It's been quite the adventure here in Alabama. I'm working full time while getting a fairly long list of tasks accomplished to get our river house ready to be a vacation rental. It's all going rather well and I'll be done in a week with the place ship shape. However, these endless 11 and 12 hour days are a grind.
I celebrated rather freely last night, having completed one of the most important tasks a bit ahead of schedule. A potent mix of alcohol and tobacco, you know. The results this morning have been dreadful. Naturally, I found just enough energy this morning to sit in front of the computer and type out some doggerel with the help of ChatGPT.
I could just hear Basil Fitzallen now in full Terry Thomas mode nursing a similar situation...
"You know, I'd hate to encounter great-great-uncle Reginald Fitzallen in the afterlife right about now. He fell under a hail of poisoned arrows from a group of enraged savages while exploring the Zambezi for the Royal Society. I've been laid low by tobacco and cocktails."
“Reginald, you understand, had been feverish for three days. Spear wound in the thigh. Lost two bearers to crocodiles. Nonetheless continued upriver because he'd promised the Society accurate measurements of the damned falls.”
Basil regarded his coffee with profound distaste. “I, meanwhile, consumed several perfectly agreeable drinks and smoked rather more tobacco than was strictly indicated.”
Bobby, looking equally bedraggled, looked over the rim of his cup. “Heroic.”
“Quite.”
“Did you at least discover anything?”
“Yes. Apparently there is an upper limit.”
“Important scientific work.”
Basil sighed. “The Fitzallens have always made sacrifices in the advancement of human knowledge.”
“Your great-great-uncle explored the Zambezi.”
“And I established the maximum safe dosage of Three Old Men tobacco.”
“Royal Society ought to hear about it.”
Basil considered this. “I rather think we'll keep it within the family.”
General Beauregard was lying nearby looking perfectly healthy despite having eaten something unspeakable he found beside the river. Basil stared at him.
"That animal consumed half a decomposing nutria yesterday.”
Bobby nodded. “Seems fine.”
“That hound is absolutely insufferable.”
2 comments:
One of my old minerals processing professors used to like to say, "You know, if I ever got one of these things they call a 'hangover', I do believe I'd stop drinking!" And, of course, he used to be in the bar drinking heavily practically every night, and would smoke almost half a pack of cigarettes in a 1-hour lecture, stubbing them out in the chalk-rail. And he never really showed any signs of suffering from hangovers. He didn't stop smoking or cut back on the drinking until after he had a quadruple bypass operation at the end of my junior year. I believe he was about 55 at the time.
Meanwhile, I get really severe hangovers with very little alcohol, so I did stop drinking (well, actually never really got started drinking, but it comes out the same in the end). And tobacco smoke made me feel sufficiently ill when someone else was smoking it, that I never really wanted to suck it into my lungs directly. I've heard that when sociologists talk about how one group of people is less prone to alcoholism or tobacco addiction than another, they don't mean that they metabolize alcohol or nicotine better. They mean that they suffer more from hangovers, and that this discourages them from drinking or smoking enough to become addicted in the first place.
My maternal grandfather was the classic Irish drunk who was a functional alcoholic until he wasn't. I never knew him, but I heard the stories. His lineage passed down the love of drink and the predilection for overindulgence to the rest of us and we greedily grasped it with both hands. It takes two to tango, as my middle brother used to say.
This time, it wasn't an alcohol hangover. I did have too much, but not to the extent that I should have been knocked out for a whole day afterwards. No, this was a nicotine poisoning hangover and those are arguably worse. There's no headache, just a complete lack of energy and rampant nausea.
I had one before, which I believed I mentioned on the blog, when, being new to smoking, I explored just whether or not the old wives were telling the truth about not inhaling a cigar. They were, I did and the results were ghastly. This time, I don't recall inhaling, but I must have because this one was the same and I only had one toro-sized cigar.
Oof.
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