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Be a (Wo)Man, drink like Hemingway

on 05/06/11 at 3:40 pm

Booze News

The self-destructive drinker knew what he liked when it came to alcohol. Here are some of his hard-learned tips.

The following article is an excerpt from Marty Beckerman’s new e-book, “The Heming Way: How to Unleash the Booze-Inhaling, Animal-Slaughtering, War-Glorifying, Hairy-Chested, Retro-Sexual Legend Within… Just Like Papa!”, a satirical look at Ernest Hemingway’s life and many misguided ideas.

In this age of Mike’s Hard Lemonade, Smirnoff Ice, Bacardi Breezers (flavors include pineapple, watermelon, mango, coconut, raspberry, blueberry, and probably estrogen), and other alco-pops marketed to prepubescent girls, it’s easy to wonder: why should I drink throat-burning hard liquor when I can instead sip five-proof carbonated fruit juice? Or: why should I put hair on my balls when I’m just going to manscape them anyway?


But didn’t Hemingway love daiquiris? you ask. Didn’t Hemingway invent the mojito? Yes, Hemingway loved and invented lots of things — such as freedom and gravity — but only Richard Nixon could go to Red China. We must painstakingly follow his example (Hemingway’s, not Nixon’s) which means earning sufficient masculine credibility to experiment with unmanly pursuits, and thereby make them manly.

Amateurs, unlike aficionados, can’t afford to break the rules, because (as Hemingway told the Paris Review) “what amateurs call a style is usually only the unavoidable awkwardnesses in first trying.” You may consume a piña colada garnished with maraschino cherries and caramelized strawberries only after surviving trench warfare, the Running of the Bulls, two African safaris, four wives, and thousands upon thousands of piña coladas.

Men don’t get loaded for the vitamin C. We get loaded because we have demons. We are dark, broody, and mysterious; we possess inexplicable desires and tempestuous temperaments. We can dull our torment with liquid intoxicants — as the amputee endures his wretched condition with morphine — but we cannot erase our misery. Nor would we want to do so, because “to suffer like a man” (like Santiago in “The Old Man and the Sea”) makes us men.

Alcohol isn’t about expressing this torment. The whole point is burying it deeper, which is why nobody likes a sad drunk. But some inconsiderate people — specifically, people with vaginas — cannot help themselves; they have an ounce of schnapps and then weep about their latest breakup (with yet another soul mate) or their backstabbing girl friends (those bitches) or their dead pet (more like toy) or their horrible daddy (the molester).

{Full story via Salon}

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