The Grumpy Owl

Is this man a mother?

Mothers Against Drunk Driving is at it again: Come August, if you are below 22, you will need a zero alcohol blood level to drive a car.

It’s unreasonable but not unexpected.  This is one of the very worst charities in existence.

MADD was founded by a decent woman with decent intentions.  Candy Lightner, whose daughter was killed by a drunk driver, set to work raising awareness about the issue and passing legislation about it.  She quit the organization in 1985, feeling that MADD had been hijacked and saying that the group had “ become far more neo-prohibitionist than I had ever wanted or envisioned … I didn’t start MADD to deal with alcohol. I started MADD to deal with the issue of drunk driving.”   This is a distinction that MADD seems incapable of making.

They recklessly inflate their statistics.  Notice that they talk about ‘alcohol related accidents.’  This is any accident that can be related to alcohol in any way.  Did you have a beer at lunch and a sober person ran a red light and crashed into you?  Did your passenger have a blood alcohol level higher than zero?  Was an empty beer can found in your car even though you had no alcohol in your system? According to MADD, these are alcohol related accidents.

Even for statistics, it’s corrupt.   I have not looked at the numbers for car crashes involving people below the age of 22 but I imagine that there are more accidents  in general -not just “alcohol related- than in older drivers.  Hence the insurance costs.

As far as fundraising goes, MADD just received a D (a scale from A to F ) from the watchdog organization, The American Institute of Philanthropy.  This was caused by its poor spending practices and lack of victim support.

“The AIP says while most charities spend $35 to to raise $100. MADD has spent nearly double that amount. It also says in recent years they have spent $30 million on salaries, leaving just one third of its budget for victim services.”

The American Beverage Institute (a restaurant trade organization)  agrees, saying that, in 2008 MADD spent almost $30 million on salaries, leaving just a third of its budget, or $15 million, for charitable work and victim services.  They add that:

“Ten to fifteen years ago, Mothers Against Drunk Driving really did shift their focus away from hardcore drunk drivers and targeting them, getting them off the road and policies that did that and going after social drinking of all kinds. They need to shift back, go back to basics.”

And they probably would get back to basics if they could.  Problem is, they’ve already achieved every single legislative goal they started with and quite a few that drove their founder straight into the arms of the liquor lobby.  Yet they’re still making laws.  No wonder.  They make a lot of money from doing so.

Now, while one should believe The American Institute of Philanthropy, one could sensibly point out that the American Beverage Institute has a vested interest in badmouthing MADD.  But if one is concerned with vested interests, they might also consider the one that MADD has.  They too are a multi-million dollar organization.  One that has a male CEO.  For those of you unfamiliar with biology, it is possible for a male to be against drunk driving but impossible for him to be a mother.  This matters because so much of MADD’s cache is based on “motherhood.”  Would you expect a group called Canadian Fathers for Change to be headed by an American woman?

For everyone involved,  MADD is a money making scheme.  They should have no place in forming the laws of this country.  That the media gives them respect, air time and acts as if MADD are serving the interests of the people, when they are simply serving the interests of a small, greedy and puritan group while taking advantage of their mostly well-intentioned but hopelessly naive donors, never fails to amaze me.   Then again, MADD does buy a lot of advertising.

Tags: canada, charity, chuck hurley, corrupt, drunk driving, law, madd, prohibition, zero alcohol

I’ve had this blog for about five years and never once mentioned where I work.  That was by design.  But it’s 2010 and keeping such secrets in the twitterverse is getting stupid-hard.  So why bother even trying?

I work at La Hacienda on Queen West.*

I’m coming clean now because I stand to make some money from doing so.  This Sunday, Kaewonder and I have organized a little party at the venue and you’re all invited.  We’ll be starting at 10pm and open until last call or until the last of you falls down.  Whatever comes first.   I’m not picky.

