Sun/Moon -- City/Sand

QUESTION: What do you do when the bars are closing but you aren’t ready for bed?
ANSWER: Chicago's North Avenue Beach

Granted, it wasn’t exactly cool with the authorities that we were hanging out on the beach at four in the morning, but whatever, we really wanted to watch the dawn. We left Messner’s, stopped to pick up a couple bottles of cheap peach champagne, and headed east.
After a lot of running, ducking, bobbing and weaving (to avoid being seen by "the man" who works for the city driving the giant beach combing truck) we dove behind some foliage that offered us some protective cover and popped the corks.

To my left - Lake Michigan and a beautiful rising sun.
To my right - my favorite skyline and a setting moon.

My feet and the Lake


Chicago and the Moon


Kiki and the Bottle


The Bird and the Dawn


Thomas and the Sand

Daytripper Part II

Here are a few selected pictures from the fabled excursion to Charleston. DISCLAIMER: Being that we are men, we don't take good pictures. Don't hate.

Not bad for 7:30ish AM.

Is he pondering Occam's Razor or is he thinking about eating the poor unsuspecting gnomes?

2/3 of the men being half naked isn't bad.
(Note Saint's enormous biceps)

She was a decoy that Masonic Jeremy sent to try and trap me. It didn't work.

This is my doppelgänger; I see him out of the corner of my eye sometimes.
He looks like me but with bigger jowls.

There were a few more pictures; Blogger wouldn't let me load more than 5. Sorry.

Daytripper Part I

I woke up to Slash playing "Sweet Child O' Mine" in my ear at 6:30 yesterday morning. I stumbled out of my room to make sure my other roommates were showing signs of life, and smiled at the empty growler that had held a half gallon of Ball and Chain IPA the night before. Eric, Andy, and even Matthew were stirring, so I went on about slapping myself to make sure I was awake.

Eric just arrived in town Wednesday night from his solo road trip to San Francisco. He and I were originally headed to Turtleback in NC to slide off a waterfall or two, but that night we decided the beach sounded like a good idea.

We piled in the '98 Park Avenue at seven and dropped by Matthew's Starbucks to get some free coffee and muffins. We had a couple of hours ahead of us, so we did what all highway rockstars do: we compiled an epic playlist. Matthew's iPod rotated clockwise around the car (Matthew, Eric, myself, and Andy) a few times with each of us selecting one song before passing it to the next. I think we got out of order once or twice, but we never repeated a song, and we only had 4 band/artist repeats (without Journey being one of those).

These songs got us from Greenville to Folly Beach:

1. Horse With No Name- America
2. That’s What You Get- Paramore
3. Save Tonight- Eagle Eye Cherry
4. Semi Charmed Life- Third Eye Blind
5. Turn- Travis
6. Mouth Like A Magazine- Showbread
7. Tango Till They’re Sore- Tom Waits
8. Beautiful Day- U2
9. I So Hate Consequences- Relient K
10. Guantanamera (Live)- Pete Seeger
11. Everlong- Foo Fighters
12. O Praise Him (All This for a King)- David Crowder Band
13. Mr. Jones- Counting Crows
14. Don’t Stop Believing- Journey
15. Sea Of Heartbreak- Johnny Cash
16. You’ve Lost That Lovin’ Feeling- Righteous Brothers
17. Ezekiel 25:17- Samuel L. Jackson
18. This Is How I Disappear- My Chemical Romance
19. Swing Set Girl- MxPx
20. We Built This City- Jefferson Starship
21. I Disappear- Metallica
22. Say It To Me Now- Glen Hansard
23. I Ain’t No Da Vinci- Leonardo Buscemi
24. Fistful Of Sand- Five Iron Frenzy
25. Time- Hootie & the Blowfish
26. The Blower’s Daughter- Damien Rice
27. Oh! Darling- The Beatles
28. Still Fighting It- Ben Folds
29. Prepare for War- Dragonforce
30. Third World Think Tank- Five Iron Frenzy
31. Say It Ain’t So- Weezer
32. If- Bread
33. I Just Died in Your Arms Tonight- Cutting Crew
34. Trusted- Ben Folds
35. I Shot the Sheriff- Bob Marley
36. American Pie- Don McLean
37. Misery Business- Paramore
38. Alaska Or Bust- Andrew Peterson
39. Fake Palindromes- Andrew Bird
40. Estrella- Brave Saint Saturn
41. Roxanne- The Police
42. Crazy Little Thing Called Love- Queen
    
