Typing under the influence
Har Mar Superstar had a hit in Australia a few years ago called DUI (Dialing Under the Influence) describing when you go out, have a few and suddenly making that phone call to that person seems like a good idea.
I have only ever submitted to DUI once which resulted in a neat break-up dragging on for another few months. From that I learned quickly, alcohol and phones do not good bed fellows make. However, the unhappy combination of broadband and booze is a lesson I seem destined to repeat.
So, last night I met up with a few friends at my local for a few quiet drinks and a meal to debrief about my trip to Egypt and forthcoming trip to Spain. Admittedly I am a cheap drunk, always have been, always will be, but none the less as soon as I go out I forget this fact and drink like a hard core mariner; invariably resulting in me getting shamefully legless in a very short period of time.
Despite thinking I'd managed to keep myself tidy, as I staggered home hours later, the reality of how cut I was became evident.
When I got home I discovered I’d left a candle burning, which had melted the plastic casing on my TV and that nasty toxic stench of melted plastic was permeating everything. So, substantially drunk, doped up on cold medication and sitting in a room of toxic burnt plastic fumes, obviously I thought the thing to do was to fire up my laptop and jump on line.
I unfortunately do have a long history of doing this. I vividly remember, mostly because my mates remind me regularly, an evening in Sydney where I spent a large portion of the evening with a bottle of vodka, my cat and my desktop.
People filed into work the next day to find their inboxes filled with the progressive history of my drunkenness, starting off with a few typos, and ending up with a message where I assume I place my fingers on the wrong keys and typed merrily away for about 5 paragraphs. The final product being a perfectly constructed and punctuated email of total gibberish that contains no actual words at all, just a series of letters and spaces mangled together in a sort of faux hieroglyphic structure.
I have no idea why it is that everything you think between midnight and 4am when you’re pissed is not only hilarious, but must be shared with many people.
When I woke up this morning, hangover pounding like a jack hammer, saw the debris of clothes and shoes littering my bedroom, and some bemused emails from mates in my inbox, it all came flooding back to me. And then I checked my sent items folder. Yep, emailing under the influence had again been committed.
To one friend I sent a message that can only be described as bordering on deranged stalking; to another a message describing how easily total world domination can be achieved; and to a third a cunning, cunning plan was hatched that in the cold harsh light of my hangover was in fact, neither cunning nor a plan.
At least when you dial under the influence there is no permanent record of your drunken insanity. I, on the other hand, have not only put my drunken ramblings in writing (although I do maintain my position on total world domination) but have sent them out to 20 people, who in turn send them onto others…
One of those posh car companies (Audi or BMW or someone) was recently talking about having some kind of alcohol reader in the car, so that the car would not start if the driver was over the limit. (I think this I true… it may have just been part of my drunken dreams last night.) After last night’s efforts I am in favour of alcohol readers on computers.
I have only ever submitted to DUI once which resulted in a neat break-up dragging on for another few months. From that I learned quickly, alcohol and phones do not good bed fellows make. However, the unhappy combination of broadband and booze is a lesson I seem destined to repeat.
So, last night I met up with a few friends at my local for a few quiet drinks and a meal to debrief about my trip to Egypt and forthcoming trip to Spain. Admittedly I am a cheap drunk, always have been, always will be, but none the less as soon as I go out I forget this fact and drink like a hard core mariner; invariably resulting in me getting shamefully legless in a very short period of time.
Despite thinking I'd managed to keep myself tidy, as I staggered home hours later, the reality of how cut I was became evident.
When I got home I discovered I’d left a candle burning, which had melted the plastic casing on my TV and that nasty toxic stench of melted plastic was permeating everything. So, substantially drunk, doped up on cold medication and sitting in a room of toxic burnt plastic fumes, obviously I thought the thing to do was to fire up my laptop and jump on line.
I unfortunately do have a long history of doing this. I vividly remember, mostly because my mates remind me regularly, an evening in Sydney where I spent a large portion of the evening with a bottle of vodka, my cat and my desktop.
People filed into work the next day to find their inboxes filled with the progressive history of my drunkenness, starting off with a few typos, and ending up with a message where I assume I place my fingers on the wrong keys and typed merrily away for about 5 paragraphs. The final product being a perfectly constructed and punctuated email of total gibberish that contains no actual words at all, just a series of letters and spaces mangled together in a sort of faux hieroglyphic structure.
I have no idea why it is that everything you think between midnight and 4am when you’re pissed is not only hilarious, but must be shared with many people.
When I woke up this morning, hangover pounding like a jack hammer, saw the debris of clothes and shoes littering my bedroom, and some bemused emails from mates in my inbox, it all came flooding back to me. And then I checked my sent items folder. Yep, emailing under the influence had again been committed.
To one friend I sent a message that can only be described as bordering on deranged stalking; to another a message describing how easily total world domination can be achieved; and to a third a cunning, cunning plan was hatched that in the cold harsh light of my hangover was in fact, neither cunning nor a plan.
At least when you dial under the influence there is no permanent record of your drunken insanity. I, on the other hand, have not only put my drunken ramblings in writing (although I do maintain my position on total world domination) but have sent them out to 20 people, who in turn send them onto others…
One of those posh car companies (Audi or BMW or someone) was recently talking about having some kind of alcohol reader in the car, so that the car would not start if the driver was over the limit. (I think this I true… it may have just been part of my drunken dreams last night.) After last night’s efforts I am in favour of alcohol readers on computers.
Movies and Life
But like you said, it's better than the cold truth of a sent email. ...