Every foreign tourist who comes to America must think we are walking advertisements for the latest low-calorie Budweiser. America has a drinking problem and a culture that once scoffed at the idea of moderation.
Perhaps it was during Prohibition in the 1920s — when every drink was precious — that this nation adopted the principle of savoring every drop, so long as you can finish your drink in a minute or less.
Regardless, it was clear from the beginning that you were either a drinker or soon to be one. If you don’t drink, it’s best not to say so because you are bound to be ostracized. How do you explain to someone that you don’t like numbing all the circuits in your brain? And it’s not as if you can escape alcohol’s tempting hand. From football games and camping to movie theaters and your little sister’s boring school recital, there really is no setting that isn’t conducive with drinking.
It starts on the most sacred of days too. One birthday, you’re eating cake and hitting piñatas. By the time you turn 21, you’re taking shots and knocking over that jackass who told you to slow down on the sauce.
And yet, no one seems to understand why that is. It’s just assumed that social events require lubrication in the form of alcohol. It becomes ingrained in us as Americans from the time we are born that getting drunk will lead to a good time.
Maybe it does sometimes. It all appears to be an escape from a reality we’d rather not accept. Instead of evaluating where we stand, we’d rather get drunk and forget our problems.
We’re kept like fish in a barrel, doomed to swim a circle in the same stagnant water. Funny thing is, most of us don’t even need a new barrel, just cleaner water. Life can be more enjoyable with the simple recognition and acceptance of truths about ourselves. There is no need to hide those truths behind a bottle. In fact, that bottle contains the world’s oldest truth serum so you might as well deal with reality on your own terms.
Or maybe the problem is bigger than that. Maybe the problem starts because of the way we treat alcohol. From the time we first see beer, it is clear to us that beer has one purpose: getting you drunk. There seems to be no other redeeming quality. It tastes bad, leads you to make poor decisions and the next morning you feel like a horse on the way to the glue factory.
So, in an act of ultimate self-hypocrisy, you could’ve found me at Gasparilla this past weekend. This pirate-themed parade is the largest collection of drunkards east of New Orleans’ Mardi Gras. But I never claimed to be a saint, and I have no shame telling you I know this column is done because I just finished my last beer.
Eric Tegethoff is a biology senior.
