Winter is fast approaching, and the most important piece of clothing isn't something you can find at your regular clothing store, but rather your local pub. Yes, its time to dust off those beer jackets...
You remember the first time you felt invincible against the elements – alcohol does that to the human body. Your first martini never tasted sweeter, and you danced dangerously with your gag reflex at your first keg stand. Sooner or later, copious drinking ensues – whether in celebration or in mourning, with friends or in solitude. We've all been there – binging and blacking out, waking up in the puke-stained alley/a stranger's bed/on an island. We don't remember how or why, but the first that comes to mind – never again. Until the next time...
Drunken shenanigans on boats, embarrassing episodes revisited by heartless “pals,” passionate arguments with interrupted with blank stares. All sights on this tour towards drinking maturity – been there, done that. And yet, despite this curriculum vitae in beer-ology, I'm occasionally asked to show proof of age.
I'm not mad at the the beer girl at the ball game – she is just doing her job; the button above her left breast can attest to that: “We ID anyone under 30.” Rules are rules, even if they are meant to be broken.
I'm not saying to lower the drinking age – the last thing I need are more prepubescent boys and girls bragging about how drunk they were the night before. They dress horribly as it is – let's keep the alcohol out of their crazy hands for now. What I am advocating however, is responsible drinking in the only way government can provide: drinking licenses.
That's right ladies and gents, if you are serious about your alcohol, prove to the powers that be that you can be trusted with a bottle of booze. Hell, we are required to do the same when driving, and to me, maneuvering a ton of metal, while other equally monstrous hunks of metal are hurtling right beside you is scary enough. At least with alcohol, the only real risk is to yourself.
How would you go about obtaining a drinking license? For starters, take a written exam that tests your knowledge on various topics: fermentation, blood alcohol levels, laws, history of booze, statistics. Then the practical. It's a known fact that alcohol affects every one differently, so it's only fair that your own physiology be put to the test. In a controlled environment, proctors can assess whether you are more liable to get plastered on beer, hard liquor or wine coolers. They can measure the rate of absorption, or chart your descent from an upstanding citizen into a blubbering shell of your former self.
Would this actually work? Who knows, in a perfect world it might. But one thing is for certain: the online mutterings of a cynical drunken fool can only be tolerated for so long.
You remember the first time you felt invincible against the elements – alcohol does that to the human body. Your first martini never tasted sweeter, and you danced dangerously with your gag reflex at your first keg stand. Sooner or later, copious drinking ensues – whether in celebration or in mourning, with friends or in solitude. We've all been there – binging and blacking out, waking up in the puke-stained alley/a stranger's bed/on an island. We don't remember how or why, but the first that comes to mind – never again. Until the next time...
Drunken shenanigans on boats, embarrassing episodes revisited by heartless “pals,” passionate arguments with interrupted with blank stares. All sights on this tour towards drinking maturity – been there, done that. And yet, despite this curriculum vitae in beer-ology, I'm occasionally asked to show proof of age.
I'm not mad at the the beer girl at the ball game – she is just doing her job; the button above her left breast can attest to that: “We ID anyone under 30.” Rules are rules, even if they are meant to be broken.
I'm not saying to lower the drinking age – the last thing I need are more prepubescent boys and girls bragging about how drunk they were the night before. They dress horribly as it is – let's keep the alcohol out of their crazy hands for now. What I am advocating however, is responsible drinking in the only way government can provide: drinking licenses.
That's right ladies and gents, if you are serious about your alcohol, prove to the powers that be that you can be trusted with a bottle of booze. Hell, we are required to do the same when driving, and to me, maneuvering a ton of metal, while other equally monstrous hunks of metal are hurtling right beside you is scary enough. At least with alcohol, the only real risk is to yourself.
How would you go about obtaining a drinking license? For starters, take a written exam that tests your knowledge on various topics: fermentation, blood alcohol levels, laws, history of booze, statistics. Then the practical. It's a known fact that alcohol affects every one differently, so it's only fair that your own physiology be put to the test. In a controlled environment, proctors can assess whether you are more liable to get plastered on beer, hard liquor or wine coolers. They can measure the rate of absorption, or chart your descent from an upstanding citizen into a blubbering shell of your former self.
Would this actually work? Who knows, in a perfect world it might. But one thing is for certain: the online mutterings of a cynical drunken fool can only be tolerated for so long.
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