While I’m slinging the drinks, Kaewonder will be spinning psychedelic rock and soul every Sunday for a month.  If it works out, then for longer.  It’ll be good.

But those of you who know Toronto’s music history already know that.  It’s fucking La Hacienda.

Although this is the first DJ night, La Ha has always been about the music. When in Toronto, it’s the place that Brian Eno, Joey Ramone and Jello Biafra hit up for a burrito and a beer.  The local talent was usually working or staggering about the place.  Sometimes both.

What Bakka Books is to Toronto science fiction, once employing Cory Doctorow, Robert J. Sawyer and Nalo Hopkinson while serving everyone else, La Hacienda is to Toronto music.  It’s because the staff are allowed to play what we want at what volume we want.  And we all have excellent taste.  Whatever you may think.

It’s no fucking Starbucks.

But considering La Ha’s origins, that makes sense.  Founded in 1987 by a couple of west coast musicians:Daryl Smith, who owns a recording studio and Chris Roskelly of Yeti and Armed and Hammered, La Ha was an integral part of the Toronto punk scene.  It even hosted a skinhead vs punk riot.

pic nicked from here

And, contrary to the NOW Review, Tom Paterson of Cottage Industry was not a  La Ha founding father.  He did co-manage with Chris through the 90s.

It was under his management that La Ha earned its reputation for insane and sadistic service.  That’s because it employed a lot of insane and sadistic servers.  Though I’m proud to be a part of such an infamous number, the reputation is a bit overblown.  More of a memory than a modern day reality.

I’ve been around the block and some of the better servers I’ve ever seen have been  La Ha servers.  We can take your orders, make your drinks, deliver your food, wash your dishes and bus your tables while choosing the music.  Most places would require three people to kind-of do what any one of us does on time.

We’re all much nicer than the old rep gives us credit for.  We’re reasonable.  If  you’re not reasonable, you just can’t last in service.  It will chew you up. (It’ll do the same thing even if you are reasonable but it will chew slower.)  Most of us have lasted a while. None of us have done it by picking fights with strangers.

That La Ha was able to do that through the 90s just tells you something about the 90s and Queen West.  Some of the old timers seem disappointed when I actually show up at their table to take their order.  Their eyes get misty and they talk fondly about what some La Ha server once told them to insert in some bodily cavity.

Before Bathurst and Queen became part of the art and design district, it was known as Fuckhead City.  The neighbourhood has changed.

La Ha has and has not.  We no longer host riots, the servers won’t tell anyone to fuck off unless they’ve been provoked beyond reason and things are basically a bit more chilled out than they used to be. We’re also getting a new sign.

But La Ha has not been gentrified and it’s still primarily a music lover’s and musician’s pub.  I’d give you a list of recent names who’re either regulars or who’ve  stopped through but that violates some sort of confidence and I don’t want to name-drop or make a list. So use your imagination.

The important thing is that you can still get a proper drink, be a regular where that means something and hear some pretty odd music. Beats the hell out of Red Lobster or any of those boutiquey yuppie holes that last about 2 minutes before going bankrupt due to cocaine-addled mismanagement.

Though I’m after the money you all can put in my wallet (then in my tailor’s) I won’t lie:  Helping to set up the first DJ night in such a storied pub/bistro/restaurant is pretty exciting.  I hope some of you haul your ass out to it.

So come out.  In fifteen years, you might be talking to whatever kid is on the La Ha floor about the time some bartender in a navy blue work uniform made you a margarita that knocked you on your ass and cost you your job at the bank.

WHERE: La Hacienda, 640 Queen West between Bathurst and Palmerston.

WHEN: Sunday Night: 10 pm to last call.

WHAT: Kaewonder spins psychedelic, soul, psychedelic-soul and soulful-psychedelic.

*And what the fuck is up with Google Reviews? They give us 1 star out of 5 when every review there is good and their graphs give us 4 out of 5 for food and service. Does Google require a bribe?

