Writing while drunk

I sit here, typing, alone, officially drunk (i.e with a blood alcohol count greater than 0.08) possibly in a dinner jacket, possibly in my underwear (some things are best left to the imagination). And I type. Why? Beats hell out of me. Nobody reads this blog because I am making no effort to link with anybody. No effort to add any content other than words, nothing to make it easy for anyone to stay. People who can actually read, who can think, synthesize, and understand, find reading in front of a screen a pain in the ass. So this is the kind of content typically reserved for letters and diaries. It is, in fact, a silent scream, a place where I get to vent my feelings about the universe.

Why do this?

Well because that is who I am. I have been writing since puberty, and usually to the sound of one hand clapping. This is how I make sense of the world. If I wanted to be read I'd be adding pictures of sundry starlets, writing about my [mythical] sex life with them; telling y'all about the drugs I've done and the places I've been. Who cares? You, faithful reader (allusion alert!), are quite capable of doing drugs and visiting places too.

But back to the matter at hand, which is writing about wine in particular and booze in general, I sit here, alone, waiting to do an airport run - to pick up the spousal unit - mildly intoxicated. On Vina Antigua as it happens, a very interesting blend of sangiovese and bonarda. The bonarda tones down the acidulous ectomorphisity of sangiovese. Don't get me wrong. I'm a reflexive drinker of Italian red,viewing the entire selection in all wine stores as comfort food. But there is a slight edge to chianti (varietal = sangiovese) that is not always welcome. The bonarda provides an interesting contrast/influence/moderator/catalyst.

In fact the most interesting wines I've drunk in the last couple of months come from Argentina. I had a Paso Doble (tango allusion alert!), an Argentinian take on ripasso in December, and several organic wines from Michel Torrino. And of course Torrontes from several wineries, the Malvasio grape of ancient Cretian legend. All good stuff.

But the point of this particular essay is drunkeness. You've read the above. Syntax in order, grafs flowing. Even the spelling is not bad, and spelling is my weakness, being a child of the 'natural language' theory of learning. (Dear god above! Why on earth are we allowing idiot bureaucrats to come up with untested theories of learning and education? More to the point, anyone who may read this may also well be a victim of such stupid romantic scams. Your lack of reading skills and universal knowledge, your complete ignorance of the history of our species, the precious knowledge we've wrung from our wretched existence, is completely due to some romantic drivel, about your ability to acquire knowledge, syntax and grammar from the ether. On the plus side, your access to scrip for speed - aka ritalin, benzedrine et al. - comes from those same sources. Enjoy.)

Putting the screed aside, can one craft sentences such as the above while drunk? What is 'drunk?' I know what intoxicated is. I've been completely ripped to the tits several times: on love, on laughter, on various dopes, and indeed on alcohol.

However I present to you the following thought: the idea that .08 = intoxicated is foolish. Several analysts of the effects of conversation have pointed out that talking on a phone is more dangerous than .08. Indeed, research points out that arguing with family, particularly children, while driving is more debilitating.

Everyone in favor of banning conversation in vehicles, please raise their hands. Voters to the left of me, clowns to the right. (pop culture alusion alert!)