The Cerebral Catalyst

Alcohol. Why do we drink it? Why do we consistently poison ourselves time and time again? I wish I could answer that question. I think I only view it as poison on mornings like these, when I wake to a dry mouth and a pounding head. I don't really get this bad in the mornings anymore, but of late, there have been some pretty monumental hangovers. That being said, I like to think of myself as someone who knows his limitations, and rarely decides to exceed them. Or at least I'll add a line like that so you don't think I'm a total boozehound. What I'm trying to say is that I don't usually vomit in public places.

But I did last night. At "Bar Louie" at the Waterfront. I have to say probably one of the more upscale places I made a spectacle of my projectile vomiting. It reminded me of when I was in grade school; I always got sick on the bus, practically every other morning. And oh, the terrible stains all over that bus, usually cruel mixtures of that oatmeal that had the gummy bears in it, and orange juice. (Maybe that's also why I never eat breakfast?). How did the bus driver ever endure it all? (Hail to the bus driver man!) The kids refused to sit next to me, and after a while, I would just get a ride to school with my parents. This vomiting actually lasted until about the six grade, If I remember correctly. What I think I'm trying to say here is that sometimes I have a really weak stomach. But, to be more precise, this column's topic is drinking. What use does it have?

I've adhered to different methodologies over the years. The "just get fucked up" principle; the "maybe if I get drunk I'll be able to impress women"; or for me or any of my fellow musicians, "maybe two 40 oz. of Mickey's will make me play better." All of these things are somewhat true: at least you in your own mind will think you've impressed a lady friend or have played better. But to the girl or the audience, they know the truth: you're simply a drunken buffoon. I've been the drunken buffoon more times than I could probably count right now. And I've also gotten violent and out of control when drinking too, but that was in the days before I even began to call myself "Captain Fun" and when most people stayed away from me because I was a real asshole. But that's another column (maybe).

Now I look at drinking as a release, just a good time, like it should be. I seem to be adhering to this philosophy of alcohol as "Truth Serum," and I often get myself in trouble for it. See, a lot of the times when we drink, we do stupid stuff. So I've cut down moderately on doing stupid things (like hitting on a Duquesne football player's girlfriend) by simply revealing things about myself. I guess when I get drunk I don't believe in secrets anymore.

I wonder if it's been an equal trade off? I mean I've learned a lot of things about my friends from our drunken binges, and they've learned a lot of strange things about me, which I really refuse to divulge in this column, but who knows, maybe I'll be drunk for the next one, and you can get it out of me then.

Visit Captain Fun's Swarthy Archives.

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Joseph L. Conty, Jr. wears a buffalo hide tunic and sips peach nectar from a chalice. Known to drink multiple flagons of mead for breakfast and chew bear fat for gum, he would like to remind the public that anyone else who dares to use the moniker of "Captain Fun" isn't fit to carry his merkin.

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