Barely Enough

Socrates supposedly said people fall into two kinds: those who are not worthwhile and live only to eat and drink, and those who are worthwhile, and eat and drink only to live.

I would have said I fell into the first group, loving little more than to eat and laugh over a good meal, especially one with a few dear friends. That would make me less worthy in Socrates' eyes ... well, so be it. I'm sure I fall short in a plethora of other ways as well. C'est la vie.

But I realize that lately I don't hold my liquor as well as I used to. Mostly because I have not been drinking as much as I used to.

There are plenty of people out there who, like Socrates, would say drinking falls into two camps as well -- the happy drinking and the not-so-happy drinking. And I would agree, and say that on various occasions I have landed in both (or either) of those buckets. But as historical trends go, I drink much more when I am discontented or woeful. Like any other useful, chemical crutch, I deploy it to numb my grey matter, to silence the chattering worry wart that resides in my skull and runs amok during times of stress and duress. To detach, unwind, forget. Many, many of my drinking memories root in unhappier times, and most (if not all) of my sick-drunk experiences have been firmly negative in genesis and execution -- I started out in a funk and ended up in a drunk, hungover and sick for the trouble. To quote Mark Twain: "Sometimes too much to drink is barely enough."It was a means to drown out, not drum up.

My natural mental programming (which is admittedly maudlin and often macabre) -- my tendency to use alcohol as a crutch -- has been reinforced by my habits to self-medicate stress, instead of celebrate a cessation of stress, even if only overnight, away from the work grind, or over weekend, away from the worries of deadlines and bills.

So I sat at my desk this sunny early-spring afternoon and took a few moments to try and dredge up memories of Happy Drinking. And I found a few, but not enough.

- Drinking what was surely five litres of red wine in Macedonia with two very dear friends, on a trip of a lifetime (a month in Europe).

- A karaoke birthday party with friends in Portland, loopily warbling our favourite tunes.

- Several bingey get-togethers with coworkers from The Swoosh Company.

- Dancing in more than one lesbian bar, also with friends.

- N'Awlins 2001 for Depeche Mode, with friends, where I learned to love jalapeno peppers and stayed up 48 hours straight, pre-5-Hour-Energy, high on Red Bull and good times.

I realize my habit has been to associate drinking with bad times, and that is a paradigm I can break and repair. It is time to do Happy Drinking, and plenty of it.

Who's ready for Happy Hour?