This is a topic we’ve covered on our radio show a couple of times, but there is a video available over at Town Hall with an open forum for comments where the debate over the drinking age continues. I’ll share a few of my own observations, but first some of the early comments from readers for you to consider.

First, jfb1138 is squarely against it.

The problem is that young adults (17-20) alcohol cars is a deadly equation. Every spring, papers across the country are filled with the stories of the new HS grad totaling the car, killing all the young passengers. And alcohol is always a contributing factor. How about giving that age sector a choice: you can have a drinking license or a driving license, not both.

Michael sees things a different way.

If you are not mature enough to make the decision to drink at 18, then you are not mature enough to vote or join the military, etc. Either lower the drinking age, or raise to 21 the age to: vote, enlist, marry, and give consent. Lets have a truly “uniform age“

From my own ponderings and research, I tend to come down more on Michael’s side. I strongly agree with the specific point he’s making about defining the age when you are an “adult” and can do this or that, but there’s a lot more to the question. Reader jfb1138 raises a valid point which is of concern to many people. Teens have far less experience at driving in these or other complicating situations. But what gets left out of that argument is that they also have a lot less experience drinking.

If we imagine some hypothetical world where young adults between the ages of 18 and 21 were not getting access to alcohol, the first time they go out driving after their 21st birthday likely won’t turn out much differently than it would at 18. And let’s face it… a car full of drunken 21 year olds doing a header into an oak tree at 60 miles per hour isn’t far down the tragedy scale from a car full of 18 year olds. If you’re going to drink, it takes time before you really develop a sense for exactly how impaired your judgment and motor functions are following a given amount of consumption.

On the bell curve of drinking, there will always be extremes. Some young people, either through religious or family values (or perhaps a bad early experience) will decide straight away that they’re simply not going to be drinkers. Some other small portion will immediately decide that alcohol is the best thing since sliced bread and set out upon a lifetime of perpetual hangovers and praying for scientists to perfect that pig liver transplant procedure. The majority, of course, will do some early experimentation and then decide when and where it is appropriate and desirable for them to consume alcohol.

Study after study have shown us that Europe experiences lower rates of alcoholism, alcohol related diseases and drunken driving incidents. People are exposed to alcohol at a far earlier age there. One practical effect of this seems to be the removal of that forbidden fruit aspect of alcohol. When you take a teenager and tell them, “You can’t do this!” - particularly in combination with, “… but those people three years older than you can,” - the result is predictable. Early exposure and proper adult supervision and discussion may well take away the fascination.

But even with all of those more nuanced discussion points, I still find myself coming back to the point Michael was making in the beginning. If you’re old enough to put on a uniform and go die for your country… if you’re old enough to get married and spawn new children of your own… you’re probably old enough to have a beer.

While I have enjoyed writing columns here at The Moderate Voice in the short time since Joe Gandelman invited me, I feel it only fair to give warning to both the Editor and our readers that I may be moving on to a new position which could stop me from doing this. You see, I am going to be announcing my availability to accept a position with the Hillary Clinton campaign as her official Campaign Booze Adviser. With Mark Penn out of the picture, it has now become more clear than ever that the candidate is desperately in need of such services. This became obvious after Senator Clinton’s recent appearance as a booze chugging, pizza gobbling, regular old gal. While I know I’ve not been hired yet, I shall offer my first consultation to you free of charge here today.
(Photo Credit AP via CNN’s Political Ticker)

CROWN POINT, Indiana – After a day of taking shots at rival Sen. Barack Obama over his “bitter” remarks, Sen. Hillary Clinton relaxed in Crown Point, Indiana and took a shot of a different kind – Crown Royal whiskey.

Clinton was at Bronko’s Restaurant having a beer when the bartender asked, “You want a shot with that Hillary?” After some deliberation, Clinton settled on a shot of Crown Royal…

Later in the evening, the Democratic presidential hopeful also sat down and had some pizza.

CBS provides some additional detail, revealing that her beer choices were also a switch from her normal consumption style.

After a long day of campaigning Clinton was cajoled into taking a shot of Crown Royal whisky, which she sipped at first, but later threw her head back and swallowed it down. That led to a few beers and some pizza.

And although Clinton is no stranger to late night drinks with the press and her staff, she usually prefers red wine or the trendy wheat ale Blue Moon with a slice of orange, not the watery light beer in the glass mug she waved in the air so proudly as the crowd chanted her name.

