Several weeks ago, now, there was a column in the New York Times that I kept here in a draft, intending to write about it. But I'm sure the sardonic stuff I would have "scribbled" here isn't what I'm writing now. Not that I don't feel the same way, I just don't feel that way ... now.The Proof column, which is among those being sliced due to cost-cutting measures, is about alcohol and American life: a worthy topic of discussion, particularly in pubs and especially with intelligent people who can extemporize without spilling anything on the nicely lacquered bartop. But I'm writing this at about 7 a.m., after an evening in which the screams of babies literally drove me to drink — not much, and only after I'd gotten them in a safe place with their mother.
The article by Tim Kreider, which feels less like an op-ed piece and more like an essay in a men's magazine, still keeps me thinking. There are a couple lines I particularly like: "I don't feel middle aged — I just feel like I’ve been young a lot longer than most people" and "I’m a little appalled at all the time I’ve lost, but then, wasting time wasn’t exactly an unforeseen side effect; it was part of the fun. Of course it was; if drinking wasn’t so much fun it wouldn’t be such a widespread and terrible problem." And this is a classic: "As my metabolism started to slow down the fun-to-hangover ratio became increasingly unfavorable."
Truer comments may never have been written, and it takes a middle-age wastrel to write them. I'm not passing any judgement on this guy; it's quite possible he's accomplished more than I have. Indeed, he's got a column in the New York Times. And I'm fairly certain his words have found more readers than mine have — so far.
This man is approximately one full year older than I am. It seems to have taken him, perhaps, ten-twelve years more than it took me to realize that drinking like college kids isn't really much fun any more. And yes, it is "any less" fun. Neither is this blog piece a public pledge to quit drinking; such proclamations are only needed for those who want to be anonymous, and they know not to make public pledges — just private confirmations or acknowledgements.
Rather, I think of this as another morning, children fed and sleeping, cats fed and sleeping, wife unfed and sleeping, in which I don't have to say to myself, "My God, what have I done?"