Tags: DJ, kaewonder, la hacienda, psyche & soul, queen west, restaurant

pic nicked from here

When I was  sixteen, Nan sat me on her lap and gave me some advice:  “Never trust a man who doesn’t drink, smoke or swear.” I can only imagine what she would think of bottled water.  The woman is still alive, of course, but I doubt she’s aware that anything other than booze or mix comes in a bottle.

If she did know about it, stopped swearing and cackling for a moment and I was lucky enough to catch her between calls to her bookie, she might sound a lot like this article.  Once she got over the surprise.

It seems that Americans drink more bottled water than beer. (My Nan believes that drinking anything weaker than whiskey is not actually drinking.)  Susan McWilliams puts forth an excellent argument that this phenomena is dangerous to life, liberty and the American Dream.  It’s symptomatic of a society leaving the pub and disappearing up its own arse.

Go read her article, I’ll wait for you after the jump.

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pic nicked from here

In a stunning scientific breakthrough, researchers have discovered a relationship between owning alcohol branded clothing and teenage drinking.  There’s not yet any word about what owning a bandanna covered in pot leaves may indicate.

But wearing a beer shirt does say something else about a young man.  It says:  “I have no imagination but a lot of brand loyalty.”

If you are going to drink –and I mean drink– it’s important to know how to dress while you do so.  Being properly attired can make your assholery charming, your  incomprehensible opinions understandable and, perhaps, even save you an overnight stay at your local drunk tank. So before you get loaded, get dressed.

After the jump, we’ll explore how to do that.

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pic of Liana K nicked from Nerd Girl Pinups

Sometimes, when people forget to invite me to a party, I just invite myself.  I’ll even pay the occasional cover charge.  But I do have limits.  I will never line up.  Life is too short.  I refuse to wait to be somewhere when I’m already wherever I need to be.   Although doormen may kindly separate everyone on the inside from me with a velvet rope, it does makes me feel a bit like a museum piece.

Thankfully, there was no line for the Nerd Girl Pinup Launch Party at The Annex Wreckroom.  This might have something to do with the site’s utter lack of nudity.  They claim that it’s sexier that way. As a man who enjoys some of the most vile pornography in Christendom, I wouldn’t know.

This whole clothing idea seems a bit quaint and I doubt it’ll catch on.  The competition is being humped by donkeys and whatnot.  Seems to me that, to compete, you should be getting humped by larger donkeys.

And they should be angry donkeys.

Now, you may say that’s sick and maybe you’d be right.  But could you masturbate to this?

If you can, you’re a sick pervert.  She’s clothed, obviously busy and minding her own business.  If that gets you off, you shouldn’t even be let out of the house.  What won’t you masturbate to?

Even though these women insist on wearing things and there wasn’t even a mule in sight, I still invited myself to their party.  I even paid a cover charge.  That was okay.  I suppose.  It reminded me of what life was like before I had a mildly successful blog and when I still went to strangers’ events.

Walking though the door was like returning to 1997.

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real bespoke by Don of Trend Custom Tailors for yours truly

Lean in nice and close kids, old Grumpy wants to tell you a secret: THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS A VODKA MARTINI! A martini is gin and dry vermouth. It is not vermouth and vodka, it is not vodka and a liqueur, it is not filled with fruit and/or chocolate. It is clear. It is not bright blue or neon pink. CLEAR! It is gin and dry vermouth. Stirred. Not Shaken. With an olive, a lemon rind or, if you’re feeling completely batshit crazy, a cocktail onion.

That is a martini.

But we live in society that is intent on ripping itself off. People decided that they wanted the social cache of drinking a martini but they had a problem: They didn’t actually like martinis. So, instead of doing the reasonable thing and ordering something else, they pretended to be James Bond, walked up to their bartender, said “Excuse me Sir, could you faggot up my drink?”, substituted vodka for gin and called that a martini.

The first step down a slippery slope.

