Intoxication

JusWondering… Does Beer Make Me Smarter?

Posted on by sgottahurt

Sure… during my month of not boozing, I might have woke up each morning with an extra bounce in my step, but at work, more mistakes were made and more things were forgotten.  Yeah, it’s possible I slept better or longer (courtesy of passing out) during the many sauced months that came before, or that the heaped upon hours I spent in front of the boob tube boobed out my noggin and rendered my work performance lackluster.

So I started to wonder… maybe I’m smarter under the influence.  I do play a lot of trivia at the bar, and maybe that’s like running with ankle-weights for my brain.  Research ensued and I discovered this headline:

Whuuuuhhh?!

Whuuuuhhh?!

Dost thine eyes deceive, um, me?

From the BBC article:

Mice fed moderate quantities of alcohol grew extra brain cells, but also showed a preference for alcohol over water.

Lead researcher Professor Stefan Brene said: “We believe that the increased production of new nerve cells during moderate alcohol consumption can be important for the development of alcohol addiction and other long-term effects of alcohol on the brain.”

Okay, maybe it doesn’t sound perfectly fantastic – or does it?  

Alternatively, the extra cells might help with learning and memory, [Brene] said.  Another theory, according to the researchers, is that the tranquilising effect of alcohol triggers the growth.  All of the new cells developed normally.

My favorite line:

A spokeswoman from the Campaign for Real Ale said: “It is well known that alcohol in moderation is good for your body so it’s no surprise it’s also good for your mind.  “Maybe that is why lots of pub quiz teams are so bright.”

Some other favorite lines… from The Legend of Bagger Vance:

Rannulph Junnah: Now, the question on the table is how drunk is drunk enough? And the answer is that it’s all a matter of brain cells
Hardy Greaves: Brain cells?
Rannulph Junnah: That’s right Hardy. You see every drink of liquor you take kills a thousand brain cells. Now that doesn’t much matter ‘cos we got billions more. And first the sadness cells die so you smile real big. And then the quiet cells go so you just say everything real loud for no reason at all. That’s ok, that’s ok because the stupid cells go next, so everything you say is real smart. And finally, come the memory cells. These are tough sons of bitches to kill.

And then there’s always Cliff Clavin’s take:

Well you see, Norm, it’s like this… A herd of buffalo can only move as fast as the slowest buffalo and when the herd is hunted, it is the slowest and weakest ones at the back that are killed first.
This natural selection is good for the herd as a whole, because the general speed and health of the whole group keeps improving by the regular killing of the weakest members.
In much the same way, the human brain can only operate as fast as the slowest brain cells. Now, as we know, excessive drinking of alcohol kills brain cells. But naturally, it attacks the slowest and weakest brain cells first. In this way, regular consumption of beer eliminates the weaker brain cells, making the brain a faster and more efficient machine.
And that, Norm, is why you always feel smarter after a few beers.

Drunken Recollection… I Might Be More Afraid Of Lizards Than I Thought

Posted on by sgottahurt

Drinking time with old friends usually includes a back catalog of stories we’ve all heard before. 

Last night, for example, the tale of how one of my pals and I almost burnt down an entire Boy Scout camp (it wasn’t our fault as much as it was the scoutmaster’s pyromaniac son) was brought up. 

Or how one the friend’s family seems to think some of the other guys built a new cabin one time (they didn’t).  Okay, so maybe I shouldn’t have mentioned our BSA days at all, but my point is this: we’ve heard it all before.

At least that’s what I thought.

My buddy was regaling us with an episode that occurred while he was in Malaysia.  Apparently, he had rented a dirt bike and was traveling around with his girl at that time (this story was brought up most likely because his girl of this time wasn’t present).  They were planning on taking a shortcut up a dirt path on a hill, but at the top, they encountered a chainlink fence. 

On his side of the fence, a dumpster full of reeking trash.

On the opposite side – a cadre of monitor lizards clawing at the fence, hissing, and shaking it.  I imagined something like a zombie movie.  He said rather than riding the bike in a small circle, he stood up (with his girl hanging around his neck the entire time), grabbed the end of the bike, and spun in his spot.  He sped so fast down the hill he almost popped at wheelie at take-off.

