In this city of Chicago, like places all over the world, we seem to feel as if we need excuses to get drunk. It is no illusion, except perhaps to elementary school students, that this is the bulk of what constitutes St. Patrick's Day celebration. Even they are probably wise to it. As you age, more and more holidays seem to devolve to excessive consumption. This excess, more often than not, is booze, or triggered by booze, or, okay, I'm just stretching this out without the desire to provide too much sound backing.
So here in this fine midwestern city, rather than reserving celebration for the 17th of March, as that can fall, rather inconveniently, on a weekday, here the Saturday preceding is the adopted day for observance, aka boozing from moment of waking. Tomorrow there will be a parade and whatnot, but the true grandiosity of green beer, green vomit, and the right of removal of inhibitions is reserved for this Saturday just past.
In spite of the social acceptability of drinking all day, I managed not to imbibe until around 5pm (unless you count the free samples of Vodka at the local liquor wholesaler of sorts, which I don't). Despite the recklessness associated with drinking, I by and large like to do it on my own terms — though I will never let a person drink alone if I can avoid it. In spite of my fondness for drink, I don't often find I need it to relate to people, though people seem to relate to me much better when they are drunk. I believe this is why people, historically, have pegged me for more drug and alcohol use than constitutes my reality.
Some will get angry when drunk, but some will get angry when sober, and so I enjoy what I focus on, the positive vibe that tends to permeate certain blottoness and results in those little moments of connection. Like when I needed nourishment at three in the morning and 24-hour Subway was my haven. Often my shitty haircut and mismatched sneakers can inspire ire and disgusted looks but here another patron pronounced I would be perfect for her friend, saying into the phone, "You would love this guy," then taking a picture to send for the sake of posterity. Of course, even mandated days of excess often result in further indulgence of cliquish group behavior. People travel in their packs, content not to stray from their existing group. When out, I like to meet new people, but to each his own.
Because I am often in tune with food pricing (which means I am surprised when things cost more now than they did in 1996), I've noted a strange rise in cost on what I consider many conventional items. Perhaps it is not so strange, but its seems to be on everything all at once. For instance my favorite local burrito place which announced a price hike due to rising cost of material. This can't all be the tomato crisis. Heck, Thomas' bagels are up 10 cents per six pack and I don't even eat Thomas' bagels. I also don't think there are any tomatoes in them. People are probably more in an uproar that Twitter is down at the moment.
And with the warm weather, a quick shout out to all the women looking fine as Hell today. I don't know how they get me every year with their crawling out of caves, but they do! Lest I be thought guilty of objectification, consider the cheap cop out of the beauty of art and that I think the human form is an art. And yes, one I appreciate it.
At any rate, this is sort of headed nowhere, so with the sad news that hip-hop legend Nate Dogg passed away, I leave you with what will probably (and I think should — I am not forgetting you Japan) be today's most watched video: Regulate. Pouring out some Hennesy seems apropos.