Monthly Archive for August, 2009

Let’s Get Drunk!

...and we want it NOW!

As the world’s pre-eminent social lubricant, booze has been popular worldwide since before the dawn of civilization. Only the most repressive and fucked-up cultures and religions forbid alcohol. The rest of us like to get drunk, act stupid and fuck inappropriate people. Alcohol isn’t just a drug; it’s a component of human evolution and shows no signs of flagging in popularity.

Like every other red-blooded American, I have packed away plenty of alcohol in my day. In my youth (from ages 13-32), I had a particular fondness for it. Now that I’m older, I’m more relaxed about it. I hardly drink at all, really. It’s not unusual for me to go a few months without any alcohol. Why? Because I’m just sick of it, I think.

This is really bad news for my social status. It’s pretty hard to wriggle out of the social pressure to drink. If you’re not a recovering alcoholic, then you are either an undesirable loser or a party pooper. ThereĀ  isn’t any room in society for people who are not interested in drinking merely because they’re simply not interested in drinking.


Alcohol delivers good times - every time!

It’s unfortunate that the one drug that causes awful behavior, sickness, death, misery and car wrecks is the only preferred legal drug. We’d be better off with marijuana being universally consumed and alcohol forced into the underground shadows.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m no Carrie Nation. People should be free to drink. But I’ve just lost interest in it. I don’t drink alone. I’ll drink only because the social occasion calls for it.

My personal preferences range over the spectrum of the alcohol universe. I can even be snobby about it. I hate the cheap beer I adored as a teen. I’ve also developed a discerning palate for good wine. A properly made martini is a joy, and I also treasure certain whiskeys. All these are fine and dandy, but only in moderation. I’m a lightweight drinker, which adds to the complexity of social drinking interaction.

This is what happens when I drink:


1 – 2 drinks. Face gets flushed.
Start feeling unease, almost feverish.
Otherwise, still the same old sober Ted.





2 – 6 drinks. Socially lubricated.
Flushing in face is gone.
This is the best buzz stage;
I’m funny and relaxed.







7 – 10 drinks. What began gracefully has become ugly.
Bullshit spews from my mouth.
I make extremely poor value judgments.
Time to call a cab, because coming up…








10+ drinks. I’m a mess.
The room (or taxi) is spinning.
I am poisoned. This is no longer fun.
My night is ruined, as is the next day.








So, is it worth it? Is alcohol the best possible choice? I’m not so sure.

I’m not anal enough to strictly limit my alcohol consumption at every possible turn. We all flirt with those ‘sheets in the wind’. The problem is, with alcohol, the penalty for failing to administrate yourself is disgrace, prison and death. Whereas with marijuana, the penalty is a Doritos bellyache, deep sleep and maybe a missed exit on the highway.

Alcohol: why I do still love thee? You are a fickle siren, and I am a foolish sailor on your seas. You have never loved me, yet still I return. I hate you.



Back in Black


Forget the hearse 'cuz I never die!

It was to my horror that I recently suffered a major WordPress glitch. Unable to restore this bedraggled website, I turned to a professional. And that would be my beloved friend Sommer. She is the coolest and most professional webmaster/troubleshooter EVER. If your organization or small business needs a modern web presence or even a third hand to do remote IT stuff, Sommer is your girl! Hire her now!

In the mean time, I have a funny joke for you:

Why does Snoop Dogg carry an umbrella?

Fo’ drizzle!

HA HA HA HA HA!!!! I’m the best!

More Citizen Ted fun coming soon. So stay tuned!

A Weighty Problem


America is NOT the fattest country in the world. We’re the ninth fattest. We got beat by a slew of Pacific Island nations and (strangely) Kuwait. We are, however, far and away the fattest Western country. Greece weighs in at 16th fattest and you won’t find another European nation until you get to Andorra, the 27th fattest.

Fact is, compared to our European brothers, we are some seriously fat fucks. Well, I am sick and tired of being beaten by the Europeans. They have better food, better health care, better cities, better schools, better infrastructure and better looking women. We have a long way to go before we have as high a standard of living (and health) as those Euro bastards.

I can’t build cities or schools or make our women prettier. What I can do, however, is bedevil the Europeans by losing some weight.

Jogging is fun!

Five years ago, I was in the best shape of my life. I was running 4-5 days a week. I weighed about 170. Suits looked good on me.

I loved running. I enjoyed the solitude and the personal challenge. We need struggle in our lives, or we become empty. Rather than dread running, I eagerly strapped on my Asics and hit the trail. The smell of the rain forest, the strobing of sunlight through the leaves, the hypnotic music of footfalls and breaths – it was the best ‘me’ time imaginable.

Then one day, I went on a long hard run with friends. After the run, before I could stretch, everyone wanted to run off for sushi. I never skip a stretch. But this time I did. The next day, I couldn’t walk. Pain radiated up and down my right leg. The doctor made a quick diagnosis: sciatica.

The sciatic fucking nerve.

After three days, I could walk a bit. After six weeks, I could walk normally. A few months later, after some easy walks, I had a short run at my “slow” pace. I stretched normally. I felt tight, and my back was hurting just a wee bit. The next day, I had to haul myself into the shower. I could not walk.

Six weeks later, I could walk normally. My physical therapist got me doing stretches and back exercises. They were awful, but I got much better. Yet every time I did any kind of heavy physical exertion, my lower back would send me a warning: “I felt that, asshole! Stop it or I swear to Christ I’ll put you in the fucking hospital”.

I gave up. No more running. No more long hikes in the woods. No more roofing. No more chorus lines at the gay bar. Nothing.

Can you guess what happened in the intervening five years?

Jesus Christ! No!

I put on about 30 pounds or so. I’m far from obese, but I’m certainly overweight. Typical male paunch. Being a silverback, this isn’t a big deal, but it bothers me that some Andorran bastard is walking down the street all trim and slender and reading a Catalan newspaper about how fat and stupid Americans are. It just boils my hide.

I could go on a diet. But in my experience, modifying your diet to lose weight is stupid and counter-productive. Unless you plan to live the rest of your life behaving like an anorexic/bulimic retard, you’re better off just eating reasonably healthy food and getting some goddamn exercise. It’s the only thing that works.

So a few weeks ago, I started walking. And then I jogged – just a bit, and REAL slow. Then I stretched. Next day – nothing! I was sore, but I could walk. Every other day, I’ve been adding slow jogs in careful, measured amounts. I already feel better, and my back is fine.

The way I figure, keeping my runs low-impact and avoiding boxes of Pepperidge Farms should get this 30 pounds off my frame in about 10 months. Slow and steady will win the race.

Then, in 2010, I am going to fly to Europe, buy the slimmest looking suit they have and walk up and down the town square tsk-tsking all the fat Europeans I can find.

This one's for you, Mr. Ridiculously Patriotic 4K Runner Guy!

Either that, or I’ll blow out my back and return to Cheetos and horror films. Time will tell.