Another Drink, Please

Another Drink, Please

    The other night found us at a friends' home surrounded by their family and other friends...24 in all.  It was a grand time with lots of conversation, lots of food and, as befits such a holiday occasion, lots of drink.  The cold weather and their home in the mountains only added to the wintery chill and the warmth, all of us glad to be so comfortable inside, not only physically but in our heads as well.  After all, it comes down to having good friends and family, doesn't it?  But sometimes, aided with the inhibition-diminishing power of alcohol, it can turn a bit.  Inner feelings or hidden anger can emerge, as can somewhat sloppy realizations of guilt and/or a sudden recognition of selfless love from a parent or someone ill, the past transgressions quickly forgotten for the moment, along with the realization that harboring such ills was silly in the long run.

    So, and here's a bold segue, I was somewhat captivated by the series of stories in the recent issue of ELLE, each of them dealing with drink, drinking, and serving drinks.  We've all walked into a bar to have a drink (or perhaps I am assuming too much, but most everyone I dare say).  Just mention that thought (of walking into a bar) and your images of doing so can change from the wizened old father image standing behind the bar serving you to (perhaps several drinks later) the beautiful young lad or lass now realizing just how attractive you really are and what a perfect pair you'd make (however, that would be the alcohol talking).  The bar itself could have been a smoke-filled pub (more and more, even in Europe, a thing of the past...the smoke, that is) or a series of initial-carved tables perfectly matching the dingy hideaway location; or that bar could be a place so classy and modern that you either feel instantly uncomfortable or somewhat elevated in class (at least until you have to pay the bill).  But something about a bar, even one at a home, gets you talking a bit more...soon you're pouring out your troubles, or finding fascination with a new guest.  Or just openly renewing your friendships.

    So the ELLE piece (it's in the December issue so no link is currently available but a similar one appears on the MSN site) confirmed and debunked a few thoughts on drinking.  Killing brain cells?  Er, not right away (this happens more with binge drinking, 4-5 drinks within 2 hours). For teens, possibly and probably more so than adults ("...changes in brain function have been reported in 16-to-19-year-olds after just two years of intermittent binge drinking...(but) cell death isn't what's behind isn't what behind brain fog; the cause is likely slight brain inflammation and dehydration, usually temporary, says Damaris Rohsenow, PhD, associate direct of the Center for Alcohol and Addiction Studies at Brown University.").  But there was more.  Red wine hangovers ("...the culprit may be congeners, impurities produced during fementation and distillation, of which there are more in red wine and bourbon than in white wine and gin."), drinking and pregnancy ("...less is known about the impact of light drinking, and some research casts doubt on its risks."), and even women and men metabolizing alcohol differently ("...women have fewer enzymes that break down alcohol than men do, but the main reasons we can get intoxicated more quickly are that we're smaller...").

    There was even a tale of the rise of all-female bartender contests (often for a cause such as the recent Speed Rack competition raising funds for breast cancer research), the winner of which was Brittini Rae Peterson.  Coping with flirtatious males wanting her number and drinks accidentally spilling, she noted one update to the current bar scene, the increase in online dating.  Bartenders are becoming very keen on knowing whether it's an online date--there's this weird unspoken etiquette.   Rule number one is that you show up early, and you don't order a drink.  If you've already ordered, the second person who arrives --usually the woman-- will give you a bad look.  It's funny because even though online dating has becomes the norm, people still are very nervous.  You'll see them drink eight glasses of water, fold straws.  Turns out, as ELLE wrote, there are now bars for every scene.  Natural-wine bars, tiki bars, "proto-tiki" bars, "neo-dive" bars, Japanese cocktail bars, speakeasies, aperitivo bars, oyster bars--today there is a bar for just about every liquid consumption and social inclination.  Dream about a place where you can drink poolside, then wanter inside for a kale salad followed by karaoke, a round of bowling, and a cold-brew coffee?  There's a bar for that.

