h2g2 The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy: Earth Edition

Well kids, it's that time of night. Time to step in to the way back machine and remember a night not unlike tonight, only we were all a lot younger, and some of us much better looking.
I was in San Diego, in my senior year of high school. Staying at a Double Tree Inn with the team for a tournament down there, may have been states or sectionals. I think it was a Double Tree, maybe a Red Lion (my lack of clarity on the details will soon reveal itself). Anyway, it was a real hotel, and we had just won a game against somebody down there while playing a tournament. I had a terrible day myself, and was a little distraught, seeing I didn't really think I had a lot of career options beyond the major leagues.
So, we boys did what all boys at that age do. We went out and found both girls and alcohol and promptly returned to our hotel rooms to enjoy both.
My room was the center of the festivities, as I was rooming with Curt, better known as "Animal," for his complete lack of decorum in any situation. Animal was the man everyone wanted to party with, he could outtalk, joke, and drink anyone. So with about twenty people packed in our room, things were going well. I had found a little surfer chick who was digging me, and I was almost able to forget why I was there, and how I had not hit the strike zone in ten consecutive pitches at one point earlier that day.
Unbeknownst to me, disaster was looming. Animal was challenging anyone to a tequilla race in honor of his speedy baserunning. The challenge would be two bottles and one shot glass. First man to empry his bottle, first pouring the shot into the glass, no chugging, wins. I volunteered, my competitive nature getting the best of me. I remember getting through the bottle and being declared the winner. The rest of this tale has come to me in stories from people who were there who related them to me afterward.
First I threw up for a while in the toilet, but I was unable to stand or kneel adequately. So our catcher, Colin, threw me in the tub face first. There was some debate as to whether or not to turn the shower on, to clean me off, but it was nixed after the consensus determined I was susceptible to drowning. Instead they gave me water and attempted to force feed various snack foods into me, hoping to either soak up the alcohol or make the vomiting more interesting.
Later, I was able to regain some control over my body briefly and I staggered around the room demanding to see the surfer girl (who had fled much earlier) and then to go outside and try to work on my fastball. I also managed to throw up on both beds in the room during this interval. Animal eventually clearedd out the place leaving Colin, my catcher and guardian both on and off the field, to keep an eye on me.
I awoke at two a.m. or so, in bed with none other than Colin, who apparentlyhad been drunk enough to fall asleep with his head of my chest (fortunately we were both dressed, otherwise who knows). We immediately determined never to speak of it again and that it was time for a Denny's run.
Denny's is the place where all good drunks go to shape up, and there just happened to be one across from the hotel. We round up a group of four including Colin, Animal, Mike "Slacker", and myself. I ordered a club sandwich and a coke. When the meal arrived I wolfed down the first wedge and was working on the fries when I threw up on the plate, right at the table. I went to the restroom, and threw up there some more. At that point Mike took me back to the hotel, where we went up via the fire escape, to avoid detection by chaperones. On the way up I threw up over the side, and nearly hurtled myself down six stories, before Mike grabbed me by the neck and pulled me back. It is one of the few moments I remember. I don't recall Denny's itself, but I remember leaning over the railing, with a long trail of spit coming off me and looking down into the blackness. I remember that was the first time I ever thought about what it would be like to die.
My pitching career would come to an end in a motorcycle accident eight months later. I broke bones in three places in my left elbow and effectively shattered my hand. I was drunk then as well. Sitting in the X-ray room while they took pictures with a specialist in sports medicine poring over the results was the second time I though about what it would be like to die. Only I guess it was just little pieces that died because the rest of me is still here.
I don't think I'll drink quite so much in my next life, maybe I won't screw up quite as bad if my head's screwed on straight.

And the moral of the story is, no matter how bad you think you are, you can always make it worse when you're drunk and thinking you're making it better.

I've known a few boys like you I think, machoguys who couldn't hold their liquor. I can hold my liquor of course, even though they outweigh me by a hundred pounds or more so guess who ends up on top? Not that it matters usually. It's sort of like humping a pillow in the end so passing out is probably the most humane thing I can do.

Although I have to admit there have been many blackouts when I'd wakeup with a burning sensation in you know where and couldn't find anybody who'd own up to being the proximate cause. Cowards!!!

Of course now I realize they probably didn't remember either. I never thought of trying to match the puke DNA in my hair or pay attention to what everybody was eating before the fact.