Now there’s all sorts of concoctions going under the name martini. Banana, chocolate, apple-fucking-pie; The only thing these drinks have in common with a martini is the glass they’re served in.

As humans we do this all the time. We find something we want but don’t like. Instead of dealing with that, we just change the names of things. We call war liberation, plutocracy becomes democracy, martinis become anything you feel like, and now bespoke is under attack.

The assault is coming from the usual quarters. That is, the evil who profit by the ignorant. And it’s coming for the same reasons. People want bespoke but they can’t afford it. Instead of dealing with that, certain assholes have decided to just call everything bespoke. Then everyone can afford it. It will be –get ready– “affordable luxury.” Problem solved.

This is voodoo.

Things do not change just because you change their names. Just because something is green, organic and fair trade does not mean it is good for the environment, pure as summer rain and bought from well-paid workers in some utopia. (Just ask the minimum wage worker at the cash register where you bought it.)

All that changes when you start abusing words is the words. Everything gets muddy. The word becomes meaningless. When someone used to order a martini, they knew what they would get. Now, if you order a martini, you better say what kind you want or you’ll get the kind you don’t.

There’s nothing really there. “Martini” no longer refers to reality but to some James Bond illusion. It’s meaningless.

Now, why do I care about “bespoke” being abused? After all, I know the difference between customized and bespoke, so why should I care if some twit wants to toss his money buying one thing while expecting another and then lying about the whole thing? At the end of the day, it doesn’t reflect upon me.

You see, while I love bespoke, I don’t care about the social element. I don’t care what it says people who don’t even have the ears to listen. What I care about is the quality. All the words in the world cannot alter that. Whatever the herd calls a martini doesn’t affect the taste of a real one.

But there is a problem.

When words are abused we all pay. When a war is called a liberation, the concept of war is not only diminished but also that of liberty. As things stand now, the people who actually make bespoke are the ones who will suffer. If people think that they’re getting bespoke when they’re not, the real bespoke will vanish. Tailors will have to explain to morons why their bespoke is actually bespoke and why it costs more.

All we’ll be left with is some cheap copy.

I think we have enough cheap copies already. Enough lies and enough marketing schemes. We’re already neck-deep in bullshit. There is no need to throw another shovelful on the pile. If anything, we should be digging our way out. In the meantime, hold your nose.

It’s not new, it’s not real and it’s not a condition. But it’s still being reported on. DRUNKREXIA!!!, This newest menace to the fairer sex is characterized by the liquid lunch. When women drink without eating, they’re not girls with a straight sense of priorities. Oh No. They’re DRUNOKREXIC!!!

How do you know if you are a DRUNKOREXIC!!!? Well, if you calculate the calories of booze vs food, then you are. Period. Doesn’t even matter what conclusion you come to. But it helps if you have a vagina.

Every woman I’ve ever met is a drunkorexic. You see, on one hand women are told that they should care about their weight. On the other hand, they like to get drunk. Maybe it helps them forget about their weight and the people telling them they should care about it. Maybe they’ve learned something men discovered a long time ago: Alcohol makes women look better. Given this situation, there is only one reasonable course of action for an intrepid damsel.

Get drunk and don’t eat. You kill two birds with one stone.

I knew it was going to happen. The people who brought us the smoking bans are now changing focus. “To what and who?” you might ask. “Isn’t obvious?” I would reply. “To your vices and you.” The WHO has developed a global strategy for “The War on Drink.”

And it’s based on their war on tobacco.

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Alcoholics Anonymous is an evil cult. Their meetings lead to nothing except more meetings. You never outgrow it, you never “get better” you just keep discovering problems you didn’t even know you had. Mark the sober days off on your calender like you’re in prison and earn your little badge.

It disgusts me.

The people who join this club –the so-called alcoholics– are the obnoxious drunks. They’re not the fun or funny ones, they’re the bad ones. That’s why they had to quit drinking. We all know one. Some of us were one. What sane person would want to be a room full of these assholes? It’s bad enough if one of them is in the room.

