The Gas and The Clutch

Housecoat Diaries

Faced with ever-growing pressure from the liquor industry to party one’s ass off in response to the global economic crisis, self-discipline is more important than ever for the easily suggestible drinker/

How do you balance the need to keep the good times rolling with a reasonable stake in your own personal well-being? The answer is simple, of course: rest. Once again - surprise - the housecoat is both the medium and the message.

I always remember the words stamped on concert tickets back in the heyday - NO PASS OUT PRIVILEGES. I used to take that to mean that if you passed out at the show, you had to leave, so I was always careful not to completely overdo it (although I did come awfully close at the August One stadium show in 1980). I’m still not exactly sure what that phrase officially means - maybe you weren’t allowed to share your ticket stub - but I like my version of it, because it helped me to define my limits.

It’s pretty easy to get carried away with goin’ at it, gettin’ right, givin’ ‘er, lettin’ ‘er buck, livin’ the dream, losin’ the blues, blowin’ your wad, wonderin’ wha’ happen, and whatever else you do for kicks. But there’s also the slight matter of life not really being a sit-com (no matter how silly it may often be), and the reality that we don’t all go into suspended animation at the end of every episode (though I think we should).

The point I am trying to perpetrate is that of the gas and the clutch: you’ll blow your engine way before its time unless you shift gears when necessary. And there’s no better way to ease the old transmission than to take a nap. And, then, when you’re done your nap, don’t go rushing right back into things. Slip into a pleasant and loose-fitting garment and just putter about for awhile.

I was recently fairly lit up on promotional products, and going off about how I could accommodate all the partying needs of others, when concerned consumers advised me that if I did nothing, I was most likely to accomplish my goal. You see, trying to over-facilitate good times just creates stress. And stress is definitely not the goal any self-respecting partier should set out for themselves, no matter how much Bud Light Lime you’re told to suck back.

Now, don’t get me wrong here. I am just as keen as the next guy to spread the bourbon around. I just think that that little inner voice inside your mouth that says “Uh oh,” should be given a bit more due. And that can be pretty challenging when you’ve got a belly full of fucked up and a mind full of fuck all.

I think it’s advisable for the most advertising-susceptible drinkers to wear a housecoat at all times in order to establish a rhythm of either just getting out of bed or just getting back in. Once you develop a pattern of not spending too much time on your feet, you’ll easily slide into a habit of spending less of your money on over-advertised booze.

Stay sleepy, my friends.