“The luck is gone, the brain is shot, but the liquor we still got. “ –Doug Coughlin from Cocktail
Tonight I ventured out to my local bar, with friends in tow. It’s always a good thing to bring friends with you while drinking at a local boozing establishment, because at least one of you will then be able to drive home, and hey that means you are not drinking alone like some lonely slob in that cool Nighthawks painting that I’ve always admired. Third Base Bar and Grill is a fine place to slowly descend into that magical world of inebriation, with welcoming bar stools and a fine bar that is solid wood, or something akin to what I think solid wood even is. The people there sadly know who we all are at this point, as we’ll all been going there since we were old enough to finally consume that magical elixir that so many pontificate about. And even though I’ve cut back to the point where I only engage in such behavior on the weekends, I’m not sure if I can keep on doing this forever.
Which brings me to a depressing fact: eventually you have to quit alcohol, or dial it back about twenty million paces. Some would argue that you are better off without the barley, and they have a point, except that such people are either moralistic religious types, or they were forced to give up the drink one way or another. So I take their advice with a small grin of salt, especially since over the last couple of years booze has inspired me to write. Look at this awful column right now, completely powered by the lingering after effects of downing several fine brews of Pale Aces Ale. Boom, inspiration right there, falling into the boring adage of writing based on real life experiences and limiting what you pen/type/whatever to what you know, which I hate. Not to mention endings, which I’m still working on. We’ll get there one day, although who we is I have no idea. Maybe I’m just losing it. I think I’ll have another drink.