metafore e metamorfosi

[…] Hangovers also have an emotional component. Kingsley Amis, who was, in his own words, one of the foremost drunks of his time, and who wrote three books on drinking, described this phenomenon as “the metaphysical hangover”: “When that ineffable compound of depression, sadness (these two are not the same), anxiety, self-hatred, sense of failure and fear for the future begins to steal over you, start telling yourself that what you have is a hangover. . . . You have not suffered a minor brain lesion, you are not all that bad at your job, your family and friends are not leagued in a conspiracy of barely maintained silence about what a shit you are, you have not come at last to see life as it really is.” Some people are unable to convince themselves of this. Amis described the opening of Kafka’s “Metamorphosis,” with the hero discovering that he has been changed into a bug, as the best literary representation of a hangover.

The severity of a hangover depends, of course, on how much you drank the night before, but that is not the only determinant. What, besides alcohol, did you consume at that party? If you took other drugs as well, your hangover may be worse. And what kind of alcohol did you drink? In general, darker drinks, such as red wine and whiskey, have higher levels of congeners—impurities produced by the fermentation process, or added to enhance flavor—than do light-colored drinks such as white wine, gin, and vodka. The greater the congener content, the uglier the morning.A Few Too Many, The New Yorker

Titolo: Un vero americano sorride sempre. Incipit: Egli era come la nazione nella quale viveva, aveva avuto tutto troppo facilmente…dal racconto di Hubbell Gardiner/Robert Redford in “The way we were“. Sì stasera sto guardando questo film fondamentale, per l’ennesima volta, su La7 che mi ha fatto pensare (facendosi strada tra le mille questioni oziose da donnina, con annessa immedesimazione nelle Ragazze Katie) a questo articolo che avevo letto la settimana scorsa sul New Yorker. Parafrasando: L’italiano vero è in preda ai postumi di una sbornia: egli era come la nazione nella quale viveva, “When that ineffable compound of depression, sadness (these two are not the same), anxiety, self-hatred, sense of failure and fear for the future begins to steal over you, start telling yourself that what you have is a hangover. . . . You have not suffered a minor brain lesion, you are not all that bad at your job, your family and friends are not leagued in a conspiracy of barely maintained silence about what a shit you are, you have not come at last to see life as it really is.” A Few, too many.

Grazie Sydney per questo e gli altri film.

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