Barack drinks beer at Wizards game. BURN HIM!!

Just read an interesting little blurb on BA. Apparently Barack Obama was criticized on talk radio for drinking beer at an NBA game. Let's paraphrase and deconstruct:

"The President is the president 24 hours a day. He shouldn't be drinking on the job."

First of all, if I was the President in this economy and with the state of our international affairs, you bet your sweet tuckus I'd be taking some time out to watch a game and slug a brewski. Second of all, if it's a 24-hour job, shouldn't we be criticizing him for sleeping on the job, too? Third, are we really suggesting that the President of the United States of America shouldn't ever have a beer, or any other alcoholic beverage for that matter, at any point during his tenure? Where were you, anonymous caller, when Dubya was stealing sips from Laura? Or when Bill was enjoying a post-coital refreshment? Or when Reagan gave the peace sign to sobriety?

"There are people out there struggling to keep their heads above water, and the President is relaxing, drinking a beer."

This guy has done more for this country in the first six weeks of office than I will ever do in my lifetime. I drink my share of beer. (Hic.) Obama can have one of mine. In fact, he can have one on me. I'm going to send that guy a check for $5.

Look, I'm not saying it's okay for the man to get plastered in public. But before being the President, Barack Obama is a citizen of this great country of ours. That means he's free to do things like enjoy a Bud at a sporting event just like every good American can (and should) do. Hell, if he didn't go out and do things like this, I'm not even sure I'd want the guy as my President. That's why I didn't vote for Hillary in the primaries: forget whether or not I would have a beer with the Cheif of Staff -- I'm not sure she would have a drink if I asked her!

Who are these holier-than-thous who pretend like our President isn't human? Should we criticize him for eating a roast beef sandwich when thousands upon thousands of people in this country are starving? Should we criticize him for taking off his jacket in the Oval Office when so many Americans go without heat? For smiling when so many are sad? For listening when so many are deaf? For living when so many have died? Really, what the hell are we asking of our President, if not to be one of us? We want a President to act with prudence and wisdom, to be prepared to defend his people with the very last of his strength. And if he needs to chill at a game with his buds and a Bud to recharge the batteries, I say God bless.

But next time, Mr. President, buy a better beer.

The Beginnings of a Theory...

I've been doing a lot of thinking lately about the rather sudden influx of underage drinking in my little niche of Massachusetts. It's not that high-schoolers getting bombed is something new, it's just that it seems to be happening more frequently around these parts. Now, I'll preface this by saying I have a very close minor acquaintance (we'll call him Steve) who was arrested on bogus OUI charges -- he wasn't drunk, he was in a driveway, and he wasn't even in the car when the cop pulled up -- so I'm of the opinion that law enforcement in this area is a little trigger-happy, but that's just me.

That's not the point. The point is that Steve is smart about drinking. He doesn't go out and get bombed with his friends. More often than not, he's the designated driver when he and his friends hit up a string of house parties. He enjoys cracking open the occasional cold one, and enjoys -- for the most part -- responsibly.

Now, Steve is turning 19 in May. He grew up in a house and among friends who have always appreciated alcohol, especially beer, for all of its delicious goodness. As such he was taught to drink, but to drink slowly and appreciatively the same way you'd savor a piece of flourless chocolate cake the night before you started a diet.

Still, as a society we have decided that it's not okay to allow minors to purchase or consume alcohol. My question is, why? I don't want to get into a conversation about changing the drinking age here; rather, I'd like to examine why it is we feel that people under the age of 21 shouldn't buy alcohol.

It seems as though the commonly held belief is that alcohol makes minors do bad things. While it is true that alcohol has the potential to alter behavior and judgement capabilities, it is not the alcohol that seems to be the problem here, but the person consuming it. When we talk about the dangers of underage drinking, for example, we're not talking about the act of drinking being bad, but rather the irresponsible acts that so often go along with underage drinking in America.