Anyways, this is actually a problem for me because it probably means I'm a real rootintootin hardcore alcoholic and I'll either have to abstain at some point or die. And of course my genetics doesn't help if the gene racists are correct.

But what do I care, right?

I'd have to say though that if I were ever to have daughter I might mention that while jocks are really hunks with thighs to die for you've got to keep them out of the firewater, just like us.

And I would say that if I was sober.

I would have owned up to it, but I was a little before your time. I think. Don't answer that. I'm tired of realizing that I'm past my physical prime.

As far as alcoholism goes, everyone has their own journey. I think I drink still because it gives me an excuse to be weak when I am feeling to lazy to carry on. No one ever gives me a hard time when I do something stupid as long as I had a few drinks first.

But my grandparents on my mothers side were both killed by alcohol. My father out in Boston is on his last legs. My youngest sister got her first DUI last month. I have been in two accidents involving alcohol, one I wrote about, the other I don't remember except for the picture of the car they cut me out of.

You're in college so it's okay for now. It's probably the last hurrah for you where everyone will cheer on your exploits and try to out do you (or just do you...sorry that was rude). But I hope you learn to stop someday, because it is sad to watch people grow old before their time, and feel old before they had a chance to be young. Of course you can just do cocaine when you drink and you'll still feel young (that is a joke, I repeat a JOKE for all you sensitive types out there reading this. We do not encourage anyone to buy illegal drugs and indirectly fund the civil war in Columbia, supporting native tribes in their resistance against corporate backed oppressors). Sorry, about that apology , it turned into a rant.

I hope your drinking never endangers you, or puts you in circumstances you don't want to be in, because self-inflicted wounds are often the most painful to overcome. I know, because I try to forgive myself everyday for the life I have given me.

It's alright about "doing me". I've heard all the jokes already believe it or not. And been the subject of even more profane comments. Strangely it doesn't bother me, maybe because I don't consider sex that evil or sinful to begin with and can't really understand people who do.

It's just sort of a natural bodily function like defecating maybe, except you can go without sex a whole lot longer than you can go without defecating.

By the way, there's very few native tribes in Colombia. Like Argentina they solved their "native problem" years ago by genocide and assimilation. Most Colombians are probably as white as you. There's still the issue of the poor however. And how they're exploited by the US run multinationals in Colombia as elsewhere, but we needn't go into that again.

Some people say I've got a death wish. They said the same thing about my cousin I think.

I don't think it's got anything to do with wishing for death. It's more like we accept that death is part of life, the end specifically, and nobody should want to become a dangling participle. The average age of my "cultural group" is about my age so any years from here on are sort of a bonus for me anyways.

It would be nice to live long enough to bear and raise a few children but that's never a gimme.

I used to think I was going to die young. After some many moments where I should have I've actually reversed course. I don't think I will die. There is a strangely compelling force within me that refuses to check out. I think it happened around the time I realized how much I hate being alive. Once it stops being fun and turns into a monotonous chore, that's when you know you're going to be tough to kill. So maybe there's something to be said for having a death wish.
And as for sex being natural, it depends on who you're with. (Joke) No, seriously, be careful out there. Especially at your age, most guys are disease factories. Just take my word for it and don't ask. I happen to work in a neighborhood where a surprisingly large percentage of the population is HIV positive, and it is not pleasant to watch people waste away, even with the finest anti-viral drugs on earth.
You're right about the FARC, they are a bunch of white guys. Somehow I've always associated their strugle with a more nativist world. Maybe that's just the coke talking though.
If you don't mind my asking, how did your cousin die? I don't know if I told you, but my cousin was killed up in Canada last year. I get morbidly curious about the details myself. Maybe it's a side-affect of my delusions of immortality, wanting to know about death.
Anyhow, live long and name a son Nelson. It's a great, although very Anglicized, name.

Thanks for the advice. So far I've been lucky, but of course I've always been lucky which is why I've learned to cure or find things among other things. If I get a bad feeling about a guy, I usually manage to avoid prolonged intimate contact, and if that's not possible because of certain political issues aka coercion or intimidation, then I distract him with something other than what could communicate a communicable disease.

My cousin died of a cancer in the bone surrounding her inner ear that I think was brought on by the abuse she endured in Chiapas or at the hands of one of her not so gentle gorilla boyfriends. She would have been 28 last Saint Valentine's Day, had she lived. But we don't usually live very long which why most of us are my age or less.