43. Stockholm Syndrome- Muse
44. Learn To Breath- Switchfoot
45. Learning How To Die- Jon Foreman
46. Cheeseburger In Paradise- Jimmy Buffet
47. Picture- MuteMath
48. Immigrant Song- Led Zeppelin
49. Zombie- The Cranberries
50. Have You Seen The Rain?- Credence Clearwater Revival
51. Forgot About Dre- Dr. Dre feat. Eminem
52. That’s Me Trying- William Shatner feat. Ben Folds and Aimee Mann
53. Heavy Metal Drummer- Wilco
54. For The Widows In Paradise, For The Fatherless In Ypsilanti- Sufjan Stevens
55. You Say- Vertical Horizon
56. A Llama Eats A Giraffe (And Vice Versa)- Showbread
57. My Guitar- Jump, Little Children
58. All Along The Watchtower- Jimi Hendrix

Lilo once scolded me for lack of playlists on my iPod; I do believe this makes up for that one.

Once we reached Folly Beach (10:30ish), I ran into a problem: I didn't know what beer I wanted to drink on the beach. I shall forever laud the staff of the Red & White convenience store next to the public access to the beach because their selection is excellent. Being a beer snob, I didn't expect much. Yuengling, maybe Sam Adams Boston Lager if we were lucky. Not only did they have the two preceding beers, but we found such blessings as Harpoon, Guiness, Harp, Bass, Sierra Nevada; they even had one of my personal favorites: Flying Dog Doggie Style. I was giddy; it was like watching an episode of the Ninja Turtles as a child and finding out that the mutant frogs would be guest starring. Andy and I decided to split a six pack of Sierra Nevada.

After applying our incredibly expensive sun block, Eric and I charged the ocean like wild Scots on the battlefield against the English oppression. Once we were in the water, I promptly tackled Eric, which somehow developed into us trying to beat up the ocean (like in that one episode of Pete & Pete).

The Atlantic soundly defeated us; that thing is relentless. I ambled back to our encampment on the beach, stopping briefly to explain to a few people that no, I was not an angel, merely Celtic by descent and I always glow blinding white when I am shirtless.

Pulling out an apple, and cracking open a beer promptly at 11:30, I felt freer than I have in a long time. There's been a lot on my mind for the past year, namely the waning health of a few people who are very dear to me. There's something about a red delicious and a lukewarm pale ale on the beach that is very therapeutic. I think the fact that my buddies and I were easily the least attractive group of single men on the beach and not caring added to the excellence of the moment.

We left the beach smelling like fresh air and saltwater, and I caught up with a high school friend on the phone (she's now a Charlestonian). We didn't get to meet up, but I had an excellent conversation with her, and we rekindled a dormant friendship.

We wandered around Charleston for a bit, calling to gloat to folks about our excellent day. I was in such a good mood that I apparently sounded drunk. With the help of a college friend, we found a hole-in-the-wall restaurant on the bad side of town and filled our bellies full of beef and hand-cut fries.

We arrived back in Greenville around 9:30 or 10:00. I went to bed fairly early, being pleasantly exhausted. I'll be posting some pictures soon (hopefully accompanied by witty captions). Matthew and I decided it will be remembered as one of the top 5 days of our lives; this one day was better than an entire week's vacation in Atlanta. I mean seriously, I woke up in a good mood this morning, that's not what I do.

I Would Have Liked to Wire a Car Bomb

While this does not concern drinking before noon per se, this post will show the ramifications of a few spirits in the wee hours of the morning.

Volunteering in a church band has its perks. For one, when you play venues other than your church sanctuary, you get to be a rock star. Another perk is that since we are big fans of food, the church takes us out to dinner at Outback around once a year.

Barring the steaks I’ve cooked in an amazing scotch marinade, Outback makes the best New York strip I’ve ever eaten (they also happened to have an excellent clam chowder on the menu). This is still just exposition, so suffice to say things went as usual with band outings. Somehow all 6 unmarried men wound up at one booth and those who did not fit that description were at the one directly behind us (being much louder, I should add). With a belly full of steak, Brian who owes Lilo money and I made a phone call and headed to my favorite bar: Blue Ridge.