So if we're looking to solve the problem of underage drinking, the solution can't possibly be increased punishment for minors caught with alcohol, or minors caught under the influence, or adult hosts to underage drinkers, or package stores who unwittingly sell alcohol to minors, etc. Instead, a solution would have to contain at its core a message of responsibility. This involves implementing alcohol awareness programs that do not preach abstinence as so many ineffective sex-ed programs do, but rather responsibility.

After all, we're not going to stop kids from drinking. But we can stop kids from drinking irresponsibly.

Doyle Displaced

This man is my hero.

And the company he works for just laid him off.

I don't care how revered Cheers is, how long the bar (once the Bull and Finch) has been around in Boston. When you cut loose the iconic figurehead of your establishment, you thumb your nose at your history, your loyal patrons, your staff, and people who appreciate good men who work hard for themselves and for others.

This man is Eddie Doyle. Eddie is the founder and driving force behind Cheers for Children, which he created in 1980. Eddie has been behind the bar at Cheers for more than 30 years. He is in possession of the single biggest heart in recorded human history. The depth of this man's character is unprecedented. Few men have done more for the town of Boston -- for the children of Boston -- than Eddie.

Eddie is the heart and soul of Cheers. His absence will leave the once iconic beer-lover's destination nothing more than an empty husk haunted by memories of the people who made it the landmark that it is.

I never thought that I'd see the day when the characteristically warm and inviting pub scene in Boston would wield the headhunter's axe so brutally. It is a disgrace to beer-lovers everywhere that Eddie has been ousted. The world has changed, and Eddie -- one of the last vestiges of common decency and genuine unconditional affection left in the world -- has been claimed by the ugliest and most embarrassing display of corporate profiteering to which I have ever borne witness.

Maybe Cheers will survive this economic downturn, but if they do, the only reason I'll be going back is to piss on the stairs.

I encourage you all to voice your displeasure. Email Gail Richman at grichman@cheersboston.com and let her know exactly how upset you are that such an iconic figure in Boston's beer culture has been turned out like a stray dog.

I love you, Eddie. Things won't be the same without you.

Evicting the monkey from his loft on my back

I quit smoking today.

Actually, I quit smoking on the 6th, the day after my birthday. Why should I be 25 and a smoker, after all? It's not like I smoked a lot -- there was a point where I was up to a pack a day, but that was maybe two years ago. I was around a half-pack. And over the past two days I've been weaning myself off of them, ignoring urges and becoming increasingly irritable until my girlfriend forced me outside with a Parliament Light and told me not to come back in until I had dosed myself and mellowed out a bit. Four on the 6th, three yesterday.

Today I'm on a patch. I won't say which one, because if it fails I'll say terrible, awful things about it mostly as a result of my own self-loathing and completely devoid of any objective reasoning at all. And the company doesn't deserve a non-objective review, though as for that I'm not really planning on going into detail about the merits of smoking cessation aids. You don't care about that. In fact, I don't expect you, dear reader, to care at all about my smoking habit at all.

I'm supplementing the patch with sunflower seeds to quell my oral fixation, resuming a torrid love affair with the little crunchy pellets that has been on-again-off-again since I was an eight-year old in ridiculously tight Westborough Little League uniform. There's nothing in the world quite as nostalgia-inducing as a cheekful of seeds.

So far so good. I muscled through a couple of early-morning cravings (I have to relearn how to drink coffee without smoking, but I've started tasting coffee again, which, I've come to realize, I adore when served strong and black), and finally slapped on the patch around noon. I've got a little plastic cup half-full of slimy black seed casings, and after the initial clawing itch of the patch subsided, so did my cravings.

They say beer will start tasting better once I've kicked the habit. Dead taste buds regenerate after 10 days, which means that on the 18th (two days before Extreme Beer Fest) I'll have a mouth full of tiny pleasure receptors ready to analyze the biggest, most complex beers the world has to offer. Color me excited.

See, I don't want to brag, but I think I have a pretty damned good palate. Blame my parents, who had no reservations about serving me wine with dinner at the age of 14, true to my father's French (and, more recently, Acadian) roots. I can't imagine beer tasting better than it already does. I hotly await my forays into the brand new world of uninhibited craft beer flavor.

Wish me luck.