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Largely attributed to the fact that I drink triple what I would readily admit to my doctor, I’ve recently set up a Google News Alert for the word “hangover.” Yes, you’re correct — it does not get more “millennial” than setting up news alerts for something as trivial as hangovers during this political climate, but I’m also someone who muted the word “Trump” on Twitter in an effort to de-politicize his online experience.
What I’ve learned since implementing this alert into my life is that university students far and wide are dedicated to finding a cure for the sickness that plagues anyone who could be defined as a “binge-drinker.” Weekly, I see that students at Harvard, Yale, and Oxford are attempting to come up with “hangover-free alcohol” or a supplement that will leave you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed upon waking up after a night of whiskey-gingers (or vodka-sodas for those of us trying to slim down).
I, myself, am under the impression that we don’t need a cure for hangovers. They’re a governor for our depraved behavior, after all. But furthermore, I’ve come up with the perfect hangover cure that doesn’t involve Alka Seltzer before bed, mixing in waters, or paying $100 at an IV bar to re-hydrate.
That cure is museums. Allow me.
Most museums are based on donations.
Emotional hangovers are nearly as bad as physical hangovers. Knowing you spent a hefty percentage of your paycheck on fleeting cocktails served in plastic cups doesn’t make anyone feel proud of themselves, and most of us squint come Sunday night when it’s time to log in and check our bank accounts.
It’s downright impossible to find cheap and inexpensive entertainment these days unless you’re living off someone else’s Amazon Prime account to watch The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel (I am). Hell, even brunch will run you a minimum of $40 once enough mimosas are shampooed in.
But what if I could tell you that for zero to five dollars you could have three hours of hangover-curing solitude? Sure, you’re that asshole who walks by the donation box with your hands in your pockets, but you’re also the asshole who fell asleep in a Kia Sorrento after last call the night before. It’s all about perspective.
Museums are absolutely silent.
My retirement from shots was not only pivotal in saving me $30 a night, but it was also instrumental when it came to removing headaches from my hungover equation. That is until I turned 30 and even sniffing an IPA made me want to take Advil.
At museums, though, you literally have attendants trolling the grounds to make sure you’re not causing a ruckus. People are walking around with Walkmans on keeping to themselves rather than having conversations with the people they’re with. And most importantly, most parents don’t dare to bring their kids to art museums for fear those little snots will tumble over an irreplaceable 11th-century Grecian bust.
There are drinking fountains everywhere.
Sure, drinking fountains won’t cure your hangover like slyly pouring a nipper of vodka into your Vitamin Water before hitting the town on Sunday, but free access to clean water in 2018 is more difficult to find than a high schooler without a Juul.
Around every turn, you can find a beautifully flowing spout that will quench your thirst at the press of a button. Whilst hungover, even toting a bottled water feels like you’re carrying the weight of the world in your hands. But in a museum? The water flows like the salmon of the Capistrano. It’s abundant and free.
They give you a false sense of being an intellectual.
Most Sundays, my brain feels like a bowl of oatmeal that had too much water added to it. Sure, it could be the Xanax, but I’d rather attribute it to the fact that I used 5 p.m. on Friday as a starting line for a race to kill every brain cell possible.
The second I surround myself with Van Goghs and Monets? Well, I might as well be having a conversation about last night’s opera while drinking sherry on the sidelines of a polo match. I’d venture to guess that 80 percent of people between the ages of 23 and 30 haven’t finished a book (fiction or non-fiction) in the last calendar year, so reading the description of a piece of artwork featuring a battle you’ve never heard of is going above and beyond the call of duty. You walk out of there feeling like you pretty much painted The Sistine Chapel in a span of three hours when in reality you just looked at a bunch of paintings while saying, “Wow, that’s craaaazy how they did that.”
You can hold it over all of your friends’ heads.
Oh, you spent your Sunday furthering your hangover and will end up feeling like shit on Monday? I went to the Picasso exhibit that leaves town next week. You’re posting Boomerangs from a brunch spot with the hashtag #strugglebus? I’m story’ing Cézannes and you don’t even know who that is. You’re falling in and out of sleep watching Parks And Rec for the umpteenth time? I’ve been sitting on a bench pretending to soak in a piece of fine art when, in reality, I’m just tired and trying to get my legs back and there are benches fucking everywhere.
Sure, I’m no better than you. But — again — it’s all about perspective. .
Respond
Will
Will (Twitter / Instagram) is the host of The Sunday Scaries Podcast.
@willdefries
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I’ve told y’all that weed is the best hangover cure, stop trying to reinvent the wheel
Just do both, man.
Smelling like Willie Nelson’s air-freshener walking through MoMA was both a high and low point in my life. Made that penis chair they had way more interesting tho.
I like the cut of your jib, fella
Pick your favorite cereal, toss it in a bowl, use a White Russian instead of milk. Hangover gone within five minutes.
so jealous of the dude in this featured image, he probably got like 800 likes on that photo
why is he wearing his 3/4 length jacket inside? was he so enthused about taking-in the art that he forgot? does he think he’s in the movie Highlander?
By the way Ricky, I watched the highlander movie it was SHIT.
I hope the photographer had the flash off
[Insert gif of Randy Jackson saying, “That’s gonna be a no for me, dawg” here]
I’m just waiting for someone to heed your advice and then projectile vomit all over a priceless painting.
Trying to look at any Dalí and other Surrealism paintings while hungover would quite the experience.
Yeah, not really my time period tbh.
They also usually have excellent bathrooms, in my experience.
You mean to tell me I can go from low culture to high culture in a span of about 10 hours sign me up
Micah & Dillon got HEATED on the TB podcast yesterday. Hope all is well.
Will, aside from when you’re waxing poetic on the worlds best movie (You’ve got mail, obviously) this is hands down my favourite thing you’ve written. #TeamMuseum
Nothing like spending a weekend morning with a throbbing headache getting judgemental looks from actually contributing members of society while you sweat alcohol in a museum and fight the urge to throw up on something that’s worth more than you have in your bank account, am I right?