We met up with Mark, whom we met at a Presbyterian barn dance about a month ago. Mark the Presbyterian is a respectable fellow who can brew a killer high gravity ale. This would be the reason Brian and I decided to adopt him as a drinking buddy (I think we pretty much had to after we spent just as much time with him at the dance as we did with our dates). Blue Ridge was running not only their usual $2.50 Wednesday pint special, but they also had $4 Irish car bombs. Though I’m not the biggest car bomb fan, when they’re $4, you pretty much have to go for it. I think you break some law somewhere if you don’t. We had a few drinks (while listening to Jurassic 5) and since I don’t live in the woods anymore, I was in bed by 11:15 PM feeling quite full.

Some time after putting my head on the pillow, I wound up in a strange, nice-looking suburban neighborhood. The lawns were neatly kept and the hedges trimmed just right. I went into the house that I assume belonged to me and it did not reflect the outer appearance of said neighborhood. It had the deep brown shag carpet of the laundry room of the house where I spent my childhood. The whole place smelled like smoke. Two old ladies lived in the house. I spoke to them and they started cackling and chasing me with knives. One was in a wheelchair, but apparently not bound by the usual stair limitations a person in a wheelchair usually faces. I ran upstairs, across a balcony, down another set of stairs, and outside into the street.

I then leapt out of bed, sweating. I looked at my phone: it read 2:16 AM. I shook my head and flopped back down onto the bed.

After I fell asleep again, I was right back where I had been before I woke up. I was running down the street with the two old ladies screaming at me from their front porch like they were Mrs. Henry Lafayette Dubose out of To Kill A Mockingbird. I made it up the street to another house with an open garage. For some reason it seemed like a good idea to walk in there. I promptly ran out because a girl about 4 feet tall with blue skin was throwing things at me.

I awoke a second time. Out loud, I said, “Seriously?” I saw that it was after 4 AM, so I rolled over and went back to sleep.

The dream continued. Now a whole host of strange people in this town were chasing me. I ducked into what should have been my saving grace: a sporting goods store. In most zombie movies, there is a sporting goods store. Why? Because that’s where you get the weapons that the protagonists use to fend off the zombie horde until the helicopter shows up after all but one person is dead. When you’ve got a sporting goods store you don’t have to explain why the movie is 2 hours long instead of 90 minutes and you also don’t have to come up with a hokey reason why the protagonists wound up with enough weapons to overthrow New Zealand. Sporting goods stores are wonderful plot devices unless I’m making up the plot as it goes along. There were no guns and no large hunting knives; I couldn’t even find a baseball bat. Just as I was about to start throwing baseballs at these people I woke up for the third time. Now it was after 7:30 AM.

I thought about getting up and starting my day, but it’s my day off. I don’t get up early on my day off unless there’s fishing to be done or a waterfall that needs to be jumped. So I did what good bachelors everywhere do: I got up just in time to take a nap on the couch. No murderous townsfolk (or old ladies with 24^th century wheelchairs), it was the best sleep I got all morning.

While New York may be full of Irish folk, New York and the Irish do not mix well in one’s gastrointestinal tract.

10 Reasons to Drink Before Noon

1. Hair of the Dog: Oh, hangovers... I don't know why an ice cold Miller Lite cures the headache/shakes/all-over-yucky-feeling the next morning, but thank heaven it does!

2. Day Games: None of the Cubs home games this season actually start before noon...but Wrigleyville exists for pre-drinking! Go Cubs, go.

3. Bacon: Brunch is my favorite meal. Ever. And brunch means Bloody Marys. (insert history lesson) Thank you Henry Tudor for hatin' on the Catholics; you seriously pissed off your daughter Mary, and she killed a whole lot of Protestants after you died. Perfect inspiration for a drink!

4. Vacation: The hotel in Puerto Rico actually brought mimosas out to me as I burned in the tropical sun. I didn't have to leave my towel to get booze! (Tango, tango, tango sed. Yo quiero beber.)

5. Being at Mommie and Daddy's: Not because I need to self-medicate when I'm with my parents. Rather, drinking in my parents' home signifies the change in our relationship since my entrance into adulthood.

6. Sunday Funday: Heed! McGees! Now! Fourteen hours of drinking in one place on a Sunday...GLORIOUS. Suck-and-Blows + DJ Rob + 2-for-1 bombs + the NFL package + the best wings in the city = Sunday Funday.

(6.5. Look, I don't do church. But if I did, you best believe I'd be hittin' that communion wine. Holla, blood of Christ!)

7. Anything Starbucks can do, the Irish can do better: The best part of waking up is Folgers in your cup; assuming the cream and sugar in said Folgers is actually Jameson and Baileys. Mmmm...Irish coffee.