But I do have friends who have ended up this cult. And I do know that it’s one thing to hate and another to propose an alternative. They have 12 steps so here’s mine. I hope it helps but I doubt it will. Drunk or sober, some people never listen.

1. You have and always had complete power over yourself.  (Unless you were drunk.)  No bottle of booze in the whole history of the world has ever drank itself.

2. Make a list of all the people you have harmed through being drunk. Rip that list up. Fuck them if they can’t take a joke. Apologizing won’t change shit. They forgive you? So what? You don’t deserve it. And just who do they think they are anyway?

3. You probably acted like an asshole. It wasn’t because you were drunk. It’s because you are an asshole. Get to know and love your inner asshole. Bring him under control.

4. Don’t get all high and mighty about not drinking. That’s even worse than being drunk. There is nothing wrong with alcohol. The problem is that you’re an asshole. Try not to be a sober asshole. Now you don’t even have an excuse.

5. Being around drunks is fun. Every benefit you ever got from being drunk, you can get from being around drunks. They’re social so you don’t need to be. They do and say stupid things so you don’t have to. They are noble. Love your drunken friends. And buy them a fucking drink. Just because you don’t drink doesn’t mean you have to be dead weight. Buying a pop also means you should tip more. 2 bucks on a drink at least. It’s the only thing that will keep you from looking like a total prick.

6. You must train your memory until you can’t remember anything someone did while they were drunk. You’re not a witness. You’re at a party.

7. Keep your old friends. Only a total prick would stop hanging out because they quit drinking. These people are your friends. Remember that time they pulled you off that car before the police arrived? That’s more than what your sober friends will ever do for your dumb ass. Drunks are great people. Forget that at your peril.

8. Make some new friends who never knew you when you drank and who would be devastated and disapointed by the consequences. Social pressure works both ways. Balancing it is easy.

9. Develop some new vices. You’re fucked up. That’s not going to change. You need a new hobby to get all obsessive about.

10. Do not expect happiness. Wanting to be happy all the time is what got you into this mess in the first place. No one is happy all the time. You’re just vomiting less.

11. Do and say really stupid things while sober — like speaking your mind. It’s much more rewarding. And no one thinks you’re an alcoholic for doing it. They’ll actually take you seriously and also think you’re an ass. It’s not the end of the world. Everyone is an ass.

12. Don’t drink.

Follow these rules and you won’t be on the road to recovery, you will be healed. Hallleujah brother. And no meetings at all.

I’m pretty tired today. Last night I went to an art opening. Being a kind sort of person, I brought some people back to my place for an after-after-party. They cleared out at about five. I think they spilled more gin than they drank. Left quite a bit on the table too. But they did bring some snacks, which I thought was quite nice.

While it’s nice to clean up sans hangover – removing old martinis while your blood brims with gin can be a herculean test of endurance – I still wish that I had a robotic house. Rudy the Roomba does a fine job but I’d love to have a little humanoid who knew when to remove the glasses and wash the dishes. His touch would need to be as soft as a bird-dog’s mouth.

This summer I’m going to my local WalMart, where I’ll attempt to purchase a midget. I’ll ask to be shown to their midget section. I’m betting that I’ll get the same comedy routine they deliver whenever I’ve asked to see anything. They’ll have no idea what I’m talking about and I’ll be referred to other ignoramuses, who also have no idea what I want. Should be entertaining though.

Everyone is giving David Hasselhoff too much shit for getting drunk and eating a hamburger on the floor. That is one of the best ways to enjoy a hamburger. I don’t even drink anymore and I know that. I even approve of it. You’d have to insane to try eating a Hero Burger sober.

