Got beat with the drunk stick. Weddings; they'll do that to ya. It was a great one. Champaigne and scotch and dancing with maids. It all gets out of hand so quickly, and then you have to make a questionable bike run to catch the last BART. The real downside was that I didn't go right home, and -- in addition to making the executive decision to stop in at the Albatross and stare mutely at the attractive bartender (weddings; they'll do that to ya) while imbibing even more demon liquor, loosing track of my bike helmet and black suit jacket and some of my dignity in the process -- somewhere along the way I crashed into something and broke my laptop screen.

That scene is missing from my memory-reel, but the forensic evidence is conclusive. Stay classy, KoneZone.

On the upside, a bike ride to Emeryville for an on-demand replacement at the Apple store is a good hangover cure. The weather cooperated with brilliance, there was a cool Sikh parade on the way, and I'll have a new headless computer to muck about with for however long it stays alive.

Still, the whole thing feels childish. Especially the bartender part. That's just un-called-for behavior.

Now is probably as good a time as any to get healthy(er) again. I mean, maybe in advance of the next wedding (a western-themed hodown in Portland, guaranteed bacchanalia) I can abandon my five or six pounds of latent beer-weight. On the other hand, who knows what kind of awful trouble I'd get into if I showed up all lithe and sexy. Still, it's always a good idea to revive Operation Get Real Hot. Decisions, decisions.

It was a slaughter. By the time I got around to buying seven shots of Kessler for the table -- "smooth as silk" -- we were all coloring well outside the lines, flirting with the ladies, shouting half-bright witticisms at one another. Yes, for the Girth's 29th birthday, after a very lovely and grown-up dinner of cayenne chicken and freshly-made pesto, we got drunk.

This is an old passtime, one that brought us together as wild young men, and still serves a bonding purpose, even if the path is now more well-worn and recovery a bit more difficult. It doesn't happen that often, this dionysian fugue, this western tradition of peeling back the civilized parts of our brains. We're more self-conscious and protective; more self-judging too. We've got better things to do a lot of the time. We worry about our health. Still, the ritual persists.

Considerable vulnerability is created, both during and after. This is part and parcel with any loss of control, and it's what we hope for I think, part of the draw. Things will be admitted, attempted, words blurted, action taken. Magical events may transpire, and in the hard light of day, with luck, truth will reveal itself.

The morning finds me shaky, giddy, mumbling rationalizations and pining away over a girl I haven't seen in more than year. The hard light reveals an empty landscape; my cupboard is bare. It's a weak kind of feeling, and I don't like it.

UPDATE: A sleuthing commentator suggests it's a low/non-alcoholic beer. Add as many grains of salt to the following as you see fit.

G-dubs is on the sauce, in case that hasn't been obvious for a while. The headline is Illness Sidelines Bush at G-8 Summit. Bottle flu is a bitch, man.

I don't really think there's anything wrong with a president drinking, or being drunk even. However, if Bush has actually internalized the AA model of relating to alcohol -- which is debatable; it's totally possible that his whole Billy Graham come-to-Jesus thing was a sham from the start, or that the "dry drunk" theory is for real -- it's not a good thing for him to be drinking at all.

AA doesn't really work any better than other methods of treating alcohol. Relapse-rates remain in the 90th percentile. However, the fact is that the AA model is founded on a paradigm of total abstinence and release of control, the recognition that the addict is helpless and that they must appeal to a "higher power" to control their relationship with the chemicals. Relapses from this kind of treatment -- as opposed to those which try to create a more normalized relationship between addict and substance -- tend to be total, a fall from grace so to speak.

So, while I'm 100% sure that the bureaucracy of government is fully capable of handling a president on a bender -- Darth Cheney and all -- it's still more troubling to see Bush off the wagon than, say, Nixon getting boozed up and confronting protesters. Tricky Dick was in charge of the bottle. Dubs, if his narrative of alcoholic redemption is true, may be at its mercy.