In defense of cheap bourbon

I know, this looks bad right from the start. And no amount of explanation, no amount of fear based tales about bad weeks, horrible days, cheap whiskeys and the American tradition, can cover up the fact that if you're reaching for Ten High bourbon, you're reaching for trouble.

Perhaps this is true in retrospect.

But let me start earlier.

In every professional field, be it a contractor who works physically for a living, a lawyer who finds the necessary loop holes in law, or any other profession that requires working on a project for a hefty portion of your time, there comes a time when a man gets pushed to the limit.

Now I am not talking about THE limit, but to some kind of a limit. This week was one of those weeks. It pushed the envelope, not in terms of work but in terms of stress and loathing.

That is when I reached for Ten High. Now, I don't condone drinking this, but if you feel that bravery is something to be worn on a sleeve, go right ahead. And it's not that this is a bad tasting or a low-potent whiskey. On the contrary, this thing can make a jackal crawl into a box. This is the stuff that they used to label as "XXX" on Saturday morning cartoons.

But why this? Why now? Haven't I learned this lesson before? Wasn't heaving out the insides enough the last time around?

Apparently not.

It wasn't and I'll tell you why. Not many people can understand a cheap whiskey, especially bourbon. They kick it to the side or avoid it like the plague, never even considering why. (No-the fact that you got sick is not a viable reason for this argument.)

In my opinion, a cheap whiskey is already a character all by itself in the big and bad, lets go hunting for some wild turkeys down the knob creek with our friend Jim or Jack, world of hard spirits. It's the guy who gets left behind and never makes it for the hunting trip and end up shooting off his gun in the living room.

Cheap whiskey is what it is, much like the "The Bears are who we thought they were!" as Arizona Cardinals Coach Dennis Green said. So you have to respect it, in whatever form.

Price does not make the whiskey. Ten High used to be advertised in Playboy in the mid 80s as a traditional bourbon. That didn't make it great either, but the point is, the shit will fuck you up.

And why not? Sometimes a strong kick in the groin is what you need. Just the harshness alone reminds you of the hardships that have come upon you. There is a term for this--rotgut.

Drinking rotgut bourbon means you are light years beyond drinking your sorrows away because of a woman, an insurance bill, or when your kids get into drugs. Cheap bourbon simply means you are down on your luck. Or your have no cash, because deep down nobody chooses to drink this shit. Situation forces you to battle this demon.

And it's not like you can drink Ten High by throwing caution into the wind. On the contrary, you kind of have to place caution in the fore front because those Ten High hangovers are ten times stronger, ten times harder, and ten times more memorable.

But in retrospect, here's a little play-by-play:

Monday

The shit doesn't hit the fan yet. But you know it's coming, knowing that class projects, newspaper deadlines and watching depressing news will do it to you. Bill Hicks used to say that he doesn't recommend watching the news for a lengthy period of time. "WAR, FAMINE, DEATH, AIDS, HOMELESS, RECESSION, DEPRESSION. WAR, FAMINE, DEATH, AIDS, HOMELESS" Then, you look out your window [makes cricket noises] Where's all this shit happening? Ted Turner's making this shit up!

Tuesday

You get edgy here. This is when the journalism newsroom starts to show its true face. People get cranky because their weeks aren't going that well either. There is much cussin' going on. The term "motherfucker" doesn't mean anything anymore, and "fuck" is used as a comma. Deadlines are looming and homework is kicking ass. Almost bondage.

Wednesday

You lose your shit. You have no qualms about calling your co-workers Mexicans, women in loving relationships "close-minded" and seeing the bigger picture is usually filled with the preface "It seemed like a good idea at the time." You also preface everconversationon with "Well, this Pollack thinks...," while pointing at yourself.

Thursday

It's over. You seriously reach for Ten High and chase it down with Powerade after work. In between shots, you listen to the Drifters tune, "Under the Boardwalk" like 90 times, while singing along. You say to yourself, maybe love is the answer.

Play harmonica.

Take aspirin.

Try to show for work on time.

Friday

You do your job. But you call people names, pick fights, strech the laws of obscenity, play pranks, talk dirty, and think about what it takes to be a porn photographer. You smoke two packs of cigarettes. You take a smelly shit. You argue about nothing that important. You watch Salvador with James Woods. You listen to Jimi Hendrix. You punch a couple of walls. You worry about next week. You...Just don't get it do you?

That's when the Ten High looks like Jenna Jameson, spread eagle on the bed, holding a bottle of water.

FUCK it, you say.

And fuck it is. It's over now. It doesn't matter. You've crossed the line, and ththehe only hope of coming out of this alive is by trying to eat something. The music gets louder, the harmonica sloppier. You think you could do Bozo's job.

Ten High turns you into a milder drunk. But only to a point. I bought a plastic bottle of Ten High on Monday. By being judicious, by Friday, I am able to drink the rest of 3/4 of Ten High, the smart drunk's choice.

Where is the water?

FUCK that. Where is the aspirin? And where is my mind?

"Let the eagle soar...."