By Mariana Schneider
Why the hell can’t I like wine?
This could very well be only my problem, obviously. I have numerous friends who go through a Malbec in a heartbeat – pairing it with a meal or in solo career – though they are admittedly beer people. My dad, for instance, who is my number 1 drinking buddy, has been drinking wine every day for the past 20 years. Cardiologists recommend it, and so do geriatric physicians.
But me? I get shivers down my spine just from the smell. This aversion to the beverage is very likely a result of my teenage binge drinking times that usually involved some very satanical and cheap specimen of it alongside colossal lacking of common sense. And so it is that in all the years that have passed since, the trauma is still alive in me and so are the half memories of throwing up different shades of red.
Well, so far so good, I guess. I mean, nobody has to like everything. Personally I find pineapples as a pizza topping a freakish abomination. And vanilla flavored ice cream just a damn waste of calories. But yesterday, as I was (again) engaging on yet another movie/ tv shows marathon, I was faced with a very old and played out situation. I cannot be the only one who has noticed that both on television and in real life there is a `glamorization` of wine.
The typical consumer is slim and delicately sips the drink out of beautiful and sparkly clean glasses, they are refined and sophisticated, have good posture and hardly ever do stupid drunken shit. Not that this is a rule, but it almost works as a cultural imposition. And then you cut to movies live Beer Fest or Old School or even me drinking beer from the bottle wearing sweatpants and not having brushed my hair in a while and the glamour is gone. The image of the brew drinker is usually that of an overweight troglodyte with drool stains on his tee, talking shit out of his elbows and having very embarrassing and frequent `I love you, brah` moments. And to be honest, it is more often than not a realistic concept.
Personally, I have done my fair share of dumb, non chic things while intoxicated with beer. I have burped aloud for the whole world to hear, used the foulest words of my native and second language, punched complete strangers, told good friends to go fuck themselves, pissed my pants on the way to the bathroom, barfed in public, broke a number of high heels and trashed countless pantyhose, ruined friendships and so on.
It obviously is a bad combination of stupid amounts of alcohol (not necessarily beer, but it happens to me my drug of choice) and being completely unscrupulous as far as good judgement goes. Still, in the oenophile stereotype fed to us, that kind of behavior is completely atypical coming from them while highly expected out of us beer drinking brutes. Is that unjust? Maybe.
Even so, this `myth`has made me stop to think on occasion that maybe my life could have been different if I were into wine. Maybe I`d be successful? Maybe I`d have a tiny waist, porcelain skin and luscious hair. Would I know a lot about art and play the lute in my free time? Have endless candlelit discussions about that demented fuck Freud in soirees shared with my multi cultural beret wearing friends? Maybe I`d have a pet ferret and find myself a handsome husband who would help me bring up bright children who would eventually cure cancer. Maybe I`d even like Woody Allen and understand why Adele wins awards.
And you know, part of this could easily be true for us malt fans when considering the New Wave of Beer Hipsters that are swarming the world with flannel and beard grooming stuff. I mean, those fuckers are fancy, wearing scarves even in hellish temperatures and inventing eye sight problems just so they can wear glasses with big frames.
The snobs, the ones trying damn hard to take the fun out of beer. You know them, hell, you might even be one of them. The wine-people of the beer world. Are they the counterpart to the loud and sloppy drunk? Or maybe the grape juice drinkers that joined the brew side of the force after realizing it is so much better and more enigmatic than wine. Matters not, they are not really a standard. To the world we still are dirty, poorly mannered and we pee every 10 minutes. And you know what? I fucking love it.
The fact that our scene is so laid back is what made me fall in love with it in the first place. Let`s all get together for brews while wearing shorts, flip flops and no make up. Why not? And who cares you burped, it`s a healthy follow up part of ingesting liquids. And we didn`t come here to impress none of you people anyways, but to be impressed by beer instead. And we want to have fun, damnit.
The complicity and camaraderie among us beer drinkers is undeniable, we bond instantly and we have the most delicious drink ever at our side (or in our insides). What else could we want? Maybe a bigger bladder or a hemodyalisis machine, but let`s not get caught up on small details.
Anyways, I think we should accept who we are and honor the badge. If you are OCD and drink your whisky every night at 21:35 sharp while reading Nietsche, that`s great. If you love beer, eat a ton of peanuts, listen to 80s metal, appreciate the unrefined beauty of nonsensical drunken sex and find reasons to make a toast with your new best friends every 17 minutes, then so be it.
Let us be ourselves. Let us be true, let us be fun, let us be whatever we want and let us be beer lovers. And let us always have good reasons to drink and good people to share our brews with. For life is damn long and there is no reason why we should endure it thirsty and sober.