Inebriation: The Slacker’s Guide to Enlightenment

Wine is good in Europe, man. Yeah, it’s good. But, beer is important in this country… and it’s an important thing that it’s important. That’s how it should be. You see, because (pause for pensive frown) because Americans just understand better.

Oh yeah? In what sense?

Themactically (sic). You see, I’m American and I’m at 10,000 feet and I understand better. You’re American too, I guess, and you’re at 10,000 feet and you understand too. But, the Germans over in Deutschland are at sea-level; they don’t understand, man. You see? …you and me probably understand better than most. We’re that city on the hill, man. A real, real, real… tall hill. You know what I like about rain, man? It’s so… vertical. Yeah, man, the verticality. Awesome. It’s a shame people just can’t understand, dude.

Indeed it is, my friend. Indeed, it is a shame. Truth be told, I was only one martini deep during this particular conversation; needless to say, I was at sea-level. My friend, however (a very bright, very well read kid) was well on his way to a bender of Herculean proportions. He’d killed off a pint of Jack Daniels in an effort to better comprehend Jim Morrison. It’s been said before—plenty of times, I’m sure—but I’ll go ahead and reaffirm: drunk kids are funny.

Never mind stumbling. Never mind exhibitionism. Never mind feats of acrobatics one is firmly convinced they’ve always been able to do, but have simply never been so inspired to attempt. Drunken philosophy is, far and away, the most entertaining aspect of pseudo-intellectual intoxication. Get a little knowledge and a load of booze in a kid and you may as well put up signs that read “Genius at work”. It baffles me how alcohol can make an otherwise brilliant mind fully capable of conceiving the notion: The summer is like bread. It’s… ummm… great… and tastes… ummm… great. And when it’s hot outside, you get toast. Which is still kinda like bread.

Does the same sober mind conceptualize these absurdities and consciously subdue them? Presuming that alcohol works to free us of our inhibitions, the implication is that perhaps we really do (or really did) believe what will inevitably become our drunken ramblings. There are certainly numerous examples of extraordinarily gifted authors, artists, musicians and philosophers that discovered their own best work the morning after a night of heavy substance abu…. er… appreciation (in Hemingway’s case, perhaps months later). There are other examples of brilliant drunks that are painfully boring teetotalers; their art never recovers from their sobriety. Kerouac’s On The Road would have been a travel guide without booze. Nirvana would have been called “Optometrist’s Waiting Room” without the drugs. Not only would Mick Jagger have got his fill of satisfaction, but he would have probably been mildly contented all the time.

If we’ve learned anything from the Romans, it’s likely that In Vino there’s always Veritas. The Romans decided conclusively for the rest of humanity that we can only really tell what we believe to be the truth when we’re drunk (for those with dissenting opinions: I defy you to cite even one instance in which the Romans were wrong about anything at all). Does this mean, then, that I really believe that jam would totally beat peanut butter in a fight? Even crunchy peanut butter? It must. Absurd as it may be, I must also believe that when trees fall in the forest and there’s no one around to hear, not only do they make a noise, but other trees and assorted foliage applaud. At one point I determined that the question is not how the miniature ships in bottles were built; the real question is why the hell did those tiny men in the bottle think that somehow they’d be able to sail themselves out. Surely they must have been drunk when that particular idea came up. Finally, I must feel very strongly that that Kierkegaard character is (yes, present tense) a wanker.

Golly, what a sad state of affairs.

SIDEBAR: Latin Phrases That Didn’t Catch On
In Vino Audentia: You’re much more likely to provoke fights with ridiculously bigger guys in wine.
In Vino Paupertas: You’re guaranteed to go home broke in wine
In Vino Adamo Hominis Profundus: Every dude you’re drinking with is your soul-mate in wine.
In Vino Claudeo: There’s a possibility of impotence in wine
In Vino Citatio Caligo: You’ll be sorry you had your cell phone on you in wine.
In Vino Hippopotamus: You’re buddies tried to warn you that she didn’t look like Angelina Jolie, but you just wouldn’t listen, would you…. in wine

As well you know, before the Romans with their Latin were the ancient Greeks with their ancient Greek (the Greeks were to the Romans what the older brother that went to an Ivy League—which dad would always use as a way to guilt younger siblings into performing well—was to the younger brother that dropped out of high school and went on to become a multi-platinum rock star). The ancient Greeks had Dionysus, the god of wine, who is credited with inventing debauchery, intoxication and peace. What a guy! Anyway, scholars are resolute on the theory that Dionysus benevolently gave humans an added bonus with inebriation… enlightenment. The other gods became very poopy that Dionysus (who looked remarkably like Dean Martin) gave humans a brief window into what it feels like to be a god.

If ever you’ve questioned why both ancient Greek and Roman civilizations failed, the answer is simple: deity conventions looked something like Thanksgiving at Irish households. Everyone yelled over the controversial issue of whether or not the pumpkin pie had the image of Jesus in it.

The fact is that not only do you really believe the silly gibberish you utter when you’re drunk, they’re (perhaps regrettably) probably the most enlightening things a slacker like you is ever going to come up with. Too bad everyone else thinks you’re an idiot.

That’s all.