Dedication to Degradation

This is from the Associated Press:

Dec 12, 5:56 PM (ET)BERLIN (AP) – A man nearly died from alcohol poisoning after quaffing a liter (two pints) of vodka at an airport security check instead of handing it over to comply with new carry-on rules, police said Wednesday.The incident occurred at the Nuremberg airport on Tuesday, where the 64-year-old man was switching planes on his way home to Dresden from a holiday in Egypt.

New airport rules prohibit passengers from carrying larger quantities of liquid onto planes, and he was told at a security check he would have to either throw out the bottle of vodka or pay a fee to have his carry-on bag checked as cargo.

Instead, he chugged the bottle down – and was quickly unable to stand or otherwise function, police said.

A doctor called to the scene determined he had possibly life-threatening alcohol poisoning, and he was sent to a Nuremberg clinic for treatment.

The man, whose name was not released, is expected to be able to complete his journey home in a few days.

Next time you debate a republican….

ask him some these questions:

1.) “Would you have sex with a man to stop a terrorist attack?”

2.) “If lowering taxes results in increased revenues then would lowering taxes to zero result in infinite revenues?”

3.) “If you had a time machine, would you travel back in time and abort Bin Laden?”

4.) “Would you torture and kill Jesus to ensure mankind’s salvation? And how does that work?”

 Update: See the comments to join a barely civilized political debate.

Moonlit Middletown Surfing

I was really starting to lose it.

I hadn’t exercised in weeks. How could I? There hadn’t been any goddamn waves in town in a month! I was getting edgy. Drinking a lot. Gaining weight. Jacking off like a teenager. I needed to physically exercise my demons. You might say “try jogging,” or “perhaps tennis would help,” but if you did, you’d be an idiot. You just wouldn’t know me.

But then it came!

The full moon hit yesterday, on a clear night, and waves came to Second Beach in Middletown, RI. The swell didn’t hit until late. There were less than a dozen people in the water. Clearly word hadn’t spread that yet another drought had ended.

Last night was the first evening session that didn’t end with the sunset. Part of the reason is a new 4-3 wetsuit I have, and another part was the celestial lighting. The moon melted the waves into silver and gems. The stream of moonlight flicked like a mermaids tail, seducing me while I waited for a ride. On top of it all, I’ve never surfed better in my life. And I’m going to do the same thing, sans full moon, tonight.

The experience wasn’t quite spiritual, but I definitely am glad to live in Newport again.

Boiling Point?

Since Newport is boring me lately, I’ve decided to take today’s post to the national level.  Maybe when some waves hit town I’ll feel a little better about my newly chosen destination.

Anyway, has anyone else noticed that social unrest is simmering in the country? Today General Motors is having trouble with some United Autoworkers Union members in Detroit. Last week thousands of people protested the hefty sentences heaved onto six black kids in Jena (now the Jena Six). New Yorkers are upset today with a visit from Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad to Columbia University. Everyone is worried about the national economy after banks made millions of bad investments in mortgages.

I’m not much of a history buff, but when you add a growing discontent with our War in Iraq, a social parallel with movements in the 30s and 60s emerges. People are really pissed off, and it is starting to show in some places. Will this be revolution? Hell no. Are these developments small steps into that direction? Yes. But the only way that wild speculation will ever be justified is if these outpourings continue.

Finally back in town

I haven’t stayed in town for the entire month of August. I just kept making plans with old friends, new friends, and random people until before I knew it, I hadn’t seen Newport on the weekend for an entire month.

It started out like a great idea. I was drinking way to much and starting get in trouble running around town at night — which is a sure sign of a lonely young man. I decided to make a bunch of plans so I could sober up and get away from town for a while. It didn’t exactly work out as planned.

It started out with a music festival in Bridgeport, CT, which, contrary to all the promoters propaganda, turned out to be more ghetto than most parts of Providence, RI. The concert area was on the beach and was secluded from the ghetto, so no badness went down, but the dilapidated area gave me a surprising jolt.

I immediately followed that surprising jolt with another, mainly to my digestive system, as I filled it with various alcohol-soaked chemicals until I was no longer a member of this planet. After seeing some great acts like Deep Banana Blackout and an amazing set by Buddy Guy, and countless other acts, my body was in revolt. I had to drive home, still hallucinating. I reeked of absinthe and body funk. It was a fucking blast.

The next few days I was uncontrollably sick. I felt like I had the flu mixed with mono or something. Straight up death. I went to the doctor and they told me to slow way the hell down. So I did…till the next weekend.

