundred and eighty pounds. What was even more unbelievable was that this was done on average of at LEAST three nights a week, what is more unbelievable still is that I have only ever puked with booze once and blacked out once. I firmly believe I had some sort of magical booze fairy looking after me at all times. Now. . rave nights, I guess weren't as heavy going in comparison and only really happened once a week. . they could only really happen once a week because of the fallout once the strobes had stopped flashing.


I had an entirely different set of friends for the nights I would go out to the rave club. A few folks in that group would occasionally meet up with me on my rock nights, but for the most part those two worlds would rarely collide. We would start the night over at one friends house, listening to the sort of electronic audio assault that we would be enveloped in once at the club, relating stories of the week and how much we were looking forward to the treats of the night then with no more than fifteen minutes before leaving, we would "tool up". I would neck back two grammes of amphetamines and a tablet of ecstasy and I would be good for the night of dancing to music that I never listened to outside of those nights. I used to think I was so savvy, because I had a never ending bottle of water continuously attached to left hand all night and into the wee small hours of the night, never once contemplating what was actually in the powder or pill I was consuming. Once the night of dancing was done we would all trail back to someones house and get wasted in another capacity. It was thought that if we all got spaced out on weed, that the inevitable comedown from the synthetics would be less harsh. I was never a smoker, so I would have a little lunchbox filled with special cupcakes or cookies. Funnily enough, this idea never really worked. I remember having a comedown that would have me secretly wishing for death, no matter how many spiked, sweet treats I shoved into my mouth, which in itself was a nightmare, considering that the speed had stripped me of any appetite.


So. . .now that my reckless past has been made public I can fully get to ranting without sounding like a complete sanctimonious prick. I can honestly say, been there done that and chose not to any more. I don't think it makes me any better than anyone else, but it does mean that I have extra pennies to spend on comicbooks, dvds and shoes. Anyway, I digress. .

What really bamboozles is me is the whole culture of intoxication. I understand drinking for the taste, if you have a palate for wine or certain types of beer. My Mum is a big whiskey aficionado and has been trying for years to get me to join her, but I have never developed the mature palate to enjoy it. I also understand enjoying the buzz you get and the lowering of inhibitions that one builds up to survive. What I don't understand is the bragging that comes with it.

Today, as I was doing the rounds and putting up my the preview of this week's set, I cam across a thread started by one of the forum's regulars. It was basically a short intro about her night out and how she got so drunk she passed out then pictures of her in this state of drunkenness. Admittedly the pictures cold have been SO much worse, nonetheless, they are far from flattering. Why? Why would someone feel the need to do something like that, furthermore, why would people feel the need to encourage such a thing and talk to her as if she achieved something worthwhile?

Where is the pride to take in getting so smashed that you physically pass out? How can people feel a sense of achievement in drinking to the point of puking on themselves? Why would you feel like some sort of champion for comsuming so much of an intoxicating subtance that you did things you would never even contemplate when you were sober? We, as a society seem to celebrate this kind of behaviour and hold people that can consume large quanties of booze or drugs as celebrities for their prowess, calling them "hardcore" and holding them in high esteem for their self destructive attitude. Is it a positive thing to watch someone effectively piss their life away, is this something to aspire to? Is this just another side of the old addage "Its better to burn out than fade away?' or the whole "Live fast, die young, leave behind a pretty corpse" mentality?

I love going out and dancing until I am a sweaty mess or singing karaoke to friend in family in a hammed up fashion or being the one friend that had no sense of shame and will do pretty much anything you ask her to so long as its a dare. I have very few inhibitions and I have never feared looking like a fool in front of people, hell I actively seek out things TO make a jackass out of myself for the pleasure of others. This is all done completely sober, with out liquid or chemical courage. Even as a drinker or recreational drug user, watching my friends get so heavily intoxicated to the point that they couldn't stand and their motor skills were reduced to that if an infant would completely freak me out. . . but the next morning once the vicious wave of hangover was passed there would be that bragging session of how fucked they were the night before.

At what point do we stop commending these people for their behaviour and start worrying? The media has now latched on to the whole rehab/intervention reality show with a rabid fury. We can easily find some show full of pity for people who have gone that step too far and we watch them suffer through the addiction and then become sanctimonious pillars of morality when they fall off the wagon. Its like there is a secret part of us that is hoping that these people DON'T manage to stay clean, because where would the entertainment factor be then? Is it the same with the people we know in real life? DO will celebrate the over indugence of intoxicating substances because it makes us feel better about ourselves to watch others in various states of shame or is it because it brings us some sort of sadistic entertainment value? Either way, I am totally confused and if anyone has any idea whatsoever please write it on the back of a graphically humourous postcard and send it my way. I'm gonna go drink some sugary pop and contemplate singing along, full volume to some staight edge hardcore in a squeaky minnie mouse voice whilst making sexy hip thrusts in self parody for the enjoyment of my dog.