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Dipsomania 101
*The views expressed in Dipsomania 101 are those of the author and do not represent Austinist as a whole.* -The Editors
How wonderful it is to be back in Austin. I spent ten days hibernating in Chicago, wrapped in ten down comforters, sleeping ten hours a days, anxiously waiting for the moment I was re-released into the wild. Before I get shit from our dearest sister site, I do indeed love Chicago. It is a great city. An eternally gray, slushy, rude city, but great nonetheless. Still, there is no place like Austin, especially if one likes to drink. Excessively. And no one harasses me when I return home soaked in beer at 5 a.m., unless I start blasting acoustic Radiohead. The neighbors do not share my stellar taste in angsty nocturnal music.
Speaking of which, Emo’s was generous enough to celebrate my return with Free Week, and I am taking full advantage. No cover means I can order a few extra cocktails guilt-free. This may be the perfect opportunity for the first binge of 2006.
But I think I shall wait until the next installment to relay my infamous tales of alcohol-infused debauchery. Firstly, I would like to spare myself the embarrassment, at least for one more week. Second, we should agree upon a proper vocabulary to avoid any confusion or unnecessary footnotes in the future. My dipsomaniac dictionary, if you will.
I reserve the right to change these definitions at will, add new phrases, and remove ones that seem gauche or suddenly boring. I also reserve the right to embarrass my friends, especially those that edit blogs or are members of up-and-coming Austin bands concerned about their “image.” They know I am a writer, a journalist, a dedicated scribe of history. If they think their infantile behavior is off the record, they highly underestimate my ability to come up with original and witty content. I would also like to reserve a parking spot right on Red River, which I think is beneficial if not necessary for the success of this column.
Dipsomanglish, V. I
Social Drinking: The healthy, moderate way to enjoy alcohol. You go out to a nice bar, sip on a couple cocktails, get a little giggly, and have a corny heart-to-heart with your equally well-adjusted friends. (This could be wrong, I have no idea, I never actually do this.)
Binge: Drinking a ridiculous, some might say dangerous, amount of alcohol. It can occur all in one day or stretch, at most, to three. The point here is intensity, not longevity. During a solid binge you should become best friends with Casey at Side Bar and develop a deep but temporary appreciation for bourbon. Side effects may include dizziness, reduced coordination, reduced common sense, sudden anger or sadness, and vomiting. You will probably end up in a stranger’s bed or making out with your best friend’s significant other (or your best friend, whatever).
Bender: This is the alcoholic’s marathon. A bender is similar to a binge, but the goal here is to never get so sick or in so much trouble that you have to stop drinking. These don’t last for days, they last for weeks. Or, in my case, the entire first semester of graduate school. A bender should involve daily drinking, a complete lack of regard for what or with whom you are imbibing, and substantial changes in weight and skin tone. Seemingly concerned people will suggest you get help. These people are not your friends. Your true friends will be at the bar with you, matching you drink for drink, buying the next round, ready with bail money.
Whimpster: The malnourished, dirty, yet somewhat fashionable boy you suddenly find attractive while under the influence. He will try to woo you with his fabricated taste in music, dubious artistic talents, and heartbreaking tales of love lost. More liquor would be just as effective and less embarrassing for everyone involved.
Musician: Like whimpsters but with some sort of verifiable artistic talent and incorrigible commitment issues. He is extremely dangerous. Do not be enticed by his British-influenced siren song. No matter how unsteady your balance is at the moment, run.
Narcoleptic: That guy who begins to pass out at the bar and instantaneously falls into a deep sleep the moment he finds a couch, floor, or your arm. The best known living example is Matthew Ramsey.
Side Bar: See also Jackalope, Whiskey Bar, Club Deville, The Peacock. The most acceptable places to be hit on by alcoholic hipsters.
Emo’s: See also The Parish, Stubb’s, La Zona Rosa. The most acceptable places to listen to music and be hit on by alcoholic hipsters.
Pussy Drink: Apparently my drink of choice. I used to think these were limited to Arbor Mist, Zima, and their saccharine cousins. I have since learned that consuming anything that does not taste like paint thinner, i.e. rum and coke or Red Bull and vodka, means you have no balls. Fortunately I’m not a man so I can deal with it.
Red Wine: The perfect beverage for a night at home. Alone. To be consumed by the bottle and, if things are extra tragic or trashy, directly from the bottle.
Sobriety: Blasphemy! Never speak of that word again.
* photo courtesy of Matt Wright
