THE ANNALS OF DRINIKNG / A Few Too Many

First published - Saturday, September 29, 2012

The wife of my landlord in Fort Greene subscribes to the New Yorker. I read it from time to time. Never all of it, but I pick and choose the articles and several years ago I was drawn to Joan Accocela's BOOZY BEGINNINGS / A Few Too Many, which was probably the best-written piece to be published in the esteemed magazine in decades. For once they featured writing more to my pseudo-intellectual tastes, especially with key search words such as hang-over, alcohol, and Kingsley Amis.

The article suggested that hang-overs occur, when the blood/alcohol index returns to zero brought on the dehydrating trips to the bathroom, so holding your urine prevents hangovers rather than succumbing to the urge to relief yourself throughout the night, although an overloaded bladder would produce more anxiety than a hang-over.

The writer dated hang-overs to the Stone Age and offered insight into the source of the word hang-over plus several foreign alternatives.

Danish is the best "Carpenters in my head." although Kngsley Amis once said, "I feel like I have grown antlers.

As for cures the writer heralded Andrew Irving's HOW TO CURE A HANGOVER and also RU-21 a KGB remedy for 'A few too many'.

No drinking man or woman should miss this piece, so please click on the following URL

https://www.newyorker.com/magazine/2008/06/30/boozy-beginnings-2

Never have so many been help by one person.

The Jack Palance photo is featured, since Attila the Hun famously fell off his horse while drunk, caught pneumonia, and died the next day. The Huns supposedly hid his corpse to avoid desecration, but some historians think his bodyguard were too hung over to find it the next day.

Thursday morning I woke up this morning with a hang-over and couldn't figure out why, until I recalled drinking champagne combined with wine. According to AI some studies suggest that moderate consumption of both Champagne and white wine may be associated with a lower risk of sudden cardiac arrest,

Never a good combination, but I survived the dawn thanks to the frosty Stella Artois' stuck in my refrigerator.

Hang-overitis.

It's never forever.

Hangover Ratings

Bastille Day is a French drinking holiday.

I'm on my first bottle of wine.

Pere et Fils Chardonnay 2009.

The French word for hang-over is 'gueule de bois'.

In Thai it is 'hang'.

If I spoke to Caesar, I'd say that I was 'crapula' which is Latin for fucked up the day after, but no one put it better than Kingsley Amis, who once said, “I had a hang-over so bad, that I thought I was going antlers.”

Thursday night I went out drinking with Richie Boy. We each drank two bottles of rose.

Ouch, so I know how Kingsley Amis felt and here’s a modern rating system for a hangover.

One Star Hangover (*)

No pain. No real feeling of illness. You’re able to function
relatively well. However, you are still parched. You can drink 5 cokes and still feel this way. For some reason, you are craving a steak and fries.

Two Star Hangover (**)

No pain, but something is definitely amiss. You may look okay, but you have the mental capacity of a staple gun. The coffee you are chugging is only increasing your rumbling gut, which is still tossing around the fruity pancake from the 3:00 AM Waffle House excursion. There is some definite havoc being wreaked upon your bowels.

Three Star Hangover (***)

Slight headache. Stomach feels crappy. You are definitely not productive. Anytime a girl walks by you gag, because her perfume reminds you of the flavored schnapps shots your alcoholic friends dared you to drink. Life would be better right now if you were home in your bed watching Lucy reruns. You’ve had 4 cups of coffee, a gallon of water, 3 iced teas and a diet Coke — yet you haven’t peed once.

Four Star Hangover (****)

Life sucks. Your head is throbbing. You can’t speak too quickly or else you might puke. Your boss has already lambasted you for being late and has given you a lecture for reeking of booze. You wore nice clothes, but that can’t hide the fact that you only shaved one side of your face.

For the ladies, it looks like you put your make-up on while riding the bumper cars. Your eyes look like one big red vein, and even your hair hurts. Your sphincter is in perpetual spasm, and the first of about five shits you take during the day brings water to the eyes of everyone who enters the bathroom.

Five Star Hangover (*****)

You have a second heartbeat in your head, which is actually annoying the employee who sits in the next cube. Vodka vapor is seeping out of every pore and making you dizzy. You still have toothpaste crust in the corners of your mouth from brushing your teeth in an attempt to get the remnants of the poop fairy out. Your body has lost the ability to generate saliva, so your tongue is suffocating you. You don’t have the foggiest idea who the hell the stranger was passed out in your bed this morning. Any attempt to defecate results in a fire hose like discharge of alcohol-scented fluid with a rare ‘floater’ thrown in. The sole purpose of this ‘floater’ seems to be to splash the toilet water all over your ass. Death sounds pretty good about right now….

This email comes thanks to Bryan La Boeuf

A brilliant artist and lover of fine things