Clearly the Mainstream Media is once again falling down on the job with this shoddy reporting on a critical campaign story. And this is precisely why my help is needed on the campaign, this being one of my few areas of expertise. First of all, what was the order in which the drinking took place? The two reports are clearly contradictory. Did she do a shot and then wash it down with a beer chaser? Or did she start with the beer and decide on a shot later in the session? There are meticulous pub protocols to follow here, and you don’t want to mess that up.

Second, as to the brand choices. Crown Royal? Really Hillary? Have you nobody advising you any more? To start with, you are trying to impress the “real people” in Pennsylvania and Indiana… regular, middle class Americans. Crown Royal is a Canadian whiskey. It’s also one of the more expensive of the top shelf liquors you’ll find in your average bar. I’m not saying you had to go for the well drinks, which are often just dreadful, but you could at least have asked for Jack Daniels or Jim Beam. If you simply must tick off the poor folks and drink top shelf, go with Knob Creek.

Next, a mug of “watery light beer” on tap was not terrible, but not your strongest move. Clearly the reporter has no clue about politics, since that “watery light beer” is what’s being drunk by a vast swath of the electorate. But you could still do better. Iron City or Rolling Rock would demonstrate your every-man, beer chugging credentials while scoring huge points with the Pennsylbama crowd. If you wanted a more national flavor to your image, Old Milwaukee will never steer you wrong, though frankly I think it tastes like dishwater and gives you a hangover to kill a moose. But hey… we’re going for votes here.

I don’t know how you let this information about your “normal” drinking habits get out to the press, but red wine and Blue Moon wheat ale with a slice of orange are most certainly not the way to go. Hey, I drink wine and love well crafted microbrews myself, but then I’m not running for president. Putting any sort of fruit in your beer just reminds people of the folks who drink that watered down Mexican beer with a wedge of lime in it. Not the image we’re going for, here. And wine? Now you’re just setting yourself up for the limousine liberal tag which the Republicans toss at Senator Obama endlessly. You’re going for the common man here. Stick with the beer and shots routine, but please… keep an eye on the brands!

Senator Clinton, e-mail me. (jazzshaw@gmail.com) I’ll send you my phone number, you’ll ring me up and we’ll chat. I’ll have this campaign back on its feet, albeit at a bit of a stagger, in no time flat. Plus, I’ll help you work on your left hook for those inevitable pub brawls.

Swedish company, Absolut, wants us all to drink to Mexico reconquering the entire U.S. Southwest? Interesting. I can just imagine the eyeballs of several FOXNews hosts exploding out of their sockets. Honestly, I’m not very happy to see that ad either and I’m sure many other Americans aren’t amused.

While I could hysterically call for a boycott as others have, I don’t drink, so I’m not really an authority here. I know people get hooked on a certain type of liquor and will ride it till they die. Word on the street is the mass exodus to Grey Goose is in the works. Personally, I think people are too lazy for all that boycotting stuff unless its something very important.
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“Just a moment ago we were children… Just a moment from now we awaken as elders…” **

Dear Brave Souls
I am sitting here on a snowy night in the Rockies; there’s a fire in the fireplace, it is darkest night out with a big yellow half-bellied moon hanging over the little lake we live on. I am thinking about all of you… and about thankfulness in these times we live in….

One of the things I have been thankful for in years past are the old ones in my family, in all families really, those cantankerous, odd, strange, loving, horrible, on most days loveable, “last of their kind” elders that belong to each of us.

Yet, I have been having this strange reaction now every holiday for the last 9 years, this strange reaction… when I go to a restaurant or to church and I see people with their old ones— it makes me weep.

I see people wheeling their very old folks around in wheelchairs. I see them helping them with their walkers. I see them being mostly patient and laughing with each other, toasting each other. I see the old one’s eyeglasses sparkling.

I see the elderly ladies wearing corsages. Some of the elder woman are dapper and stylish. Others have bad wigs on sideways and are in great humor. I hear the wisecracks only the truly elderly can make… and get away with.

Some old guys are dressed to the nines with cufflinks and patterned hose. I see other elderly men, having shrunk over the years, are wearing clothes that sometimes don’t fit, or fit lopsided now. But they are in good spirits for the most part, for they are with their families and are taking in the often much deserved help and regard their family members have stored up for them

…including all the little children getting and giving hugs, sometimes acting up, but overall, just being children, lovely children, or sullen teenagers, or intense souls, including ‘brand new with the owner’s manual’ young adults… everyone pretty much just as they are, in this ‘non-father-knows-best’ world.