Okay, it’s not a classic story, but considering what’s happened in Indonesia with the Komodo dragons, it kind of freaked me out.  Also… I was drunk, so I kind of pictured it something like this:

Dramatization of actual events

Dramatization of actual events

In My Brain While Sleeping… Smoking Weed Where The Sun Don’t Shine

Posted on by sgottahurt

Sometimes I wish I could remember every dream I had, because the ones that I do… whew boy!  Where do they come from?

Last night was no exception.

If there was going to be a visual mash-up of ideas, it’d be best represented by this:

Something something America!

Something something America! AKA Freudians have fun!

Using the above graphic you should be able to ascertain the elements involved… so here’s the gist of the dream.

There was a grouping of triplets (is that how you’d refer to them?), and they were preparing to set a new Guinness World Record.  Grant it, the triplets in the dream were burnout dudes, but I figured why not put the Dahm sisters up because of their, um, patriotism.

The new record they were setting to create?  Who could stay the longest at the bottom of an active volcano.  The location they chose was Hawaii.  The seat of choice was their old green sofa.  The method they chose to pass the time was getting high.

The world was watching, they set the record, and became overnight celebrities.  They even ended up releasing an album with Kid Rock.

I wish I could tell you how long they stayed in the volcano, or that I could regale you with an anecdote of how the brothers lit their joints on molten lava, but I remember none of that.

What I do remember was the commemorative license plate they offered in the fine state of Hawaii:

(Fairly) Artisitic Representation... I'm getting better at this stuff if I do say so myself

(Fairly) Artistic Representation... I'm getting better at this stuff if I do say so myself

 INGREDIENTS: Four pints of $2 Guinness.  And water.

Drunken Recollection… There Just Aren’t Enough Figure Skating Movies

Posted on by sgottahurt

Yesterday was a bittersweet sports night in Detroit.  On one hand, the Tigers won their seventh straight game (barely… thanks, Zumaya).  On the other, the Red Wings lost in overtime to the Chicago Blackhawks. 

Somehow, through the course of starting the night at Comerica Park and stopping at the bar to watch the second half of the playoff game, the conversation veered to figure skating movies.  Well, it started with the mere mention of figure skating; I steered it toward chatting about film.

The topic: What’s the best movie about figure skating?

The answer: The Cutting Edge (natch).

When I finish this post, I just might watch it again. That is, if I owned the DVD. Who am I kidding? I own it...
When I finish this post, I just might watch it again. That is, if I owned the DVD. Who am I kidding? I own it…

I mean, it could be argued that since Ice Castles was the first, it’s the best by some (I’ve never seen it, but after watching this video featuring its theme song, I feel like I have to).

Some tidbit facts about Ice Castles:

  • There’s a remake coming out next year to coincide with the 2010 Winter Olympics.
  • Star Lynn-Holly Johnson went on to be a Bond Girl to Roger Moore in For Your Eyes Only.
  • Co-star Robby Benson almost won the role of Luke Skywalker in some movie I don’t recall, but he did voice The Beast in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast.  He also directed episodes of Friends, apropos of nothing.
  • It’s also a song by Ween.

Arguments for The Cutting Edge:

  • It was awesome.
  • It was funny.
  • It was heartwarming.
  • It spawned a trilogy.
There really need to be five movies to tell the full story.

There really need to be five movies to tell the full story.

According to Wikipedia, there have been only 7 films about figure skating, while

  • skiing gets 9
  • surfing gets 11
  • wrestling and ice hockey get 14
  • (and oh yeah – cheerleading, skateboarding, and rodeo also get 7)

Forget the major leagues and any kind of racing, and you realize Hollywood hasn’t explored other sports all that much.  Especially when you consider that the 14 ice hockey movies include the Mighty Ducks trilogy, a second Slap Shot film, MVP: Most Valuable Primate, and The Guru – heaven help all ice-skating related works.

Drunken Recollection… First Rule Of Bachelor Party – You Don’t Talk About Bachelor Party

Posted on by sgottahurt

For the last two weeks, not a smidge of alcohol has quenched my parched, getting-very-used-to-water, lips. 

