Lookin' Down The Barrell Of A Gun...

When I walked into Franklin Liquor at 7:45 last night, I had three goals.

First, was to acquire a fifth of Wild Turkey. The second was to procure a bottle of Mad Dog 20/20. And the final, much more respectable goal, was to get a 12 of beer. Now, before you judge my life a complete failure, please know that these purchases were film props. We'll call them "character development" items.

As I'm walking across the store, holding my bottle of Kiwi-Lime Mad Dog, looking for my Wild Turkey, I hear, "Oh man, Mad Dog!" My soul is crushed. I'm not naive enough to think no one will see me carrying my embarrassing prize, but I had hoped no one would talk to me about it.

"Stop talking to me asshole, I'm better than this! Right?"

The guy, who looked like a cross between Buzz Aldron and Buzz Lightyear, began reminiscing the days he used to drink Mad Dog, "out back at the train yard." Yikes! I immediately go into defensive mode, "movie prop, man, movie prop." He either doesn't hear me, or chooses to ignore me, and continues the conversation with a buddy of his. I find my Wild Turkey, a fifth mind you, and make my way to the checkout counter. I'm half way out the door when I remember I had forgotten to get my the beer. I leave my keep with the cashier and make my way back to the cooler to grab some Summit Winter Ale - so delicious(and respectable)! My second total comes to $13, which reminds me of my first total - $14. Ouch.

This got me thinking this morning.

Over the past few years I've become more and more of an alcohol snob. If I'm drinking whiskey, it's Jameson. Tequila? It's Patron. Beer is a bit more open, but I run away from the Bud and Miller products of the world. Most of the time. Well, okay, maybe half the time. That's not to say I necessarily judge anyone based on what they're drinking, but it does leave me with certain impressions of who they might be - at least when they drink. C'mon, we've all seen the guy who's just polished off a liter of Wild Turkey, the look of fire in his eyes, just looking for a fight.

Back away man, just back away.

I was thinking about all the horrible things that people drink. Apple-tinis, boxed wine, ANYTHING with Red Bull in it. I was thinking about this as well as my conversation with Mr. Train Yard, and started thinking about the horrible things I've consumed over the years.
My first drink was red wine - I think it was a good red wine - out of a Cherry Coke can, walking around my neighborhood in 8th grade.

Me: "Man, this fucking awful!"

Johnny San Gria: "Who cares! We gettin' lit tonight!"

The next was some Tequila mixed with Kick. Remember Kick? It was to Mt Dew what Jolt was to Cola. We called it 'Kick-tila' and it was awful. It was so bad that, while one of my friends was laying in the middle of the street passing out, me and another spent 35 minutes trying to divide 5 into 80. We didn't figure it out until the booze wore off the next afternoon. It's 16.

Speaking of...

When I was 16, a buddy of mine had a party and we raided his parents liquor cabinet while they were out of town. His family was not a drinking family, so the pickins were slim. I don't recall all what was there, but there certainly weren't any makings for Singapor Slings or Sidecars. We tried a lot of things. We drank a lot of Baileys straight and some screwdrivers, which, under the circumstances, were respectable. There was a lot of evil consumed that night as well. The worst? Peach brandy and Pepsi. You haven't tried anything until you've tried Peach Pepsi. Wow, just awful.

Imagine drinking sweet giant urine, mixed with carbonated rubbing alcohol.

Yeah.

I've done a lot of horrible drinking over the years. I drank a case of 3.2 Red Dog on the corner of a busy intersection at 3am, many cases of Busch Light, even saw the bottom of a couple bottles of Wild Irish Rose - both the red and the white. I've done keg stands of warm Olde Stlye on the porch, the morning after a night of swimming with a school of Beam Sharks. Bacardi 151 right out of the bottle? Check. Puked into the nearest receptacle - aka The Floor - an instant later? Check. Not to mention that my love of malt liquor has led me to consume so many Mickey's 40oz that I've lost count.

I guess the point of this whole thing is that no matter where we are in life, we can't ever let go of where we've come from. I was slightly embarrassed at first to purchase the Mad Dog and a fifth of Wild Turkey, but then I realized that I need to be proud of my bad alcohol history. I need to embrace it's trashiness and my desperate need to get shitty at a time when it only made me more awkward.

Come.

Sit.

And lets enjoy a box of Franzia, a fifth of Hawkeye Vodka, and stories we should be proud of rather than embarrassed by.

Cheers!