Dry Season

I saw 2018 arrive in my favorite place and state: at home, warm, and dry – dry in beverage sense. The hangover cures that peppered newspapers and net sites on and shortly before New Year’s Day were of pleasantly little personal interest. Besides, there are no cures. There are minor palliatives at best. Hangovers ultimately have to wear off on their own, and (ceteris paribus) this takes longer for some people than for others. I’m one of those for whom it takes longer. Frank Sinatra once remarked, “I feel sorry for people who don't drink. When they wake up in the morning, that's as good as they're going to feel all day.” In my case the morning after bibulation is as bad as I’ll feel all day – sometimes the next day, too. The usual supposed preventatives (hydration, fatty foods, white liquors only, etc.) make little or no difference to me. (Yes, moderation is always an option, but the topic is excess.)

I’m not virtue-signaling. I like a good buzz as much as anyone. Alcohol accordingly was something of a hobby for me in my 20s. The hangovers were not milder then. In that decade I simply was more willing to accept the price for the nights before. I have no judgments to make about those who still are, or who pay lower prices as a matter of course. By my 30s, however, for no other reason than pain avoidance I had tapered back to an annual intake about equal to the CDC’s suggested maximum for a week (14 drinks). Yet, even now I can see wisdom in Raymond Chandler’s advice: "A man ought to get drunk at least twice a year just on principle, so he won't let himself get snotty about it." Twice has been about my number in recent years. It’s enough to remind myself why I don’t indulge the other 363 days, and also enough to remind myself why so many people do. There is much to be said be said for the night before. We all are aware of the risks and downsides (some potentially lethal) to the night before, but there is still much to be said for it. My preferred tipple on those two days: Wild Turkey 101, a flavorful moderately priced bourbon that, at 101 proof (50.5% alcohol), achieves its intended effect expeditiously and with no worse (albeit no better) aftereffects than any other pick.

The intended effect is a change in perspective: an altered state that can be revealing. (Altered states can be achieved without extraneous chemicals, btw, but that is for another discussion.) The ancient Persians who, according to Herodotus, considered every important question both sober and drunk before making a decision may have been onto something. I suspect, though, that the significance of that story got turned around in Herodotus’ colorful retelling. I suspect that it was less a matter of sober Persians saying, “Let’s see what I think about this drunk” and more a matter of drunks saying, “Let’s see what I think about this sober.” I think the good sense of the latter is self-evident.

What brings all this to mind, besides the time of year, is a re-watch with a friend last week of Joss Whedon’s 2012 version of Much Ado about Nothing, a remarkable side-project shot in 12 days with B&W handheld cameras at his own home. During the first viewing I didn’t pay much attention to how much the characters drink, which is a lot. Yet, their intemperance was an inspired directorial choice. The characters, after all, don’t make very sober judgments, so it makes eminent sense for them to be not sober. This is unlike so many movies in which characters seem weirdly unaffected by drinking: e.g. Nick Charles, who retains his sharp deductive skills despite awe-inspiring consumption in the Thin Man movies; James Bond, who remains quick of wit and reflex despite those shaken-not-stirred vodka martinis; and the Western gunfighter of your choice who is as sure a shot as ever despite guzzling whiskey in the saloon.

On second viewing I recommend Much Ado about Nothing even more heartily than after the first. It may be the most accessible Shakespeare film in decades. I recommend seeing it sober though. Well, once anyway. Persian fashion would work, too.

WC Fields’ debt: clip from Never Give a Sucker an Even Break