One bachelor party changed the no-drinking-in-May plan (at least for that night).
Two beers in, I was feeling tipsy.
The third film in the X-Men series almost killed my burgeoning buzz when it was brought up before the bus bid farewell.
Four… ah, I’m at a loss on how to keep this list up.  Oh, wait!  Four bars is the amount we visited.
Five beers came in a bucket at our second stop.  Or should I say a fifth of Jack was passed around (of which I passed on).

Okay, yeah, now I give up.  Anyway, overall it was fairly trouble free, aside from my cousin slapping me in the face, punching me in the gut, and tucking his feet in my armpit as he curled up in a ball to sleep – all within six minutes (I told you I’m stopping the number thing).

I recall talking to a stripper dancer woman at one of the stops extensively about this:

Like our purloined dispenser, except ours had sunflower seeds, peanuts, and Reese's Pieces. I think.

Like our purloined dispenser, except ours had sunflower seeds, peanuts, and Reese's Pieces. I think.

Someone in the group who will go nameless, but was prone to slapping and punching despite being sleepy, stole lifted a candy dispenser and someone else in the group got really upset about it. 

The best man forbid a couple of women from joining the group on its road trip, which at the time, sounded like a bad idea to not let them, but hindsight being what it is, was simply a bad idea, so kudos to him.  I can’t get too upset then that he had the bus drop him off directly at home.

Back at our original point of departure, I was done.  Well, I was with it enough to eat a few Pizza Rolls. 

I guess some of the other guys put the candy dispenser on top of the guy’s car that was getting upset.  (Sure, he had a reason for being irritated, but it was meh at best.)  I guess that inflamed him further and he smashed it on the ground.  Someone else took it upon himself and completely busted it open.  Quarters flew everywhere, and those who were still awake scooped them up.

The next morning, the three of us that drove together walked out into the gloomy daybreak.  I spotted a crapload of quarters that went unclaimed.  My reply: “I would like to say that if I was a kid right now, seeing this would make me happy as hell.  But as an adult, I can’t say that I feel any different.  I’m not too proud to crouch long enough to pick up a few dollars.” 

My cousin and I gathered about ten bucks each.  My friend with us had already grabbed about ten bucks the night before…

JusWondering… Can You Get Drunk Off Milk?

Posted on by sgottahurt

For the month of May I’ve decided to cut out some of the things that have made my life worth living… Taco Bell, Mt. Dew, beer, um, Taco Bell, Mt. Dew, and beer, yeah…

So far, four days in, I’ve managed to keep up with the plan and maintain the social habits in which my usuals are consumed.

  • Friday – MGM Casino and Detroit Tigers’ game (drunk kids behind us would have been more fun had I also been smashed)
  • Saturday – My brother’s play (totally would have drank afterwards normally, but it was actually really entertaining)
  • Sunday – My friend’s softball game (I’m the scorekeeper, usually armed with a pen in one hand and a beer in the other) 
  • Today – 80’s Night at Comerica Park (booze fest, natch)

Yet alas, here I am, prodding through with my plan, having nightmares about caving in and drinking Mt. Dew (seriously), getting tempted like crazy.

But something strange has been occurring the last few nights.  As I sit down on my couch to prepare for a late night, pre-bedtime viewing of TV shows on DVD (just finished the hilarious It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia… Burn Notice is next), I’ve been partaking of a glass or two of low fat organic milk.  And after drinking that second glass, I’ve been feeling a wee bit tipsy.

So I decided to investigate if this was a phenomenon, or merely something in my head.  I remember in the short-lived comic book, X-Nation 2099, the mutants would get drunk off of milk.  So why can’t I?

There are many cases of infantile beriberi (kakke) in Japan. In most instances the mother of the afflicted infant has beriberi. However, sometimes the mother is healthy (concealed beriberi). Ito observed such a case in which the mother did not have beriberi and called the condition “mother’s milk intoxication.” But he afterward changed this name to “breast milk intoxication” because he saw cases in babies who were nourished with the milk of wet-nurses.

PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) is very provocative in its media campaign about milk, but it is correct in its message. Beer is indeed better than milk for health, as are both wine and distilled spirits.