    Then came the story by Talia Biocchi about her days as a young columnist, drunk (so to speak) with her newfound power of writing a paid ($150 a month) series of bar reviews in Manhattan.  I had no knowledge of wine lists, the difference between scotch and bourbon, the distinction between sweet and dry vermouth.  I always confused "straight up" and "neat."  To this day, I imagine a paper bar columnist would not consume all the drinks set in front of her...What I lacked in expertise I made up for by being a Cool Girl.  My specialty was young, hip, and very downtown (even if located uptown) red-lit bars with velvet ropes and handsome, hulking Euro doormen.  I'd dress in my aughts hipster best --short skirts and stilettos-- and breeze past the line of wannabe models and their chain-smoking boyfriends.  To write up one of the era's pervasive Upper East Side boutique-hotel bars --trying so hard to be relevant with their generic lunar techno-- I'd clean up like my more conservative cousins in my roommate's Lacoste polos and Vera Bradley best.  To hit newly gentrified, artisinal-everything Brooklyn, where the moonshine came with a side of dollar popcorn and the Stokes played on loop, I'd bust out a heavy-metal T-shirt and cowboy boots...That I could feel as at home sipping bloody bulls (think Bloody Marys with beef bouillon) with the Upper East Side silver-hairs at the St. Regis King Cole Bar as I could slugging picklebacks at Daddy's in still-gritty Greenpoint was part writerly curiosity, part undeveloped sense of self.  I didn't really know who I was, but then, what better way to find out?...I also felt invincible.

    For her, all that has changed.  As her now-older self writes: I'm the one sitting a few seats over from the teetering young woman in the loud outfit who's gushing and cooing a little too stridently, who's being tended to by a staff over everyone else, and who can barely imagine tomorrow, much less the idea that a couple of decades down the line, there will be even bigger and better ways to belong to the city.

    So where is all this headed, for didn't I start out with warm homes and friends gathering around a festive occasion?  As happens, a guest at this particular gathering had a bit too much too much to drink.  Nothing outrageous, no dancing on tables or words spewed out and unable to be retrieved (even if not remembered the next morning).  But just enough to leave an impression, a notch that somehow becomes carved into the minds of others.  That person can drink, soon reverses from a fun party-like phrase to a comment expressing a bit of a concern.  Alcoholism is a disease that few of us, including alcoholics, rarely understand.  Rehab clinics and AA meetings sometimes prove effective, sometimes not.  Is the person succumbing to genetics, or just lacking control, or truly craving another drink in the way a drug user wants to re-reach the high, or escaping from something, or craving a boost in self-image, or crying out for help?  Or perhaps...none of these.

    For those outside of this, observing from a distance, the world of the excessive drinker seems difficult if not impossible to understand.  The person we so dearly care about yet perhaps rarely see these days, has apparently changed.  Yes, they could always "hold" their liquor but now, something is different.  Ah well, it's their life, we can shrug; but then what has led them in this direction?  Can't they step over to this side and see what they are doing to themselves?  Unfortunately, the answer might be no.  So they get invited to fewer parties, then perhaps drift away into their cubbyhole, ready to solve their problems in their own way.  As Richard Pryor so tellingly joked (about his crack addiction), something more powerful is talking to you inside your head. 

    Such occasions sometimes both open and close circles.  Those warm and welcoming gatherings with friends can often prove to be opportunities, a chance to talk to that sage bartender (your friend), a chance to lend an ear to what's rarely revealed, a invitation-only admittance to what's going on inside.  Not always, but sometimes.  And it is during those moments, and perhaps only during those moments --when people are close and the mood festive, and the drink loosening up inhibitions a bit-- that we might want to pay a bit more attention.  And rather than shy away, perhaps we should draw closer, a hand reaching out instead of one pulling back.  At those moments, especially for those having a bit too much once again, it might be all that is needed to start them getting up and getting back on their feet.