When I was in the 8th grade, I drank a fifth of Canadian whiskey*. I drank it like it was iced tea, from a big plastic cup, over the course of a few hours, at a party in a friend’s basement. Twenty-one years later, I can still picture being the bathroom that night, my vision rolling like an old television with poor reception. And twenty-one years later, I still remember how very, very, unbelievably sick I got that night (and the next day. And the next day.)