The next weekend was my birthday, and as usual, I went to drink at Pour Judgement in town with a couple of friends. We started on margarhitas at about 4 in the afternoon. By last call we were still slamming Irish carbombs and belting out Bob Dylan tunes while beating on the table….good times.

Then came this past weekend, which I am still recovering from. It was labor day weekend and my old buddy Tim wanted to go to the Sacko River in Maine, which proved to be a college party up and down a river. The basic idea is to put as much beer and booze into your canoe and your body as possible, then float down a river. Then you set up camp. Then you do it again the next day.

Joe came with us and before I knew it I was with my punk rock high school crew. That means TONS of drinking and acting completely foolish. It can be fun at times, but when your buddy Joe drinks too much Jager and Red Bull and starts yelling at random campsites, kicking your other friend’s car’s ass and just making a general ass of himself, it can get tiresome. Not to say I didn’t reach and breach some new levels of debauchery myself, but still, you didn’t see me fighting anyone. After three days of living on clear canned beer, hot dogs and raw madness, it was time to go home.

On the way home I visit the bathroom while Tim stops at the New Hampshire state liquor store. I pull out my Johnson to piss and notice a patch of red itchyness on my upper thigh. I instasntly start trying to think of any skank I got down with on the Sacko, but none come to mind. I am reminded of the Sublime lyric

“Get down on your knees and start to pray…

…Pray my ichy rash ‘ll go away.”

Now, I really need to slow down. Waking up with random rashes next to your cock after partying your ass off for the last month is not a comfortable feeling. I feel like…I need to see a doctor immediately. And I need to stop drinking so much. I literally drank over 60 beers, most of a bottle of Belvedere and a little bottle of Jameson last weekend. I’m going to be a full blown alcoholic if I keep this up. Then I puke into the urinal. Yep, still hung over.

That was yesterday when I was so hung over that I couldn’t get my writing done for work. I vowed to slow the drinking down.

Then tonight on the way home from work, where I did get all the required work done, I decided to have pasta with red sauce and veggies for dinner. “I should get a bottle of wine to go with that. It’d be perfect!” Oh wait. Can’t. Shit. This is going to be harder than I expected.

I think being terminally hungover one day and waking up the next and craving more alcohol is a BAD FUCKING SIGN!!!!

What am I doing with my life?

It seems like it’s time to start the cycle over and become a reculse until I get so lonely that I start drinking uncontrollably and making and ass out of myself in town so I’m forced to leave for a month and party way too hard, wake up with a possible STD and a hangover, and then stop drinking for a few days. Yeah.

Summer Surge Slowing in Newport

After leaving town for a few days, I come back to find that things are pretty tame. There are definitely plenty of tourists still running around Thames and Bellview, but there are not nearly as many as, say, early July. Maybe things are winding down?

Hopefully this is not a fluke. With so many people vacationing in my new town, it really brings me down. I try to go out and have a good time like (seemingly) the rest of the town, but I don’t have enough money to. I try to chase the beautiful girls dressed in their sundresses, but I don’t have enough money to. I try to drink every night at Pour Judgment on Broadway, but I don’t have enough money to.

I know this is largely my problem. Who else can I blame? But still, it brings me down to see the rich happy people getting drunk and having the time of their lives while I sit in a park and poorly play guitar.

I hope the summer surge is slowing, and it probably is. The weather is certainly starting to turn. I was awoken the other night by a frigid blowing through my window, a sure sign that autumn is coming. I haven’t seen Newport, or even Rhode Island, in the fall and I’m looking forward to it. I wonder if it can compete with the amazing beauty of Western Mass.

Surfing Newport RI

Finally, after weeks flatness, the Ocean kicked up enough waves for Southern Rhode Island to go surfing.

I hauled my soft pale frame onto Second Beach along with dozens of other desperate surfers, aching to peel down a monster.

At first it seemed like competition would be rough with so many riders in the water, but I quickly realized that there was plenty for all, and everyone had a smile.

I, too, soon stretched a grin across my face, the first I can remember for a long time. It’s a strange paradox: the summer usually makes everyone happy. It’s really everyone but surfers. There are no waves in the summer, and it becomes maddening.

In the winter the water turns frigid but the waves turn mean. You can see surfers carving in December with a nor’easter blowing in, having the times of their lives. They don’t get tan, but they get crazy.

I paddled till my arms could paddle no more and I hit up Vicker’s Liquors in Newport on my way home for a bottle of wine to relax and cook dinner.

“Thank God,” I said to myself. “I was starting to lose it there.”