8. Tailgating: Cheer, cheer for old Notre Dame! Or the Chiefs, or the Bears. Or whichever team of leatherheads inspires you to grill tubed meat in a parking lot at 8:00 am!

9. Summer in the City...: means cleavage, cleavage, cleavage. It also means beaches, streetfests, sidewalk tables on Southport... All of these demand a.m. drinking! Cheers!

10. Because I can, DAMMIT!: Nuff said.

Tow Truck Saves the Day

So, as always, there is never a dull moment in my life. We all went out last night for a company shin-dig, and before you know it, we are at a dirty bar and it is 2 o’clock in the A.M. Anyway I’m getting off the point. I woke up this morning, looked out the window and my car is not there…. hmmm, weird. Most people would think, hey some (derogatory word) stole my car. Unless of course, you’re like me and you have lived here for 2 years and have not ever registered your car in NC… Anyway, I called into work to find someone to cover for me and SUCCESS!

So, here’s where we stand - I found my car, this amazing girl goes to the store and gets food for breakfast, and yes, she brings back orange juice and champagne. Yeah I said it, mimosas before noon. The point of the story is it cost me 60 dollars to get the car back, but I got an extra day off, went to the pool, got a tan and I am still drinking. Living the dream!

Yours truly, Idaho Matt…

Today's Theme: Meat

Five things in my life that make me phenomenally happy:

1. Radiohead: Two nights - two states - warm rain - sweet, sweet cousins - a gun and a pack of sandwiches - cool bouncers - chill cops - being herded into a giant meat grinder - expeditions into the woods - plans for Lolla in August - really good seats - really great times. (I think I may keep the tattoo after all.)

2. Vitamins: I am apparently anemic. I have been told the bruises that I have right now make me look like a battered housewife; I am literally, covered from head to toe. I generally try to stay on top of my iron intake, since I don’t really eat red meat, but life has been irregular lately and I have slipped into the habit of more beer and less nutrients. However, yesterday I finally found my bottle of vitamins that had been packed away in a moving box, and when I found them, I actually said (aloud), “Hell yeah!” You’d of thought, by my excitement, that I was a cokehead who had just found their long lost stash.

3. Amazing friends: I am so lucky to have bad-ass friends who will drive three and a half hours from Charleston to go to a show with me. I am so lucky to have co-workers who are groovy and who could "just tell" that I needed to "bond"/vent over Soco shots and wings at two in the morning last night - thanks K. I am also so lucky to have Idaho Matt living next door. He understands my nonsense and thought process and is totally okay with every last stupid thing that I do. And he tirelessly supports me, puts my laundry in the dryer, and makes me laugh nonstop. Ha! You, good sir, are my favorite meat mallet!

4. Hunting: Not the kind of hunting where you go and kill a deer for venison, but the kind where you are on the prowl for a hot partner. I mean, all the allure and fun is really in the thrill of the chase, right? After you actually catch the person, it is all kind of wrong/boring/useless anyway... Ah yes, the joys and temptations of single, fresh meat. Batter up, baby.

5. Liquid breakfasts: It can be tough to find a place that serves a good brunch in the South. Not that there aren’t plenty of places that will dish up some shrimp and grits, but very few have that quintessential ingredient that qualifies them as a good brunch establishment: a fully stocked bar available at 10:00 AM (forget ambrosia, Mimosas are the nectar of the gods). Not only was Eddie's Place voted the best breakfast joint in Charlotte, but it is within walking distance from my new apartment… and they serve livermush! What? You’ve never had livermush? Until this morning, neither had I, but with a name like livermush, how could I not try it out (this being the S.o.E. and all)? Let me tell you kids, livermush is not only super fun to say, but it is also quite delicious.

A morning toast:
May those who love us - love us
For those who don't - may god turn their hearts
For those who never will - may god turn their ankles so we will know them by their limp

Cheers, to those I give a shit about

On A More Serious Note

It took a little Sailor Jerry's in my sweet tea this morning to help me read the newest update out of Burma.

For those of you who don't know, I've spent a fair amount of time in Southeast Asia. While I've not spent time in Burma (you'll hear "Myanmar" on the news), a piece of my heart remains in that region of the world.

Just a quick crash course in things Burmese:

-Burma is currently known as Myanmar, though this is unrecognized by many as the official moniker
-Burma's democratic government was overthrown by a military coup in 1962
-Free speech is virtually non-existent in Burma
-Forced labor and forced prositution are not uncommon (including human trafficking to Thailand)
-Most protests if not all protests against the government have been violently repressed


Those things being said, do you honestly think any financial aid that is sent to Burma as a means to house and feed its people will help? I tell you no; it will only help in padding the pockets of government officials.

