Drinkers will talk about their imbibing of poison as if it’s either a necessary step towards having fun or as if it at least facilitates the process. For them that may well be the case, and if so it’s likely part of the problem.

I’ll admit that my own experience is limited. I’ve been drunk probably once in my entire life, and the total time I’ve spent buzzed is less worth figuring out than worth mentioning.

Even so, I think just one time with the experience is enough to begin to evaluate it.

Being drunk is like being ill — you’re physically and mentally out of sorts. Nothing works like it’s supposed to, whether it’s your speech center or your erectile tissue. I simply can’t fathom this state being considered pleasant, or in any way useful (unless you’re looking to sleep.)

And then you have to consider the sorts of things I consider fun. Most are intellectually or physically demanding, and the fun comes in confronting the challenge and overcoming it. Drinking just makes that harder, while simultaneously suppressing my ability to appreciate it, which definitely limits the already dubious appeal of using intoxication as a handicap.

So I simply can’t fathom drunkenness as an avenue toward or a measure of a good time. How about you?

My ancestors first became anatomically modern perhaps one or four hundred thousand years ago in Africa. Perhaps fifty thousand years ago, the bulk of them left Africa, at some point arriving in Europe and the British Isles, where they helped to outcompete existing populations of more robust hominids through technological and cultural creativity and perhaps a little dumb luck. As much as three and perhaps four hundred years ago, some of them set sail on wooden ships, eventually arriving on the American continents where they helped establish first colonies and then an independent nation that grew into a world power. Others arrived later by all manner of conveyance. Perhaps some had been here already, having previously been Asian. Some may have had more recent African origins. All could trace their lineage to Africa.

In the course of this history, my ancestors have been rich and poor. They have been white and black. They have been Africans, Europeans, Germans, Welshmen, Irishmen,  Rhode Islanders, Canadians, and many other things I’m sure I know nothing about.

Today I am a poor, unemployed American that through the power of science am able to know and claim my African origins. Since there is no statute of limitations on African-ness, I therefore hope to join with the rest of my nation in recognizing and celebrating that we are all African-Americans.

I would like to request a moment of silence in recognition of lives and liberties lost on this date.

Friday’s set list:

1. You May Be Right — Billy Joel
2. Cumbersome — Seven Mary Three
3. (With Anthony)One Night In Bangkok — Murray Head
4. Hungry Like the Wolf — Duran Duran
5. Blue on Black — Kenny Wayne Shepherd
6. (Weird Al Rule)The Saga Begins — Weird Al Yankovic

The Weird Al Rule was provoked by a set of newcomers who (as a bonus) hadn’t heard The Saga Begins before. Had them in stitches. That turned out to be the last song of the night, and I had to beg Melissa to let me skip the rotation to get it in. 

It was a good night. Blue on Black went better than it had before. I’m improving on One Night in Bangkok as well.

I’m pretty much over my cold, which is a good thing since I enjoy breathing.

In EVE news, I am flying a Titan. Pics soon.