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the virtue of cheap booze
Saturday, October 3 2009
Gretchen went down to the City for the weekend; one of the things she'd be doing would be walking for farm animals, the event I pimped in a couple previous entries (at her request) without enormous success.
Meanwhile I was walking for a cause as well: keeping my solid bodily wastes separate from the water table. The walking involved numerous excursions up and down the steps to the outhouse as I took measurements there, cut pieces in the garage, and then returned to the outhouse to attach them. Major advances today included the creation of two horizontal surfaces: one to stand on and the other to sit on. Into the latter I'll eventually be cutting some sort of hole for poops to fall through.
Back in the house, I took a little marijuana-and-booze based vacation, watching all of a freshly-downloaded Fargo, which I'd last seen on cable in the pre-Tivo era, and then only partially.
Later as I was taking a bath and staring at the bathroom ceiling, I realized something about my booze habit. To the bewilderment of such people as Gretchen, Penny and David, I drink almost nothing but cheap booze when I'm drinking alone at home. My realization was that my drinking cheap booze isn't entirely about being a cheapskate (I can afford to pay more than $14 for a half gallon of vodka); there's another reason as well, but it's been a subconscious one. By drinking cheap booze when I'm drinking alone, it makes the better booze I drink when I'm at a bar or socializing with others seem more special. It's just not as fun getting lots of on booze when it has a subtle acrid component that gradually accumulates in your throat with every sip. So it's something of a check on the slippery slope of gradually-increasing quantities that comes with the habit of drinking alone.
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