Canada Day—for the naked and the clothed

Happy Canada Day, my fellow inebriates!

Don’t you wish you had this shirt today?

LB Canada Day shirt

Or maybe you don’t. Maybe, like yours truly, you’re naked.

And that’s okay.

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How one extra glass of booze can shorten your life, and why it doesn’t matter

Twitter scared the bejesus out of me today with a link to The Lancet, a somewhat more highly regarded publication than this blog, which has published a massive meta-analysis of almost 600,000 alcohol drinkers in 83 studies.

tHE lANCET HEADLINEI don’t have the attention span or the mental capacity to read a study like this, so I just scrolled through my Twitter feed, and this is what I learned:

  • Nineteen countries disagree about the ideal limit for alcohol (assuming you want optimal health, and who knows, you might not)
  • Men who drink less than 100g of alcohol per week can expect to live one to two years longer than men who drink twice that amountdrinks-2578446_960_720
  • Women who drink less than 100g of alcohol per week can expect to live 1.3 years longer than women who drink more than 100g of alcohol per week
  • Beer drinkers, spirits drinkers, and binge drinkers have the highest mortality risk
  • The ideal weekly drink limit is twice as much for men as it is for women (11 vs. 5!)
  • Exceeding the ideal weekly drink limit could shorten your lifespan by 30 minutes!!!!

So OMG, people, there’s so much to unpack here.

  • First of all, isn’t a lancet a kind of stabby thing for taking blood samples? This prestigious journal didn’t have to be named The Lancet. It could have been named Mike Tyson mysteriesThe Scalpel or The Retractor or The Bonesaw. Just saying.
  • Second, we need to move to Spain, Italy, or Portugal, where recommended drinks/week are 50 per cent higher. Whee!
  • Third, how are we to compare the findings for women and men as compacted into understandable bullet points by the Twitterverse? I mean, I only have two brain cells.
  • Fourth, wait till my mum finds out she’s not supposed to match my dad drink for drink. She’s gonna freak.
  • Fifth, we can’t binge?
  • Sixth, ummm, 30 minutes? That’s like three episodes of Mike Tyson Mysteries. Does it matter? I guess it depends whether we’re caught up on Netflix or not.

WreckSpex Zebra wood

LBHQ: The year in pictures

OMG, my fellow inebriates, I almost slept through the my anniversary. Only by accident did I even realize this daily dose of randomness is a year old. Holy crap, how did that happen?

One year ago I had no idea what this thing was going to be about. Well, sure, I knew it would be about liquor, but I didn’t even have any idea what to say. Uh, liquor is good? The picture above was my banner, then this one…

Up until the blog, scenes like this defined my life:

But as the humans around me realized I was actually going to do this blog thing for real, scenes like the one below became more the norm. This day in November is still one of the most awesome I’ve ever had. My parents’ friend Pixie gave me a bottle of Crystal Head vodka—the best breakfast ever.

I loved that bottle, even though the vodka was kind of crappy.

But vodka wasn’t the only inspirational liquid to flow into LBHQ. When I learned our liquor store was no longer carrying one of my favorite products, Broker’s Gin, I hastened to contact Broker’s and ended up making one of the best friends I’ve ever had. I know Broker’s Gin Business Development Manager Julia Gale would do anything for me, as I would for her.

While I couldn’t have my beloved gin (and still haven’t got it, although I’ve cheated on Julia with at least half a dozen other brands this year), I did have art. In January artist Dan Lacey kindly sent me a print:

Blogging ideas often came unbidden…

But it wasn’t as challenging as you might think to connect subjects to alcohol.

Still, I had other obligations at home…

I lived in terror. When I wasn’t involved in “play,” I was listening to Scarybear’s prophecies about the end of the world. And then there was Fluffy…

Harboring the ghost of my dead Granny, Fluffy had arrived recently from Ireland. Our home would never be at peace again…bumps in the night, freaky cold spots, big wads of paper jamming up the toilet. Was there nothing Fluffy wouldn’t do to terrify us?

I needed distractions.

Some distractions were good, others not so good…

I tried to account for myself.

I had projects to do. Talking a bunch of gummy bears into (accidentally) a suicide mission was just one of them. (I didn’t know they’d melt in the Bacardi Big Apple.)

Depressed, I went to my friend Blackie for help.

I don’t think he’s a real psychiatrist. He’s not supposed to laugh, is he?

Another project that did not go well. So I just tried to figure stuff out.

I learned all about colonoscopies.

But I couldn’t figure this out.

We moved headquarters in August and my parents liquidated our already meager stock.

I don’t think my mother ever cleans the sink; it tasted horrible.

I went on a deep search for wisdom. I was lost, people. Living with functioning human beings who didn’t descend nightly into a drunken binge wasn’t working for me. I needed a message—some sort of message that everything was going to be okay…

I think it’s going to be okay.

Thanks for reading, my fellow inebriates! You’ve made me so happy this past year. Let me know what you’re drinking tonight 🙂