If this fellow should be called on anything it’s the line of bullshit he gave the media:

“I am a recovering alcoholic. Despite that, I have been going through a painful divorce and I have recently been separated from my children due to my work, I have been successfully dealing with my issue. Unfortunately, one evening I did have a brief relapse but part of recovery is relapse.”

Oh come on. Recovery? Relapse? Is that straight out of the AA Playbook or what? Someone who has broken a leg has to recover. David just needs to get through a hangover. I can’t believe that he’s actually saying, with a straight face, that part of being sober is getting drunk. Even more so when you have a problem to deal with. This shithead sounds like he wants a medal.

Look David, if you don’t want to drink, that’s fine. Just don’t drink. If you want to get drunk and enjoy your hamburgers on the floor, that’s fine too. Everyone should do that a few times and you should tell them all to piss off and mind their own business.

But you just need to shut the fuck up with all that issue and relapse mumbo-jumbo. You sound like a bad recording of something that never made sense to begin with. And you were sober when you said that so you really have no excuse.

(And can you believe that video? This guy’s music is HUGE in Germany. If this is what they’re into now, can you even imagine what entertainment would be like if the Nazis had of won? They should show that video every Remembrance Day. Thanks again, Grandparents.)

Although I’ve quit both I like to encourage this behavior in others. I don’t believe that there’s anything wrong with drinks or most drugs. I’m simply too stupid and ill-disciplined for them. Even a drop of potion is dangerous to a man of my special brand of moronism. While Dr. Jekyll may have his manners, Mr. Hyde certainly does not. And I would advise that if you, like me, have more Hyde than Jekyll than is decent or legal, that you too steer clear of drugs. They may lead to unpleasantness beyond trembling and vomiting on washroom floors.

But, having said that, I know my way around the territory and I’ll impart some of my wisdom about the subject of how to properly deal with drinks, drugs and the people on them.

There are a few basic rules – all of which, I’ve broken and, if you take enough, you will too – but the most important of them all is this: Being drunk or high gets someone a free pass for all sorts of behavior. You simply cannot take much of what a drug addled person says or does very seriously, unless it is very serious indeed. Waving weapons around, for example, is serious. Falling off a chair while insulting your parentage – is not. For God’s sake, consider the source, develop a thick skin and have a sense of humour. It will hold you in good steed.

As will generosity. If you have a bottle, don’t hoard or hide it like you’re shipwrecked. (Especially if you are. That sort of thing could get you eaten.) If you have cocaine, don’t skulk off to the washroom to take it alone. (Ideally, bring a lady of impeccable moral standing so that no one gets the wrong idea and, when they do, they will be all the more impressed.) There’s much to said for an illicit nip from a flask between friends and more to be said for the person clever enough to bring the flask. Try to be that person.

But there will be times when you’re a different sort of person – the sort of person who has been ordered to leave an establishment. Attempt to carry this off with aplomb. I’ve done it in a manner of ways – fighting bouncers, running, restrained, thrown bodily, spitting, smashing and yelling – and I’ve always found that simply leaving as if you did not want to be there anyway, is the easiest to explain to yourself the next day. If you can manage to bring a woman with you (I have) so much the better. There are worse ways to end the night.

Such as the drunk tank. This is perhaps the third worst way of ending a night but it does occasionally happen. Should you find yourself incarcerated, my best advice is to keep your voice down. People are trying to sleep. Yelling about how you’ve been done wrong and don’t belong there or otherwise making a racket, is just being a pain in the ass. And no one belongs there. It’s horrible.

So just take your medicine like a gentleman and try not to make a face. Apply this to hangovers as well. Working with one builds character.

Also, remember this as it applies to being around drunks, druggies and especially to being locked up with them: You are not invisible and you are alone. The police are not there to help you. Your lawyer, should you have one, is sleeping peacefully beside his beautiful wife in his distant mansion. (Actually, if you had mine, it’s more likely that he’s a few cells over and isn’t really a lawyer but that’s another story.) There is a time for wit and a time for violence. The essence of a gentleman is never confusing the two.

