Thursday, March 27, 2008

The Evolution of the Hangover

Inigo Thomas has written a brief History of the Hangover for Slate.

It's a nostalgic consideration of hangovers that flows so nicely that it's tempting to run out tonight and get wasted, if only to savour the consequences tomorrow.

Admittedly, I started this year with a hangover, and I got to tell you, at 32, hangovers aren't quite as they were in my 20s. Instead of relishing greasy fast food and giggling with girlfriends, I felt filled with shame, indeterminate rage, and diarrhea.

I think for me the allure of hangovers used to be the excuse for a day-off. Ten years ago, after a night of drinking, the next day would often involve a touch-base brunch with friends, where we would compare headaches, bottles of wine personally consumed, cigarettes smoked, and boys/girls we may or may not have brought back to our bachelorettes. As we chatted, spicy caesars would be devoured along with every seedy detail of our evenings. My only other plans for the day would be sleep and hours of television viewing.

My professional obligations hardly mattered. I remember working one job where the accountant would come down to my office with Advil and a glass of water and hand them over wordlessly whenever she noticed I was looking a little worse for wear. And all it took was two pills, a chicken salad sandwich and a fries with gravy (along with lots and lots of coffee) and I was ready for another night out.

These days I loathe operating with a hangover and not operating is simply not an option. My office is the last place on earth where I would ever want to smell last night's pints on my breath, and I'm no longer content to wear day-old underwear because I couldn't be bothered to do my laundry.

I also think, without having any scientific proof, that post-drinking depression hits you differently in your 30s. Instead of feeling relaxed and open-minded I get heart palpitations and feel abject despair. There's an acute awareness that not only am I aging, but I'm aging with a certain lack of grace.

Cripes. Maybe I do need a drink.

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