In the old days there was a place to log your hours. You could return to your drinking log and have an inkling of hope that what you wrote was part of your life. It was a collective drunk conscious. Now, all that is gone. We have to rely on our shoddy memories. And if you've read the news lately, that's a crap-shoot:
"The researchers found that the more alcohol people drank on a regular basis, the smaller their brain volume. People who had more than 14 drinks per week had an average 1.6 percent reduction in brain volume compared with people who never drank." -- Washington Post, May 2, 2007Note how the article reports that 14 drinks per week is heavy drinking. That's fourteen, one-four. Per week. Righty-oh!
In the old days, I could go back and tell you drink for drink for at least as long as I remembered how many drinks I had. Now, I can only speculate. Where was I going with this? Somebody rein me in! Oh, yes! The feats of strength, so to speak.
There was the Vodka Challenge. The contenders drank a bottle of Hanger One in less than three hours as aperitif to going to the pub. Nobody got arrested. Certainly not this ne'er do well, who most certainly did not attempt to taunt any Five-Oh outside the window.
There was the Frostbite Run, in which idiots decided to run a four-mile race in two-degree weather, but the reward was a pint of cognac.
And who can forget the holidays? Well, I can only go back so far. New Year's Eve was a near disaster of moonshine and fisticuffs. St. Patrick, you rascally Irishman, you invited us out for an early morning stroll through the Guinness patch and then Round Two that evening. Drinking for the Lord, the night before Easter, where tequila made us all rise again.
Fourteen drinks a week? If that's heavy, then call me Cirrhosis.
I'll see you at Happy Hour.