Edition #86: Can I Get You a Drink?
Plus, we're all famous on the internet, cuisines from all 50 states, and the greatest Tiny Desk concert ever
A Note From the Editor
The first time I blacked out from drinking was in college at a public school in Florida, where partying was as inevitable as big Saturday football games. A new apartment complex had opened up near campus and they were hosting a pool party for Cinco De Mayo. There was a shiny lounge equipped with giant flat screen TVs, impersonal decor, and frosty air conditioning. Most importantly, there was a huge, resort-style pool, the fanciest one out of any of the apartment complexes in the area. The pool had a hanging spray foundation and a ledge running along the outer perimeter so that you could perch on the edge, getting only your legs wet without feeling like you were missing out on the action.
Throngs of swimsuit clad college kids flooded the pool deck that day. Every chair was occupied and alcohol flowed freely. My friends and I had brought loaded Coronas and it was my first time trying the beer, which I soon discovered I hated. I was 19-years-old at the time but no stranger to drinking, and I chugged one Corona after the other, wanting the alcohol’s effects while trying to minimize its taste. I couldn’t tell you how many I had, or whether I had a sip of water between, or even whether I had a bite to eat that morning before loading up on booze. I can’t remember slipping out of the party by myself, crossing the major road that separated my apartment complex from this new one, or taking the elevator up to the floor I thought was mine. I can’t remember entering the unlocked apartment, heading straight to the bedroom that matched the layout of my own bedroom, and crawling into a bed without noticing that everything was different—the sheets, the decor, the smell. All I remember is one of my best friends coming to pick me up. She was furious, grabbing my arm and pulling me out of bed, her brows knitted in concern. “You need to get it together,” she said, “you could have been hurt.”
I had no idea what she was talking about. I was disoriented and coming back to myself slowly, taking in the clues of my surroundings without wanting to ask any questions. She took me back to the apartment we shared and inserted me in my own bed. It was hours later when the full story emerged: I had blacked out, left the party, and tried to go home to go to sleep. But our apartment complex was big and my brain wasn’t functioning properly, so I had gone into the wrong unit and gotten into the wrong bed. An unsuspecting girl, who had stepped out to run an errand, entered her apartment to find me fast asleep in her bed. She just so happened to be my best friend's roommate from freshman year, and so she called my friend, who was still at the party I’d left, and said, “I think your friend is in my bed. Can you come get her?” When I woke up later I noticed scratches all over my torso and legs, like I had fallen into a jagged bush. I probably had.
That first blackout was a lit match, sparking a fire of instances where my short term memory was burnt to a crisp. There was a fraternity formal when I fell asleep on the floor of the bathroom less than an hour in, only to be discovered by a cleaning lady who shrieked when she found me because she thought I was dead. There were times I wasn’t let into functions, parties, or bars because I was too drunk. At the same time I was an incredibly high performing student, an overachiever by all counts. I got all A’s and B’s. I was an executive member of my sorority, the president of the student alumni association, and a pageant girl. I worked 30 hours a week and had a part-time internship. My drinking, then, wasn’t the starring role in my college persona, so its binge-like quality flew mostly under the radar. My friends and I would share morning-after stories, recounting our drunken escapades with an unabashed lightness. When I look back on those conversations, those scenarios, I think it’s a wonder we aren’t dead.
Therein lies the crux of America’s undeniable drinking problem—the socially acceptable nature of binge drinking. For four years of college, having a drinking problem is entirely acceptable, almost expected. At weddings, being completely inebriated is the standard. At parties, certain family reunions, wine tastings, on vacation. We love to drink and drinking is a central part of the fabric of our social interactions. I recently overheard someone say that they will never match with a person on a dating app who doesn’t drink. “What would we do for fun?”, they said. It felt like a perfectly bleak boilerplate of modern life in America, and in a way, I understood the hesitation. I can’t imagine bringing someone around my loud, overwhelming family who didn’t drink, introducing a sober person to my friends on vacation. What would we do for fun?