I speak this not as a mainly conservative American (who really could give a rat's ass about who the white neighborhoods in NC will vote for today), but as a person who has seen the governmental corruption of Southeast Asia first hand and knows that very little of the financial aid that is sent to help the Burmese homeless (1/5 of the entire country's population). I pray it won't be a repeat of the 2004 tsunami that killed so many in Indonesia (particularly in Aceh). As I have been watching CNN while writing this, one of the only Western reporters in Burma was chased out of a refugee camp by some soldiers.

I hope that your thoughts and prayers will go out to God for the Burmese today.

If You Please

This particular evening is ending in the same grand way this morning began: Black Velvet.

If you have toasted with me in the past month, you probably know that this is my new favorite drink - half hard cider, half Guinness (all deliciousness).

Now, technically a Black Velvet is supposed to be made with champagne instead of cider, but I don’t know of any bar that will mix that for you. However, today was my lucky day; it just so happens that someone gave me a bottle of champagne along with specific instructions that it be opened when I moved into my new place. So this morning, my first morning as an official resident of Charlotte, I popped the top and, taking a swig right from the bottle, toasted my new digs. But straight champagne was a bit too sweet for me at eleven this ante meridiem, so I figured I would add a little Guinness and see how a true Black Velvet is supposed to taste. Par excellence!

I spent the day unpacking, painting, and slowly working my way through the bottles of bubbly and stout. Now I am sitting here (with "Thyme Green" paint in my hair) finishing the last of the booze and getting ready to try and find some room amongst all the boxes to camp out on my new living room floor for the night.

After an entire day of sitting open, the champagne has gotten pretty flat, but the widget enhanced Guinness is making up for it - which brings me to an excellent bit of knowledge for you beer drinkers out there. I emailed the boys at Guinness a couple of days ago with a question that has been bugging the hell out of me, and (despite the excessive exclamation points) I was quite pleased with the response:

To: Lilo
From: Consumer Care, Guinness
Subject: RE: Green Guinness?

Dear Ms. Lilo,

Thank you for taking time to contact Guinness. Your feedback is important to us.

We are proud to inform you that Guinness cans and bottles are all recyclable without removing the widget.

Once again, thank you for contacting Guinness.

Sincerely,
Scott Alcorn
Guinness Consumer Representative

Cheers!!
Drinking Responsibly is Brilliant!!!


Oh, and here you go - just in case reading about it has you humming.

Of Nantucket Sleigh Rides and Narrow Sidewalks

Tuesday was the sort of day that usually only occurs on the second day of vacation. The travelling is out of the way, and you get your first day to truly relax and stretch your legs because you want to, not because they're cramped.

It was the sort of day where breakfast consisted of several 3 cheese pierogies and a Harpoon IPA, and a good smoke in my garage served as the poo-tee-weet (Vonneguterrally speaking, of course).

I think the pierogies and beer was probably the least Southern breakfast I've ever had-- a far cry from the scrambled eggs and grits of my youth. I also felt that this would be a perfect meal (for there are many) to have whilst enjoying a baseball game. I ate on the sofa which is right under my front window, so I had that nice 10 AM sun shining through, warming my back, which is a small pleasure in life that will never grow old.

This was my first breakfast in my new house. I already love this place because it's close to everything and it has a hardwood floor with a creaky place. The creaky place is in the hallway as you turn right out of the bathroom. My former place of residence was a trailer in the woods (a bear was seen less than 100 yards away from our front door) so you can see that although my image is not nearly as gruff (or sketchy), the new place is an upgrade.

Some friends and I discovered around dinner time that we could walk to a little independent pizza place on a nearby corner. The sidewalk was narrow and treacherous, and we also discovered that while there are foot traffic signals to direct us to the grocery store on one side of the intersection, none exist to guide us to Tito's Pizza from either side of its corner. We made like any sensible group of adults and ran like Scotsmen in a charge against the English across Pleasantburg Drive. This was one of those times that can be described in the words of Eddie Izzard as "having fun 3 months from now."

Tito's is a wonderful place I suspect I will frequent. You almost feel as if you're in the beginning of Goodfellas (though it only takes one rat-tail to bring that aura to an end). I say almost because we're in Upstate South Carolina, so anyone expecting to walk in and see Ray Liotta and Paul Sorvino would probably be disappointed. The experience was complete when I saw an old couple sipping red wine compliment Tito himself on his stromboli.

