piccadilly kim

(originally from september 23, 2006)

Twice in my life I've regretted not drinking alcohol for art's sake. I can't say I actually really entirely regret my decisions for real life's sake, but I think I'm pretty safe sticking to art's sake. One of those times was tonight.Drinking alcohol really doesn't tempt me if someone's trying to tempt me. Then it actually works in quite the reverse, and I end up not only tempted to never drink alcohol but also to dump his on the floor when he's not looking. Accidentally, of course.

But, when no one's there to say, "oh, come on, Kim, you know you want to" (as if you knew what I wanted?!) and I'm completely free to make my own decision, I start to think, "well, hey, I am in Europe ...", a thought pattern which could really lead to all sorts of uncouth acts, but which so far hasn't brought me trouble. At least not too much.Tonight I was invited to a lovely backstage tour of Mary Poppins, followed by free wines and delicate, cut-into-fours prawn sandwiches of a terribly English persuasion. Yes, I was being wined and dined, though that exact phrase didn't register with me until the moment had passed. Luckily, in the moment I did realized that I was A. in England and B. being served delicate, cut-into-fours prawn sandwiches C. for free. I caved. I did not, however, cave for the elegant glasses of red (or white, but the red looked better, or at least more theatrical ... which could possibly be taken to mean it looks more like stage blood, but that really was not the spirit in which I originally began this sentence ...) wine. I was sorely tempted to think what a lovely D. subpoint the red wine would make (art's sake, we'll call it), but caution regarding a distinct lack of any food (besides the impending-but-not-yet-eaten prawn sandwiches) consumed throughout the day convinced me to abstain. That and a really sound stubbornness. It's hard to say which was the ultimate factor; the bottom line is simply that art lost out to reason. Enlightment conquers Romanticism. Chrysanthemums conquered by a peddlar. Pick your literary allusion of choice and we'll move on.

The other time I regret not drinking for art's sake was in Sicily. Need I say more? Free champaign, brought to my table unrequested by an Italian waitor (who incidentally claimed to be a Cambridge grad, but sadly presented no convincing credentials). It would have been arty, definitely, and undoubtably produced the most moving poem since sonnet 116. Now it ends up as a note on facebook.