The Family Thrall/ Brawl

In my family it’s not been so Norman Rockwell though. More like Rube Goldberg under siege… every holiday, wedding and funeral has to last at least three days otherwise our family would have been destroyed long ago…
–the first day everyone so happy to see each other;
–the second day WWIII breaks out, often on several fronts… in the kitchen, at the card table, out back;
–the third day is for making up and meaning it. Mostly. At least until provoked again.

Some of us who hosted these triathlon holidays ran around like zombie-maniacs with food and drink constantly appearing from our hands.
–We tried to not let Uncle Luis bring up that subject again in the presences of his brother
– tried to quarantine Aunt Izzy so she and her ex wouldn’t be in the same room together
– kept count of the liquor bottles to make sure the young cousins weren’t sneaking a magnum out into the woods and coming back with ‘the smile of Zendo-khan’ on their mugs
– took the role of caterer and cop, shrink for the troubled, schmata for the weeping.

Thus, we kitchen slaves always thought holidays and celebrations really needed a fourth and fifth day too… for us to recover from our 13th nervous breakdown… that came from that deeply ingrained ethnic tradition of trying to keep everyone happy– not only because we try to be gracious, but because if they fight, it’s your fault. “Remember Thanksgiving 1977 when we were at Rose’s and she let Skinny and Sal tear each other apart?”

Sobriety Ain’t for Sissies

Several years ago when my adoptive mother passed away, my elderly adoptive father came to live with us. He was 86 at the time. An immigrant from the old country, he brought his village life and values to America, including the idea that women were to serve men, and that men were supposed to demand that. Read the rest of this entry »

Perhaps you grew up in a small town like I did. I keep up with the local newspaper even though I no longer live in that little still semi-rural backwoods burg, population 600, with a struggling city nearby that is still going through the tailings of its own version of ‘the rust belt.’

You might remember my article about the good old guy who made tin can scarecrows and drove around with them in the front and back seats, delivering them to various small truck farmers. He got stopped on the toll road for carrying too many passengers at one time (all the scarecrows had hats on their 5 pound bucket heads.)

You probably remember the recipe from my hometown newspaper for fresh-ground black pepper oatmeal to strengthen your health, and the advice on how to pick the blueberries before the birds do, and how soybeans are down, but corn is up.

You might remember too about the sad parents this summer who lost their children when the kids dove from the jetties into Lake Michigan and hit sand bars instead open water, breaking their necks and dying. The legislature is thinking of banning diving from jetties. Since I was a child, every summer there have been deaths from jetty diving by people who don’t know the ways of big water and rush into it all too soon.

Also this time of year, for decades beginning in the 1930s, townspeople who had made the 200 mile round trip to Chicago often brought back this one issue of the Chicago Trib for these two pictures (see the masthead of this article) of Indian Summer that ran every October without fail… up until a couple years ago.

The artist of “Indian Summer” was an Irishman born in the late 1800s, name: John McClutcheon. My dad couldn’t read, but he always thought he could ‘read’ pictures out loud. It took me years …until I learned to read in grade school… to realize that Dad was making up the dialogue to the Sunday ‘funny papers’ when he ‘read’ them to me.

He did the same for these two pictures of “Indian Summer” that ran in the Trib every year. For years I thought he was reading the words under the picture. But, he wasnt. He was making it up out of whole cloth.

This is what he ‘read’ to me: He said that long ago, new people came to this land, the wood and lakelands, but there were already people here, an old old people. The original people were called Indians. Just like in Hungary which had been run over by Huns, Hapsburgs, Turks and others over the centuries, Dad said the Indians were run over too. Run over and run over til there were hardly any left.

But, he said, like the Hungarians, the Indians knew corn and wheat. The Indians knew about seeds and trees and important things like about singing and dancing and drinking and smoking. They knew about the best of life, hunting and gambling and music and love of horses… that Indians were just exactly like Hungarians, good people.

Dad would point to these two colored pictures in the Chicago Trib (a full-color picture in a newspaper back then was a wondrous thing) and say that we just had to see that no one can wipe out a people like that. They come back. People who love and live like that… You cannot kill them. They come back.

