Is there any substance that elicits a more complex set of social consequences and reactions than alcohol? It is almost equally praised and vilified, promoted and banned, embraced and rejected.

I personally was a drunk for most of my 20s, quit drinking entirely for almost 10 years, then gradually, cautiously, and not without trepidation reintroduced "moderate" amounts of alcohol back into my diet. The old demons appear to be gone as other than two episodes - one of which was my bachelor party - I have not overindulged, nor, equally importantly, felt the urge to do so. For me personally - and apparently for the world at large - a little is good, a lot is awful. A few recent news items bear this out.

Last week, on New Year's Eve of course, the NY Times ran an article on current health opinion regarding alcohol, calling it "the sharpest double-edged sword in medicine."

Thirty years of research has convinced many experts of the health benefits of moderate drinking for some people. A drink or two a day of wine, beer or liquor is, experts say, often the single best nonprescription way to prevent heart attacks - better than a low-fat diet or weight loss, better even than vigorous exercise. Moderate drinking can help prevent strokes, amputated limbs and dementia.

But moderate drinking also comes with some health risks, such as a slightly increased risk of breast cancer in women. And heavy drinking is accompanied by a such a fearful range of illness and catastrophe that policy makers seeking to create coherent health recommendations for the use of alcohol are stymied.

Isn't use of the word "catastrophe" a bit hyperbolic? Well, no. Here's a story from yesterday's Boston Globe as an example:

It's when the shakes start, sometime after midnight or on a Sunday afternoon, that Michael McGlaulin sets out to score a bottle of ''cheap whiskey'' or what merchants call ''wine for the homeless.''

It's a stiff brew with a sharp aftertaste. But unlike other cocktails, this one has a few distinct advantages - it's among the cheapest on the market, it's available anytime, any day, and in addition to freshening breath, according to manufacturers, it helps fight gingivitis.

''I drink the big bottle every day,'' says McGlaulin, 55. He explains one recent night, while drinking on the steps of a church, that he steals it or panhandles to buy it. ''I can't stand the taste, but it carries me over; it prevents the seizures.''

In recent months, with more homeless on city streets, police say downtown convenience stores have seen a spate of thefts. The most stolen item: mouthwash. At $3.99 for a 50-ounce bottle, Listerine and similar brands pack a punch - with as much as 27 percent alcohol content, compared with about 12 percent for the typical bottle of wine. Another perk: drinking it is legal. Police can't arrest anyone for drinking mouthwash in public.

This outrage must be stopped, right? Well, maybe not:

health officials and outreach workers, who say they've seen a rise in the abuse of mouthwash by homeless alcoholics in recent years, argue it would be dangerous for stores to refuse to sell them mouthwash, especially on holidays or during the stretch between Saturday night and Monday morning when the state's liquor stores are closed.
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