It’s Babbling Day. You know, like most people, I was long under the impression that I didn’t babble, not even when I was deep into my cups. Then, about ten years ago, I got into the habit of taking a digital voice-recorder with me on my nights out. I’d turn it on, slip it into my shirt pocket, and forget about it. I was under the impression that I was laying down a lot of wisdom while I was loaded, and I didn’t want to miss out on any of those golden nuggets. As you might guess, I soon divorced myself of that habit. Babbling was the least of it. That machine was pure evil. Come morning, you find yourself cringing with abject horror before that tiny digital spy, punctuating its merciless squawking with great shouts of “Good God, no!”, “Holy crap, did I really say that?” and “Well, I can never go back to that bar again.” It took all my brilliant soliloquies and profound utterances and twisted them into insane blithering. So just accept that you might babble a little when you’re drunk. Trust me, you don’t want to dig any deeper than that.