My new family at Subtle Dig has proposed a bonding experience. Put a bunch of writers in a hotel room, add in as much booze as everyone can drink, and see who comes out on top. A drinking contest.
I am known for a few things in life – that time I got a standing ovation singing Show Me How to Live at Karaoke, the time I hit a turn around 3-point shot at the buzzer to win the game – but more than anything else I am known for my drinking ability. Considering the unquantifiable amount of liquor I’ve consumed in my lifetime, some may say the fact I can count on one hand how many times I’ve puked from drinking (and they were ALL epic) and the fact that I’ve blacked out only once makes me a legend.
There are too many awesome drinking stories to recount in this post. Hundreds upon hundreds of stories involving so much badassery that my computer would explode should I attempt to type them all out. But there’s one time in particular that stands out in my mind where the cosmos aligned to reaffirm how truly Rockstar I am. A time so intense that when I think back on it, I need to punch holes in my walls just to calm myself down.
Gary held Karen’s fingers with enough pressure to keep them from falling to her sides. His forehead rested against hers, having just embraced in a kiss that brought color to the airport terminal’s bleak congestion.
“I wish we could stay together just one more day,” Karen whispered. Gary, through doubled vision from being too close, could see her muscles twitch into a smile.
“Me too,” he said, kissing her once more before moving his head back until she came into focus. “But we’ll see each other again soon. We’ll make a point of it. I haven’ t even left yet and I already miss you.”
Karen squeezed his hand in a fit of unexpected laughter. Her gaze dropped down, “You have my number right?”
It’s 2am. A freshly poured pint of beer ordered at last call sits next to the half full glass that I am about to down. The dim pub lights cast shadows under the features of the few faces sitting around me. To my left, a grizzled veteran comic chokes out a haggard laugh. As he tilts his head back, the light fills the many pock marks scattered across his face. To my right a balding comic in his late thirties smirks down into his beer. His eyes are glazed from the joint he smoked outside a few minutes prior. Neither of these men are successful by any traditional measure, yet I lean forward on edge of my seat hanging onto their every word. They relay old war stories of a combined four decades in the comedy business. Tales about drunken hecklers, bombing sets in small towns, standing ovations in a packed room, waking up in unknown beds with questionable girls from the show the night before – all tiny insights into the human condition. The stories are laced with advice about their profession. Their knowledge is all fresh to me; the new perspective on life is altering my mindset in real time.
Few things frustrate me in life like a boring conversation. Worse yet, having a boring, redundant conversation for the third, fourth or twentieth time. In any quest for knowledge, there is a requirement to understand a set of fundamental facts that serve as the status quo from which to launch further exploration. So, for example, becoming a writer involves dedicating oneself to the technicalities behind the art. Once you have a grasp on the basics, then you can start experimenting with pushing the limits. Same thing goes for the physicist. Years of training are needed to understand the science before one can start to theorize and test unknown principles. During the process, you will hear the same ideas repeated over and over again. All the more reason why it’s important to follow your passions in life if you’re going to dedicate yourself to a specific discipline. If you care about it, you’ll be far more tolerant of the inevitable, often irritating, information overlap.