See, he’d say, there are the corn stalks all tied together, but really, the spirit of the corn is the true home for people all across the world. The simple seed keeps even poor people alive. The seed is the thing that makes ten of itself for every one of it you plant. All you need is one seed, to keep coming back and back.

That’s how Dad ‘read’ the pictures to me.

Tonight as I was writing this for you, I wondered why the Chi Trib wasn’t running “Indian Summer” any more. In my research I found that some thought the story that had traditionally accompanied the two pictures, was racist.

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The best diagnostic clues may come from the Freedom of Information Act. I have been reading de-classified documents from the CIA about Iraq this week. The docs reach back to before the time Saddam murdered his way into power…

…so far back in fact that Saddam’s name is spelled Hussyn, and so far back that the writer of some of the documents called him Saddam Tikriti, Tikriti used as his surname, the writer seeming not to realize Tikriti was the name of both Saddam’s tribal affiliation and home place; and as such, is attached at the end of everyone’s name who is from that tribe, sort of as if after our surnames, also was tacked on the name, “Usa.”

Nonetheless, it was breathtaking to see that Iraq was in the 20th century a constitutional republic that was hijacked, that Britain had once occupied the entire area and still had an interest in Iraq via Tony Blair, that this was not a new and sudden interest, but an old exploitative one of memory

… and that in the old moldering war between Iraq and Iran, the USA took up with Iraq, befriended Saddam, even though the CIA records from that time clearly provided more than one report that Saddam was vicious and unreliable and had closed out, exiled or murdered any who didn’t agree with him or threatened him. A template of a dictator…

According to the CIA top secret reports now declassified, still with some blobs of black Magic Marker purporting to shield names… although any person who can draw a psychological “complete-this-picture-test” can, more than half the time guess what lies under the black blot. It is clear from the documents that the USA has an 8 decade long, at least, history of sleeping around in the mideast, first this side, then the other, with thus far, no lasting fealty.

Then we come to the present, to one of the strangest CIA documents declassified that tells in some detail, if one were so inclined, how to smuggle any number of things and people and parts through in port containers. It is right there in black and soiled white on the page

… and so also, are continuous reports on Syria, Saudi Arabia, and other mideast countries, reports that say in essence, not about the most often good citizens per se, but about those in power over the citizens… ‘unstable,’ ‘unreliable processes,’ ‘old religious avengings expected to go on yet for decades,’ ‘egregious harm to large numbers of minorities,’ ‘known terrorism groups’ in each country..;. and one wonders how George Bush could ever have considered selling management of US ports to mideast interests. Doesn’t anyone read the CIA documentations to him, those clear documents that advise, have advised for decades now, to the exact contrary?

What is the psychology of a President who doesn’t read his own Intelligence arm’s classified or declassified documents about the very country he is waging war on/for… Why doesn’t he have an astute reader who reads for him? What is his psychology anyway?

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John Darkow, Columbia Daily Tribune, Missouri

This Entertainment Tonight video clip of an apparently intoxicated David Hasselhoff shot by his daughter has received nearly 1,000,000 views so far on You Tube:

This shows the “synergistic” nature now of the “old media” and the new media. In addition to being on You Tube, it’s also posted www.TheInsiderOnline.com

PS, Mr. H: This video is probably not a positive career move…

UPDATE: This Extra Exclusives shows a bit more — and puts it into a more more enlightening perspective:

But sometimes people do make mistakes.

When in Russia, avoid the samogon. With Putin having tripled the price of vodka while in office, Russians have been turning to this black market moonshine as an alcohol-delivering alternative. As the BBC reports, however, samogon is also called “the yellow death,” and for good reason. Drinkers of samogon — which the BBC correspondent says has a bouquet of “rocket fuel with a touch of boot polish” and which may contain a medical disinfectant as an additive — turn “a vile shade of yellow,” succumb to liver disease, and, in some cases, die. Some estimate as many as “10,000 poison cases and 1,000 dead” around the country.

An interesting and horrifying glimpse into the other Russia.

The European Union loves to regulate. And now — it’s all about vodka.

(I think I’m with the Scandinavians and Eastern Europeans on this one. But that’s probably because I prefer Scandinavian and Eastern European vodka. Which is to say, I prefer vodka, not “vodka”. I mean, there have to be clear standards, right?)