  • Doing too many shots of milk produces the same result as too many shots of liquor:
  • Bill Murray drinks a glass of warm milk before he goes to bed.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

 

more about “Bill Murray in FCU: Fact Checkers Uni…“, posted with vodpod

Drunken Recollection… Return Of The Hangover

Posted on by sgottahurt

On the taxi ride from Tom’s Restaurant back to East Village, Steve passed out quickly, and not soon after, I followed suit.  Tim bid us farewell, and I remained awake for our ride back to Midtown.  The taxi that narrowly missed crashing into the backseat where I was sitting probably helped…

EPISODE VI
RETURN OF THE HANGOVER

Upon reaching our final destination without reaching the final destination, Steve decided he wanted some more food.  I think I agreed.  We remembered seeing a Taco Bell on our way to the pizzeria the day before, so we ambled forth in search of late night seasoned beef and cheese and tortillas and rice…

The next morning, after awakening in our dirty Snuggies, we tried recalling the run for the border.  We remembered that it was more like a regular deli that had a Taco Bell in the back.  The Taco Bell was closed, yet the front remained in business.  Weird.  Steve didn’t think he purchased any food, and I cannot confirm or deny that fact, but I do know he inquired about it.

Steve – “How much for pizza?”

Worker – “$3.50 a slice.”

Steve – “I’ll give you three for a half.”

The rest is fuzzy, and so was Steve.  He wasn’t feeling too hot on the morning of our ride home, whereas this time, I felt fine.  Upon learning of my faux pas regarding the hot dog joint/secret bar, we made the decision to seek it out properly before leaving.  We had to know if it truly did exist.

So on the way to the subway station at Times Square, we stopped at this place to get cupcakes:

"No doubt that bakery’s got all da bomb frostins/ I love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling." RIP "The Notebook" Love

"No doubt that bakery’s got all da bomb frostins/ I love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling." RIP "The Notebook" Love

While outside enjoying “da bomb frostins,” we bore witness to a scene straight out of Police Academy.  A short cop was surrounded by tall European women,  in their late teens to mid-twenties (with an elder or two over-seeing them), and he was posing for pictures with them. 

There were well over a dozen of them (a baker’s dozen?), and he had to make sure there was variety in his stylings.  When Steve and I walked into Magnolia, he was letting them put on his hat and hold his night stick.  When we were eating, he was fastening handcuffs on one of the girls.  I just imagined that if he was called for an emergency, he’d leave her behind locked up.

From there, we took the subway to Union Square, and met up with Tim and Mike again.  Tim was excited and had this to say:

I’ve finally made a union with someone at Union Square.

Anyhotdog, our final mission before leaving NYC was to locate this secret bar.  It was not far from our point of departure the night before, and here’s what we found:

Not too be confused with Mark's Place.

Not too be confused with Mark's Place.

Once inside, I stared at the counter of the narrow establishment seeking out the phone booth that would lead us to the bar called P.D.T. (Please Don’t Tell).  I turned left, and there it was:

Get Smart... or Superman?

Get Smart... or Superman?

I pushed open the door, and the guy behind the counter told me it didn’t open until six.  Bummer city.

Lift the receiver and wait for approval to enter the secret bar.

Lift the receiver and wait for approval to enter the secret bar.

We ordered some dogs.  I had mine made Seattle-style, in honor of this upcoming weekend’s trip.  (It’s cream cheese on a hot dog in a bun.)  From there, we made our way back to Madison Square Garden and Penn Station.  And from there back to Newark, and then back

toward 

home.

*sniff*

Drunken Recollection… The Empire Snuggies Back

Posted on by sgottahurt

In the middle of the night, a strange cough – that sounded distinctly male – startled me awake.  I was passed out in a queen-size bed with my cousin Steve.  We were in a hotel in New York City recovering from a long day of travelling and a longer night of drinking. 

…And we were each wearing a Snuggie.

 

EPISODE V
THE EMPIRE SNUGGIES BACK

The pub crawl on which the trip was focused was starting at noon.  It was ten when we started moving.  Steve kept mentioning how well he felt; I kept quiet about how much I was not.  We had set our sights on getting back to East Village by noon, but our first mission was to stop at the store to buy a vital item.

Steve called them safety pins; I referred to them as diaper pins.  Steve thought we could find them at Staples; I thought that was funny.  To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they were still made.  Was there a need for diaper pins anymore?  (Safety pins?  Maybe.)  And why did we need them?  We each had grown fond of our Snuggies and didn’t want to ruin them.  (Oh, and we ended up finding some at Walgreen’s.  They weren’t by the baby supplies, but amazingly, condoms were.  Hmm.)

