alcoholism on the grand strand

Lately i’ve joked incessantly about Myrtle Beach turning me into an alcoholic. Not that I haven’t always been known to enjoy a little drinky-drinky, it’s just that the consumption of those adult beverages used to seem more like a side affect of going out and less like the main motive. For example, it’s nearly impossible to sing karaoke or bowl without a pint in hand (metaphors aside, your score would probably be higher if you left the beer in the scoring console’s cup holder). But those things don’t feel like binge drinking for binge drinking’s sake.

Also the fact that I don’t know so many people here precludes me from getting involved in many traditional night time group activities. No rounding up the troops to fill an 8-top at the comedy club (There is a comedy cabana on the north end, which I thought about visiting tonight. Much to my chagrin, it’s not willing to make people laugh on Mondays and Tuesdays.) Other evening entertainment in Myrtle Beach is rather lackluster and seems to have left me with a proclivity for simply bellying up to the bar, making my way down the beer menu and chatting up strangers. I’ve only discovered one band in this town that can motivate me to come out for the sake of the tunes, but I’ve seen them perform so often I find myself wondering when they’ll finish that perpetual studio album and start playing new stuff. There used to be a festival a week near where I was living in Japan that begged you to, of course, come out and drink but also dance, eat and soak up culture. Art Walks, exhibition openings, gallery parties apparently haven’t caught on round these parts, or at least they aren’t well publicized enough for me to stumble upon them. I don’t know a single club in town that encourages me to dance so hard I forget about making my way to the bar, which I sorely miss. The last show at the IMAX theater starts at 7, which hardly constitutes a night out.


I spew this list as partial evidence that I’m not just sitting on my lazy ass moping about this town’s lack of culture without actually searching for any. Ironically, this post, written during an evening sat home alone, seems to substantiate the exact opposite of that claim. The whole reason for this is an article featured on BBC that I stumbled upon a bit ago. My dad told me he’d read about this claim, it seemed too outrageous to be true. Could modern medicine be justifying my vices? Could scientific evidence be reinforcing my wild ways? Could this globe of cabernet in my hand coupled with my workout this afternoon really make my risk of fatal heart disease 50% lower than that of physically inactive non-drinkers? It seems so. Rejoice!
A little alcohol combined with a healthy active lifestyle may be the best recipe for a longer life.

These photos of my recent indulgence seem to make my father look like a bit of a lush as well considering he accompanies me in every pic. Glad to know he's watching out for his health too.