Tapping my inner Michelangelo

I am up far too early on a Saturday, thanks to an exuberant puppy who was too well rested to let her mama sleep in. I could be doing something productive with this time, but those who know me understand that I am not functional before 10 a.m. (And that's an improvement from the old days!) So I did a load of dishes, sent out some school-related e-mails, and am now curled up in my new jammies and looking for an amusing way to procrastinate.

Enter: drunken painting.

Turns out Alabamans relax by purchasing cheap wine and doing Monet impersonations. When I visited this summer, I thought I'd give it a whirl. (The painting, not the drinking.) There is a nifty little business called Sips n Strokes. You arrive with a beverage of your choosing and check your artistic insecurity with the coat girl. You are commissioned a small set of brushes, a cardboard palette (with stern instructions to start with no more than two pumps of each color) and - the piece de resistance - your own paint-splattered smock or apron worn by the last 200 tipsy customers who regretted not spending more of their youth at renaissance festivals or hookah lounges.

Our task: paint a ballerina. No men showed up for this particular lesson, though I'm assured they do attend when the image is less threatening to their masculinity. There were about 15 women stationed at long tables and small, tabletop easels with white canvases. The instructor demonstrated each step in the evolution of the ballerina, and surprisingly enough, four hours later there were a couple dozen rosy-cheeked artists proudly displaying 15 very distinct bipeds in tutus.

I think the Alabamans are onto something.