We had a plan to carry the three Snuggies we possessed in a backpack, and to don them as required (the third was Mike’s – another friend that was coming in from DC for his birthday).  It was New York though, and we probably could have worn them the entire way from Midtown, but… well, I don’t have a clever excuse.  I guess we weren’t 100% convinced the Snuggie Pub Crawl was real, and didn’t want to be left out in the cold heat (it was such a nice day… 70+ degrees).

Our first stop was the sign-up location.  We had purchased four tickets in advance (even though we thought it might not be real we used credit card information on the web… go figure), and on the train ride over, Steve verified the first bar stop on those four tickets.  When we arrived at the sign-up, Steve checked his pockets.

“I have some bad news.”  Apparently, somewhere between checking them on the subway and walking to this bar, the printed up sheets fell out and blew away.  We weighed our options.  We thought of alternatives.  They guy told us we needed tickets, and we didn’t want to have to purchase them again.  Luckily, he accepted viewing the receipts on my iPhone, gave us four tickets and four cups (Tim from Episode IV would be also joining us), and we arrived at our first official spot:

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Now properly attired in our blankets with sleeves and with full crew in tow, the drinking began.  The three of them were off in a mad dash, but I was limping.  Mike put it best:

The days that start off slow very often end in a hurry.

Now I’ll let some pictures do the talking.

img_0056img_0057img_0061img_0063img_0065

Needless to say – some drinks were poured, some drinks were spilled, some conversation was had, and the Yankees got blown out by the Indians!  All-in-all, the crawl was a success.  But the night was not yet finished…

———————————————————————–

Over the course of the day, I had received information about a secret place.  The specifications were these:

  • It was a hot dog joint in Manhattan.
  • This hot dog joint had a “secret bar” located within it.
  • To access this “secret bar” you had to enter a phone booth and pick up the receiver to enter.
  • The location I was texted stated: 113 St Marks Pl

Here’s where my hubris caused an issue (and maybe drinking… maybe).  I thought I understood the lay the island, and I took the location to mean “113 St. @ Marks Place”… not what it said.  And the little torn brochure map I carried with me cut off around 110 St. at the the top, so how could I be wrong?  Birthday boy Mike passed out at Tim’s place (near East Village), and Steve, Tim, and I made our drunken way out to the fictional 113 St. and Marks Place.

The taxi driver didn’t even correct us, and brought us to 113 St. and Broadway, way up on the west end.  As I approached the waterfront, I stumbled into a closing bakery.

“Excuse me, do you know where Marks Place is?”

The confused baker answered, “He probably lives down by the river.”

As we brewed and stewed and reviewed my mistake, something caught my eye down the road.  It wasn’t a wasted trip after all!  This is where we had a late night burger before returning to home base (to pass out in our dirty Snuggies in a queen-size bed):

img_0068

"Doo doo doo doo, doo doo-doo-doo..." - Suzanne Vega / "Tippy toes, tippy toes, tippy toes!" - George Costanza

Drunken Recollection… New York: The Saga Continues…

Posted on by sgottahurt

Okay, so where was I?  Ah yes.  On Wall Street, which was under construction.  We were looking for the giant bull statue for the hell of it, even though we (Steve and I) were unsure if there was a giant bull statue in New York.  (There is… but we couldn’t find it.)

Around this time, I finally got to hear the voice of a fellow blogger (we’d eventually meet up later during my trek through East Village).  Our phones were running lower on energy than we were, so we decided in order to make it through whatever the night held in store for us, functioning electronics seemed important, and we returned to home base.

At the hotel, we plugged in our cells and due to the lack of sleep (this will be explained in the prequels), the Snuggies (this will be explained in the sequel) and bed were mighty tempting.  Yes, I typed “bed” with no “s.”  They only had a queen available (which I should probably specify is a bed size, seeing as how people might have preconceived notions about NYC).  Apparently, a four-star hotel according to Hotwire consists of this criteria: if they don’t have a pair of twins available (again – bed size), they’ll give you each a cookie.  A cookie that was prepared earlier in the day.  Possibly for the continental breakfast’s dessert?

