As a card-carrying journalist, I felt compelled to report firsthand on the age-defying theory presented in the previous post. And as an advocate of immersion journalism -- sort of like method acting for reporters -- there’s only one way for me to truly test beer’s health benefits. Here are my notes, as best I can decipher them a day later:
5 p.m.: Open a bottle of Bass ale to go along with dinner, which consists of a sandwich and reduced-fat Ruffles. We normally eat better, but preparations for this experiment ate into meal prep time. In other words, I took too long at the convenience store. The beer does nicely compliment the dish. Yes, I decide, it’s the perfect beverage to accompany a meal of bread (oh hell, it’s not even wheat!), lettuce, tomato, avocado and stale potato chips. Midway through the repast, I ponder: Does 12 ounces truly constitute a “tall one”? Hmmm, let me drink about it.
5:40 p.m.: My “long tall cool” glass of water as the backup beverage is largely ignored in favor of a second bottle of Bass. Yeah, I know experts recommend no more than one per day for women, but we all know the media never get facts right.
6:10 p.m.: Phone rings. After almost 5 minutes, I finally realize who I am talking to; however, my contributions to the conversation remain questionable. If only the caller had asked for my advice on some Web issues one bottle before, I secretly lament.
6:40 p.m.: Crap! I missed Pilates class again.
6:45: Twenty-four carbonated ounces down. I feel better about myself at this moment. I do I do I do. I feel so good, in fact, that I’m willing to watch yet another CSI rerun to keep the marital TV treaty intact. And when I am annoyed by a certain spouse switching between CSI and Law & Order, I don’t blurt out who did it or mention the upcoming plot twists -- on either show. Not only that, but when the toggling continues nonstop between CSI, People’s Court, American Chopper and the Red Sox game, I say nothing -- nada -- over how we both missed the critical clue that explains why the heck the vice principal did it…Oh wait, that was the last hour’s episode. What’d I miss here?
7 p.m.: Oh, what the heck -- hand me another bottle.
7:30 p.m.: And another, please.
8:45 p.m.: Man (burp) am I getting tired… What, it’s really 7:45?! No way. I’m not buying it.
[Time Not Noted:] You know, this trend has long-term potential. Certainly it ranks right up there with my extended merlot run during those heady cholesterol-reduction days
8-9 p.m.: Go to the fridge to find no more bottles. With a beer buzz going strong, I lose myself in the season finale of the reality TV show The Cut. I’m glad Princess got her ass kicked to the curb. I didn’t like her attitude.
Soon as it’s over, so am I. My note-taking and my memory are shot. My husband’s taken back control of the remote, mumbling something about the dangers of sipping and channel surfing. My head starts pounding as soon as it hits the pillow. My heart pounds too, realizing I need to sober up soon if I’m to wake for work on time. I drift off, dreaming of a younger me.
3 comments:
These were "light" right?? I hate to see how many hours you need to run in order to purge the extra calories; lets see 10 minutes equal about 100 calories, then again...it was in liquid form. I am sure that a couple of whizzes later, all was well with the world.
what the heck.....
Now we know what CSI stands for...Certain Spouse Interruptions.
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