I’m always surprised at how much I enjoy drunk people when I’m sober. It’s strange because I always hated sober people when I was drunk. Actually, I kinda hate them when I’m sober too.

It may sound like I’m sitting on a high horse, thinking – oh you poor debauched fools, but it’s nothing like that. I just find drunks really entertaining. They say funny things, fall over and act pretty silly. It’s like having the circus come to town. Sober people never do this shit.

Drunks are easy to get along with when they’re happy and when they’re mad, they’re easy to knock out. They’re a lot like children.

It’s true that you’re not going to have a lot of deep and meaningful conversations with drunks but you will have an experience. That’s better than talking about experiences anyway.

And by staying sober, I’m able to partake in their craziness with a clear mind. That is a lot more fun than you might expect. I can even remember what happened. That might bother some people but my friends are well-aware that while I have strict and stoic morals, I’ve never wanted to apply them to anyone else. Attempting to make people behave or think like me is futile. Even if I was successful, the results would be grotesque, like making a barnful of pigs walk on two legs.

I just like being helpful. I can lift people back into their seats, deal sensibly with any intrusive authority figures, apply first aid and be a benefit to all and sundry. “You left your cigarettes over there,” I say or “Here’s that hat you left in the fridge.” My goal is not to tsk-tsk about who humped or insulted who, but to help everyone have fun. I like that. And best of all, I don’t ever have to deal with me. From what I’ve heard, that fellow is a bit of handful at the best of times. We won’t talk about the worst.

I went to an art show tonight. It’s not something that I often do. When I drank, they were an event that I was often forcibly removed from. I don’t mix well with creative types sober or drunk. The difference is when sober, I’m shy; when drunk I’m a fucking disaster. A noisy trainwreck who might just wreck your whole opening.

But tonight I ran into someone who knew me – though vaguely – and who I could not recall at all. I apparently met her in September. It’s too bad that just about everything that occurred after seven in the evening that month is vague at best. Quite often it’s totally gone.

And just last night I was wandering down Bloor Street when a young Asian gentleman nodded and said hi as if he knew me. I returned the favour though I don’t have the foggiest notion of who he may be. Perhaps he’s a reader who recognizes me from my profile pic? Much more likely I met him at some point and can’t remember. At least he didn’t intend violence towards my person. It would be nice if I was sure that I never intended violence towards his.

It’s fucking weird. Like a Philip K. Dick novel. It’s almost as if I’ve had a twin out causing mischief for years and now I discover that he’s me.

So, if I meet you on the street and you know me, yet I seem curiously distant and strange, not to mention sober, you might have to fill me in on some details. Like who you are. I’m not particularly interested in what I may have done. I can imagine that part just fine. I’ve heard enough rumours over the years.

Well folks, it’s gonna be a new owl around here. A leaner, meaner and even grumpier owl. That’s right, Grumpy is going to sober up. Why, you might ask? Mind your own fucking business, I might say. But I won’t say that. If I wanted to say that I wouldn’t blog about it, would I?

So here’s the more or less straight dope. While I’ve never been perfect I, at least, used to try to be better than I was. You’ve probably heard all of that crap about “a man’s reach should exceed his grasp.” Well, it’s not crap. My problem is that I only reach for a bottle and that just isn’t right. Fun yes. But who gives a fuck about fun? Fun gets me nowhere and honestly, drinking stopped being fun some time ago.

What you won’t be hearing from me is a lot of sanctimonious bullshit about alcohol. I think it’s good for you and I still hate groups like MADD. People should be allowed to do what they want. I just don’t want to drink anymore. I want to learn to box. I want to get strong and be an Ayn Rand character. If she wrote about foul-mouthed assholes, that is. Which she didn’t. So I’ll just be grumpy as always. There’ll be no daily affirmations here. Just owl venom. But that’s me. Drunk or sober, that’s who I am.