“We frequently hear of people dying from too much drinking . . . that this happens is a matter of record. But the blame almost always is placed on whiskey. Why this should be I never could understand. You can die from drinking too much of anything. . . .” - W.C. Fields
Cheers to the great man who said these wise words that lay before you. No, no I speak not of my own writing that you're about to encompass upon a journey for, but I'm referring more specifically to the words regarding the oh so comforting beverage of a gentleman's whiskey. This is a drink that many many before me have indulged in. Squandered lives and money on. They've woken up next to unknown strangers of women and men as a result of the copious consumption of the drinking crusades from the preceding evening. This is a beverage that has influenced great great minds. Oh they were such greatly troubled minds. Only they were trying to mend a broken heart with an unstable elixir. It's the most temporary of elixirs. It blocks thoughts, but enhances the deepest passions the heart holds within. Inhibitions are lowered. Fun times are had. Raw profound novels rise out of the ashes of a hearts demise...Alright alright you're welcome. This is one of the truest things I have come to discover in my young life. Whiskey does a heart good. Whiskey treats the mind like a friend. Whiskey treats the body like the backstabbing friend who promised to hold your heart and mold your mind. Whiskey is the greatest and worst mistake one can make. Have at it!
Now referring back to the quote that commenced this adventurous post. For all of the hell that the non-indulgers rain on those of us who appreciate our vice for the good it does to us: "You can die from drinking too much of anything." This quote applies to life in more ways than one. Now now don't think I'm going on some sort of collegiate, self-endowed rant. I'm just stressing a point. Quite a great one at that.
The point at focus here is that use everything in moderation. Moderation is how we measure things. Think of it as an intangibly tangible tool to effectively measure happiness. We determine what we like and don't like by how much we participate in certain activities. Say if I were to eat cake. Cake obviously makes me happy. It makes everyone happy, well I mean unless you're a terrorist. In that case, fuck what you stand for. Anywho, cake. Ahh yes, well cake is typically enjoyed on special occasions, i.e. birthdays for example. It's such a treat to savor that taste that the special day brings you. The best part of said special cake you may ask? The leftover cake for days to come. You jump for immense joy as you set your sights on it as breakfast for the next morning. Don't worry you're not being judged. I'll take a mean jab at homemade chocolate cake any day of the week. If you partake in that cake at any chance you get then, slowly it begins to lose its appeal to you. Cake is no longer special to you. You begin to imagine a time when cake was so very special. It gets to a point where it's not the cake you miss, but the special occasions, and the people you share them with. Therefore, special memories become synonymous with cake. Math done. Huzzah!
That's moderation for you. It applies to food, sex, friends, work, alone time, candles, pets, life, and most importantly...whiskey. This will be a reoccurring thought and principle of life as I continue existing. As much as I discussed moderation and firmly believe in it, nothing can replace my love of whiskey. Don't get me wrong I have priorities and aspirations aside from whiskey. Those, of course include: my love for film, women, family, academics, reading, sports, intellect, coffee, ambition, and of course whiskey. It has played such a vital role in some of my literary idols. Introduce, Hemingway and Fitzgerald. The duo who I long to meet in whatever afterlife awaits me. They lived life with so much adventure and poise. Risk and reward. Tragedy and turmoil. Best of all, they were real men who could express exactly what they were feeling without even an ounce of remorse. Honesty is the key. It may be the key to hurt feelings and sobbing, but who cares? At least there is no need for clarification of the unknown. I raise my glass to you gentlemen.
This is my pledge. To have and to hold as my vice when I see necessary, in heartbreak and happiness, sickness and health, for better or worse, to consume in the unholiest of matrimonies, I thee toast to celebrate sadness and happiness with you. As you will always be there. I will not rely on you to substitute for a woman or family, but by god I will enjoy every last ounce of you for whatever purpose you serve my life at that convenient moment, that I do so choose to let your sweet,burning nectar rest upon my lips as you make your way down my eager throat as my empty liver awaits your arrival.
With this pledge in writing I am so pleased to raise a toast to all you readers, writers, philosophers, lost souls, drinkers and drunkards, dreamers and schemers, robbers and cowards, dancers and thespians, lovers and haters. May you all enjoy whatever you moderate yourself to indulge in in this lovely life of ours.
Drink life responsibly. When in doubt, call a driver or in a better case a sober friend with a bottle of Walker or Daniels to spare.
Dream on. Drink on. Live on.
Peace and Blessins,
Rev out
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