Since we usually borrow Anglicized names anyways, I think Nelson would be just fine and I'm glad you offered it. I hope she likes it. Just kidding. I'll be sure and name the boy that not the girl.

Life as a girl, sorry, I mean woman must be scary. I have always been big and strong. Not always the biggest or strongest, but big enough to at least get my point across in violent or threatening situations. I can't imagine having to use any other resources to negotiate troubled waters. But I guess that's why you are smarter than me, an evolutionary adaptation that is a prerequisite for your continued survival. I wish I could loan you my left hook though, it is quite the conflict resolution tool.

So does cancer run in the tribes of Southern Utah. I know that you guys were in the fallout path of a lot of weapons tests throughout the 50's till the 70's. I've even heard of some lawsuits that were brought against the feds, although I confess I know little about their resolution. Maybe I am mistaken about your land of origin though. My brother was battling cancer last year, testicular cancer. I figure better him than me. He's got two kids and is done anyway, and he recovered completely. I had that tumor taken out of my chest in '01 but it was benign. Turns out the hospital was more dangerous than the growth. Just seems like a lot of us in this generation are getting sick or maybe it's just the way it works.

Glad to hear that Nelson works for you, even a daughter. Sad confession time. My nickname when I let my hair grow for a while was "Nellie Olsen" after the chick on Little House on the Prarie. Not even my left hook could stop that one. So now of course I'm buzzing my hair almost perpetually to the same length as my beard.

There's always the issue of fallout and what happens when you live downwind.

I confess I really don't think about it that much since I sort of assume I'll probably be dead before I get old enough to get cancer. It's mostly an old person's disease and I think the reason many, of whatever ethnic pursuasion, are getting it because they don't die of something else sooner. But you never know. Digging those uranium monsters out of the ground was probably not the most brilliant thing people have done.

Life's always been risky but I suspect it's probably even more risky now than it was when you just had to contend with slave raiders or trigger happy immigrants. I think it's stress that beats down your immune system or your luck and then you have to pay. That's all. Western Civilization is an expensive indulgence.

I think in most instances hospitals are more dangerous than tumors or anything else of that nature. That's part of the degeneration that's going on all around us. The world is trying to balance itself after all and because it's getting pushed more quickly it's having to push back faster too. So if the terrorists don't get you the fear will.

That Nellie Olson thing is pretty funny though. Maybe you don't think so, but it probably made you tougher just like in that silly Boy Named Sue song.

I'm sorry to hear that you've cut your hair. You know that might be the reason we're having a drought. Longhaired guys make it rain better. Buzzheads are bad luck, which is probably why the neonazis are enamoured with them.

You don't have swastikas tattooed between your knuckles do you? You don't have to answer that because I'm just kidding okay.

Anyways it's two in the morning and I think I've finally sobered up enough so that when I lay down on the bed the room won't spin. My escort is sleeping like a baby and my roommate is pissed at me for bringing home strays. Oh well.. better stop blithering and just crash or something before I fall asleep with my face in the keyboard and the computer starts beeping like it's in pain or something.

Best not to worr yabout disease I guess. Especially cancer, seeing there's not a whole lot you can do about it. Like, I said before though, I tend to obsess about pain and death. I feel almost like an expert. I think all of the various tortures that I have had inflicted on me both by chance and stupidity have shaped my personality.
By the way, my sisters to this day still call me Nellie. I think it's an attempt to draw out my more the more amicable part of my nature.
As far as the hair goes, I didn't know it was bad luck. I'm terribly superstitious. I know it's an odd trait for an athiest, but I didn't say I didn't believe in luck. Now, you've got me thinking. But I can't really stop now. About ten years ago, I had my first serious relationship fall apart, and I ended up shaving my entire body in a sort of cleansing ritual. Since then, I've semi-faithfully kept up the routine, although my facial and headhair come and go depending on the level of stress I am feeling. So maybe that's why California has so little rainfall.
As far as tattoos go, I have Anubis and Thoth tattooed on my shoulders. Two Egyptian gods,but it has to do with a personal belief about our origins based loosely on Sumerian and Egyptian myth and the intersection of an extraterrestrial origin of mankind. Everyone looks at me like I'm nuts when I explain it so I won't bother.

Extraterrestrial, huh? Well, who knows? Sometimes I think Bush comes from another planet. It's like, "Hey, GW, does everybody on your planet keep their brains in a plastic bag in the freezer or are you just weird?"