Waking up in Vegas. Can anywhere get you out of bed with a greater sense of mischief?
This morning was spent escaping the 44 degrees Celsius heat (here's how stifling it is - your hair is hot to the touch) by helping set up the convention down at the Celebrity Ballroom, a quite charming old-school venue a short walk from my hotel. My job was T-shirts, and this meant cutting out bags from a roll of plastic, folding the shirts, or stuffing them into the bags and marking them with stickers to indicate the size. Here's an interesting thing, in America the sizes go up to XL x 3, which is basically a marquee. Some people might find it strange to spend a portion of your holiday working on a production line but then they don't know what a proper holiday is. Besides, I consider the Drunkard staff to be friends and so it was only right I should lend a hand.
I had a spot of lunch and a sleep in the afternoon before the madness began. The doors opened at six and at seven Frank, the editor and founder of The Modern Drunkard took to the stage and welcomed us with a sterling speech, introduced the staff members, and got proceedings underway by toasting "A good time you can't remember is always better than a bad time you can". I'll drink to that.
At a guess there was about two to three hundred people in attendance tonight and boy did we have a good time. It was wonderful to catch up with so many faces from both the previous convention and my trip to Denver last November, all of whom were on fine form, and a special treat to meet Pathetic Lot readers Jill and Kerry who had read about the event here and come all the way from Canada. Where were the rest of you? Huh?
Needless to say the drinking was outrageous. I write this on Saturday morning with a bit of a black eye and bruises down my arms. The obligatory bruises. But the eye didn't come from fighting, perish the thought, but by moshing to the final band of the evening which was a hilarious push and pull free for all that lasted a good fifteen minutes. This is the thing about the Modern Drunkard Convention, it's about guilt free excess and laughter. There was absolutely no trouble and I know I go on about drinking quite a bit and some of you might think I'm a wino but the thing is drinking is just fun - plain and simple. I know that there are horror stories about families being broken apart but that's down to personality as much as the liquor. There's absolutely nothing wrong (or particularly harmful if you look after yourself generally) in getting smashed on a regular basis and history will tell you all it's exemplary figures were hardened drinkers. All the best writers, all the best actors, all the best politicians.
The convention is fantastic because you can get a drunk as you like in the knowledge nobody will look down on you, think worse of you, or consider you an idiot. It's expected that you'll be a slurring mess and indeed it's poor form not to be. This licence is amazingly liberating and too rare in the modern age.
I was a mess by the end, the white tux is going to need a bit of work after several falls, and I do remember shuffling back to my hotel and standing in the lift, my mouth involuntarily hung open, and people eyeing me suspiciously. Amusingly, I forgot to mention this, when I was on my way down to the convention earlier, a man in the lift looked at my attire and said "Are you getting married?" That would be a bizarre question in any other city but not here.
I tumbled into my room and fell down again into the cupboard, needing to vomit, but got up and made it to the toilet in time. Hell, that was a great evening. I somehow managed to take a milk thistle tablet before getting to bed (this miracle herb stops any harm to your liver and reduces your hangover - get some) and passed out as happy as can be.
Two more days. I wonder what they'll bring? I'm off to the bar.
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