But I digress, and as such, our digestive systems had processed those cookies long ago, so dinner sounded like a plan.  We asked the concierge to recommend a pizzeria (one that served booze was our only criteria).  He recommended one nearby – Angelo’s, on 55th and 2nd.  (Don’t I sound all local-y?  My confidence in understanding the map of the city ultimately proved to be a bit too confident.  Sequel…)

We ordered the flat-bread pizza and $6 beers.  Steve quickly learned that when the choices for $6 beers are Bud, Bud Light, and Bass Ale, you choose Bass Ale.  As we ate, we eyed the happy hour going on across the street ($3 beers!), and as soon as we finished, we headed over there for a few more (choices: Miller Lite, MGD, Sam Adams?  Sam Adams, of course!) and then back to the hotel to retrieve our banes of existence means of communication.

We headed toward Central Park to await our first fellow bar hopper – another Steve.  As we wandered the streets, we passed the bridge that Spider-Man battled on with the cable cars (I’m soooo cultured), and I missed the entirety of the quiet beauty that was the sunset that night.

As we began slinking in and out of a plethora of East Village bars, our group’s number grew to four with Tim, and five with Evan.  Eventually my fellow blogger met up with us after a lot of phone- and text-tagging, which was cool.  The hookah joint we were waiting to get into was taking too long, so we headed to another bar that carded people for some reason (nowhere else did).  In the sorta dark, sorta empty, martini-ish bar (what would be the opposite of a hole-in-the-wall?) we ended up at, I brought up Lost, I investigated something weird on the table with my fingertip (thankfully it was Guinness foam), and I think I even mentioned Twilight (the movie – not the book, as if that makes a difference).  Oh yeah… wonderful, wonderful Guinness was ordered around.  One guy selected a bottle of wine “with one glass.”  And mussels somehow ended up on the table.

Members of our group started parsing off at that point.  I recall a sliver of a diner that was stopped at by the solo wine drinker and that it amazingly carried no smell whatsoever, good or bad.  And somehow Steve and I made it back to home base.  (Taxi?  Subway?  Feet?)

I’m beginning to feel like this may be Uncle Sean’s Drunk Story Time all over again… So much more to go!

Drunken Recollection… A Canadian, A T-Shirt, A.I., And Some Bars

Posted on by sgottahurt

It’s been awhile since I’ve had a Drunken Recollection.  It’s not so much that I have no Recollection.  It’s moreso that I haven’t been Drunken (or I give it all up to Twitter – damn!)

This past night was an odd collection of  Items to Note:

Note 1) Our live trivia host sounded identical to Norm MacDonald.

How cool would it be if the pic on the mug was holding a picture of Norm holding a mug?

How cool would it be if the pic on the mug was holding a picture of Norm holding a mug?

And that wasn’t a bad thing.  It was simply strange, because the guy looked more like this: 

Not to be confused with Kris Kross.

Not to be confused with Kris Kross.

Note 2) There was a guy that was very proud of his t-shirt that read, “My Giveadamner Is Broken.”

I couldn’t find the exact t-shirt he had, but there are plenty of varities out there.  Apparently, I could have cared less, so I guess my giveadamner was broken, too.

Note 3) The American Idol judges saved someone?

This was playing in the background on the TV, so I have an excuse.  Okay, I really don’t have an excuse because I watched the show the day before, and I thought local-yokel Matt Giraud didn’t perform that great.

american-idol-matt-giraud

More "grating" than "great."

Albeit, I would listen to him for 100 years before listening to Adam Lambert sing Born to Be Wild ever again.  Or anything, for that matter.  (I hope Allison wins, or maybe even Anoop!)

Note 4) CBGB stood for Country, Blue Grass, & Blues?

ZOMG! It's closed!

ZOMG! It's closed!

CBGB’s, as far as I knew, was the place where hardcore punk was born, not country, blue grass, and blues?

This topic brought up conversation about the Fillmore in San Francisco, and how there’s one here in Detroit since Live Nation gobbled up the State Theater and renamed it.

I tried bringing up the historic place in Detroit, where groups like the MC5 got their start, but no one knew.  So I had to research it.

Found it:

ZOMG! It's abandonned!

ZOMG! It's abandonned!

 I was thinking of the Grande Ballroom.

………

That’s all I got.  I already mentioned my giveadamner’s broken.