After the walk back to the house (which didn't seem to take as long) we opened up the garage door (one of the old school doors that swings up because it's a giant sheet of plywood) and shared a smoke or two. I think I wound up going to bed at a quarter of twelve, not because I was exhausted; sleep just seemed like a fun idea.

Good day. Good times.

Opening Day

We popped the cork on the dusty bottle of champagne that had sat sadly on the shelf for months (having been purchased last year in anticipation of the boys making the World Series). We hoped it would be the perfect lucky start to this season - year one hundred.

The bubbles always feel good, but I think they are more exceptional at ten in the morning. I am also quite certain they made the beer and peanuts, noshed on later in the day at the game, taste even better than usual.

The Cubs failed to uphold their end of the bargain though, and lost. (sigh)

Flask By The Door

As I was putting my tie on for work this morning, I took a couple of nips off of the flask that I keep on one my bookshelves. I generally keep some form of whiskey in there; right now that whiskey happens to be Jameson.

I promptly walked out of my trailer, forgetting my guitar. I’ve been bringing it to work with me because I usually get there an hour early, so I have time to sit in the back room and practice.

The other day I was playing “Stand By Me.” It’s your standard 4-chord song (G, E Minor, C, and D7), and if you want to play the bass line on the guitar, you only use two strings. I sat in a chair practicing this bass line, which repeats itself over and over, and before I knew it, I was playing with my eyes shut. I suppose I think I’m rock star all of a sudden because I can play one of the simplest pieces of music in existence.

Music has this funny way of crawling inside people. I always thought it was odd how musicians would get these intense expressions on their faces or move around in crazy ways as they played. Then I actually picked up an instrument and started playing. I’m not to the point where I can sing and play at the same time, but those simple notes resonated inside me, and there I was playing with my eyes closed. To anyone who has ever played Guitar Hero or Rock Band, doing the real thing is so much better; you should give it a try (not that I discourage playing Rock Band, I’m an animal on the drums).

I think in the spirit of this blog, I will need to learn some good drinking songs so I can be a menace to my new neighborhood and of course be the life of any party. I wonder if you can successfully play guitar and swing a beer around at the same time.

'Drinking in the Day'

I opened a Corona Light (a lot of lime and a little salt) bright and early this morning to watch MLB's season opening game that was being played in Japan. I muted the game, turned up the iPod and put this Irish drinking song on repeat. Cheers - to Saint and all.

I met her up on Leeson Street of a Tuesday afternoon
In summer's fallen colors, sulking back to school
I asked her would she linger, I asked her would she stay
Would she keep a man in company, drinking in the day?

Drinking, drinking
Drinking... not thinking
Drinking, drinking
We'll go drinking in the day

She was almost a woman, she was going on sixteen
She asked me to go walking in Saint Stephen's Green
She said, 'I love the sunshine, and to hear the children play.'
But I won't be distracted when I'm drinking in the day.

With her flashing eyes and milk white lies she looked like a song
Like the ghost of a woman that first made me go wrong
She said, 'I'll have a drink with you' I said, 'you'll have to pay'
For a comprehensive education: Drinking in the Day

Drinking, drinking
Drinking and not thinking
Drinking, drinking
We'll go drinking in the day

If her mother could have seen us on that bright November day
Botticelli and his angel perambulating Ormond Quay
A drunken blessed virgin, me rhetorious and gay
Bestowing ancient wisdom as to what made me this way:

Deny your friends and family
To serve you must betray
Break and enter heaven
Steal but never save
Squander every penny
Empty every heart
Travel every darkened road
Never finish what you start
Always talk to strangers
Make love with whom you may
For God will find you good company for your drinking in the day

Drinking, drinking
Drinking and not thinking
Drinking, drinking
We'll go drinking in the day

So spend your youth on poetry, and spend your cash at play
Each line upon my face is for a girl who went away
A kiss and a song are fleeting things and fame will always stray
So I'll tell the truth, the best spent youth, is the one you throw away

Drinking, drinking
Drinking... not thinking
Drinking, drinking
We'll go drinking in the day

- Lyrics by Bono and Simon Carmody

Listen to (Chicago-based, Celtic punk band) The Tossers' excellent cover of "Drinking in the Day" which opens with the reading of a poem called "Clearing a Space" by Brendan Kennelly. Sláinte!