People with Whom I Do Not Want to Get Drunk.
Writer’s Block is a bitch, ain’t it?
In celebration of my inability to write, we’re going right back to the well all the way from far flung last week.
Drinking, and I mean the actual ceremony of drinking, calling friends, going out, grabbing a booth or table, setting up shop, and going to work, not sitting in your living room, imbibing alcohol, is a very precise thing.
There are a lot of very important factors to bring into play.
Where are you going? Is this a crawl? A meet and greet? A bullshit session?
Why are we drinking? Is it in celebration? Mourning? Catching up? Trying to meet someone?
Who’s coming? Like it or not, you don’t actually have one giant circle of friends, but, instead, travel amongst many different spheres. Old friends from home, friends you went to school with, people you know from work, from extra-curriculars, etc, they won’t all get along, so you have to make sure you have the proper mix for a good night out.
Last week we examined the dream team I’d want to bring out for a long weekend, now we look at the nightmare squad.
Who? Pete Dunham. Green Street Hooligans.
Green Street Hooligans is a lot like Fight Club, it’s about a boy who goes looking for how to become a man in a world that doesn’t have any use for them, but his search brings him to all the wrong places. They’re both gleeful adolescent fantasies until halfway through the third act when the movies ask “is this really what you want?”
Pete is the leader of the Green Street Elite a notoriously violent hooligan squad (firm) for West Ham United. Both the team and it’s violent supporters have seen better days but are now in an upswing, and like any firm in a movie about soccer they absolutely fucking hate Millwall. Pete leads his firm into combat usually piss drunk, but the rage that someone else likes a different soccer team football squad and the ensuing adrenaline burn through the amiable fun drunk and gives way to the raging asshole lurking in all of us.
Why Not? Pete combines two of the classic shitty drunks, the super fan and the fighter. The super fan will barrage you with endless trivia and reasons why their team is superior despite either a losing record or the fact that they went out and just bought all the best players. Then we have the fighter who once he gets drunk doesn’t take shit from anyone. Unfortunately through the haze of alcohol ‘shit’ can be anything from being served before the Fighter, disagreeing with the Fighter, or ‘looking like a douche.’ Then, thanks to whiskey, the Fighter thinks he’s invincible and walks around using the booze to boost his self-confidence. Plus he knows that you and everyone else out with you have his back.
Leave him. I’m a big advocate for not leaving a man behind, but here’s one time where it’s okay. You don’t care that someone bumped into your table. You don’t care that a guy, who for no reason, has been labeled an asshole is talking to an attractive woman. Just go.
The beauty of a brutal ass-kicking is it’s a lesson that you never forget. Unfortunately, Pete is really good at fighting, so leaving him will only add to his legend. And then you have to put up with him calling you names for leaving like “prat” and “bender” and what other gibberish Brits call each other when a well-timed “mother fucker” will do.
Who? Frank Sinatra
Why Not? Because he’s kind of a prick. Frank had been a megastar since he was 19. Anyone who is that famous that young is basically going to be an asshole. They have no touchstone with the common man. Add to the fact that he drank like a fish and you have a well-trained, efficient, alcoholic bastard who has never heard the word ‘no.’
You can’t reason with people like that. They know they’re right, and if they shout loud enough, you’ll realize that. They know the best place to go because they had a good time there once when they were smashed out of their mind. Look, if you drink your fucking face off you have two choices: lapse into a blessed booze coma or lose your mind. Frank usually picked the latter.
Here’s a guy who took people like Dean Martin and Sammy Davis Jr. got them wasted and then kind of bullied them around either by being a hard on about everything and brow-beating them until they gave in, or getting them so wasted they’d be dragged around by goons.
Yes, Sinatra had goons. He’s from Jersey and he’s rich.
Also, I grew up in a Dean Martin house.
Who: Bill Murray
Why Not? Bill Murray is so far off the reservation, I can’t even see him anymore. He’s not playing by any rules I recognize. He goes out and tends bar at random house parties, plays peek-a-boo with people on the street, and playfully assaults strangers at urinals.
Then when he gives an interview the writer always talks about how he looks tired. Or he’s sullen. The article talks about how Murray doesn’t seem to want to be there. Or anywhere, really. I mean, which Bill Murray are you going to get? Will he drink and be the witty life of the party, the miserable sad bastard in the corner, or is he going to lose it and bite someone’s cheek off?
The gamble drunk is one of the worst because it’s like a rescue dog that one day just snaps, but the police can’t come to the bar and put your friend down. Thank you very much, Herr Obama…
But the real reason I put him on this list is Michael Cera was interviewed in a recent Rolling Stone (I think it’s the one with Katy Perry on the cover) and he says something about loving Ghostbusters and how Bill Murray is his favorite actor, but he’d never want to meet him because (and I’m paraphrasing here), “Bill Murray meets people and decides whether or not he likes them, and I don’t want him to not like me. I’d rather just not meet him.”
Who? Hunter S. Thompson
Why Not? Hunter is a lot like Bogey from last week; a legendary drinker who got the job done.
But he did a lot of other stuff that’s not drinking. A lot of really insane, and, let’s face it, really cool stuff, and unfortunately, I know me, and I’m going to want to keep up. I’m going to try and top everything he did, and I will die.
I will die.
I’m going to remove death from the equation by removing Hunter. He’s a genetic freak, either the next step in our evolution or a curious side step, an organism designed to mainline booze, hallucinogens, and the written word. Where he goes, I fear to tread.
Who? Craig Finn
Why Not? Let’s be perfectly clear, I love the Hold Steady. They’re the first band I’ve heard out of college that’s really stuck with me, I actually went out, to a store, and paid money for all their albums.
I like the sing-a-long choruses, the upbeat songs about sad stuff, the slow songs about sad stuff, the songs about drinking and partying, and the many, many, many references to the Mississippi river. The band is tight, and not in the generic sense, but in the sense that they play and mesh well like a group of people who have survived a lot of bad bar shows together.
I like Craig Finn as a singer and lyricist. He sounds world-weary but optimistic. I like how he wants to get drunk and laid, but still wrestles with Catholic guilt, and the idea that we should all be trying to do something greater. I even like the way he looks like an accountant.
However, I hope I never have to drink with the man. He just looks and sounds like a story topper. Oh you got wasted in college? He got trashed at a loft party in Brooklyn. You’re bummed about the one that got away? He’s had five. And they all got away together. Oh you smoked out on a roof overlooking the city with a celebrity? He dropped acid in Atlantis with Indiana Jones.
I fully acknowledge that I might have story toppers because I have a tendency to be one.
Who? Scott Stapp of Creed.
Why Not? Dude, he was up to a shot of Jaeger before every show. I can’t hang with that.
Thank you, and good night.
Posted on August 24, 2010, in Matt Loman, Movies, Music, Pop Culture and tagged bill murray, craig finn, drinking, drunk, green street hooligans, hunter s thompson, Matt Loman, pete dunham, sinatra. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.