I hadn’t thought about my drinking problem in years, nor had I identified with having one. It was only recently when it all came rushing back to me, spurred by a Facebook album trip down memory lane. As I scrolled past photo after photo of myself triggering memories of certain nights, I sat back in horror, realizing that in a vast majority of the images I was either blacked out or on the verge of a blackout. You can see it in my eyes—a little unfocused, my lips forming a loose, lazy smile, my shoulders relaxed. As an adult, nearly no one in my life would consider me a person with a drinking problem. I never keep alcohol in my house, I don’t drink alone save for a glass or wine here or there, and I can easily cut out drinking for large swaths of time without missing it.
Still, a blackout can sneak up on me, and before I know it my memory of a night is zapped. It happens far less these days, maybe twice a year, but it still happens. The blackouts are always spurred by an invisible pressure I am not acknowledging. It’s those situations where I am under copious amounts of stress but do not admit it to myself, or those times where I am socially uncomfortable or nervous. Whether I want to believe it or not, if I’m chugging alcohol to the degree where my memory is impaired, there is always something bubbling and hot under the surface. Now that I can admit that to myself, it is my hope that I can begin to change my long term relationship with alcohol. To go about drinking in a more mindful, intentional way. I can slow down, recognize when I’m drinking too fast. And most significantly, I can think about why I am drinking in the first place.
Cheers my dears, and as always thank you for reading. I’m headed to my best friend’s wedding this weekend, where I will be happily alternating between wine and water. If you’re curious about your propensity to exhibit a drinking problem, you should try this screener.
Three Pieces of Content Worth Consuming
On the Internet, We’re Always Famous. During a week when the perils of social media are front and center, this one hit especially hard. The crux of this piece is two-fold. First, the internet has made us knowable to strangers in a way that was never possible before. Second, human beings seek acceptance and connection above all else. On the internet, we cannot possibly achieve that fulfilling acceptance we seek, in part because most of the people who follow us are strangers whose opinions do not hold any real value to us. We seek acceptance, instead we get attention, and a vicious cycle of emptiness prevails.
50 States, 50 Cuisines. I love a good list. What I especially loved about this one is that it expanded my admittedly narrow mind as it pertains to certain states in our country. As it turns out, even the smallest, most vanilla of states specialize in their own interesting form of cuisine. I’m going to make it a point to reference this list to try each state’s specialty when I travel there from now on.
Two Entrepreneurs Have Built a Business Dredging up White Women’s Shame. Race2Dinner is a genius business in which two women of color sit down with a group of white women—who have paid roughly $5k for the event—to talk to them about racism, asking the attendees to identify the racist things they've done and said recently in order to get the group to acknowledge their part in upholding structural racism. Imagining this dinner feels like the opening scene of an HBO comedy, like a mix between Ziwe and a Catholic confessional style book club that (hopefully) elicits meaningful change. I would love to hear your thoughts on this, and be sure to check out the insane comments section of the article.
Perhaps You Should… Watch the Greatest Tiny Desk Concert Ever
I can’t believe it took me this long to discover Chika, who is officially my new favorite musical artist. She got famous after this freestyle went viral, and this Tiny Desk concert is one you will want to watch over and over. Fun, spooky fact—Chika was born the exact same day Biggie Smalls died.
**Bonus Content** (Some Sexual History)
I following History Photographed on Instagram, and I especially love this sculpture.
A Quote From A Book You Should Read:
“She was the third beer. Not the first one, which the throat receives with almost tearful gratitude; nor the second, that confirms and extends the pleasure of the first. But the third, the one you drink because it's there, because it can't hurt, and because what difference does it make?”
-Song of Solomon by Toni Morrison
This newsletter is best served with a side of conversation, so drop your opinions, reflections, and thoughts in the comments below and let’s get to talking.
Or, share the most thought-provoking piece from today’s edition with someone you love, then call them up to discuss, debate, and percolate. As a wise woman once said, “Great minds discuss ideas.”
I so hard relate to this. So many blurry moments from the past, that now I cringe at and am glad that my drinking has dulled to drinks only around friends and at a maximum level that leaves me largely sober or at worst, slightly tipsy. Neither of my kids (who are both over 21) really drink, and instead, they have more thoughtful lives than perhaps I did at that age. Or maybe I shouldn't judge my past self, but just acknowledge that it was fun in its own way. I make different choices now for multiple dimensions of health.