So It Begins

I’m several hours into a 17-day work trip that will, if all goes according to plan, have me in New York City for the next six days and London for the eleven that follow then back to The Bay just in time to miss Bevan’s 64th.

Although job things will likely dominate the majority of my next two point five weeks I have hopes of breaking bread with faraway friends, seeing a show or two and, if my schedule permits, popping to Paris for a day.

I hadn’t planned to drink on this flight but it got delayed a couple of times and Alaska Airlines plopped me into first and it’s a bit bumpy above my country at the moment so a free, heart healthy glass of Cab I shall have!

Note: The photo above is for Maureen, if she’s reading, ‘cause, you know.

One Damn Lucky Mess

This evening, after working hours, Laura and I trekked back to our Covent Garden flat in a downpour-turned-snowstorm where we hopped out of wet clothes and into an uberX that dropped us at Balans Soho Society for food and then Comptons for drinks and now, in a bed brought to me by Airbnb, I’m recalling how throughout the night I kept thinking thoughts like “I’ve eaten at this restaurant with my dad.” and “I’ve imbibed at that bar with my friend Bryan.” and “Lauren and I danced at this club.” and the sheer fact that I have mucho crazy-go-happy memories with loved ones in mother-fucking London is yet another reminder that I lead one damn lucky mess of a life.

40 Before 40: Go One Month Without Drinking Alcohol

When my dad and I were in London a couple months ago I mentioned that I was thinking about taking July off from drinking and he actually started laughing at me.

"You don't think I can do it?" I asked.

"No," he replied.

Well daddio, you were wrong.

For 31 days in July (and, for good measure, a couple at the end of June) I didn't consume any alcohol, not a single drop. In all fairness to my dad, however, even I thought I would have to put this particular 40 Before 40 goal off until the bitter end (like age 39 and eleven months-ish) but the moment he told me he didn't think I could do it I had no other choice but to try and prove him wrong as quickly as I possibly could.

So thank you Dad, for not believing in me.

The no drinking thing wasn't actually as tough as I thought it would be. In fact, there were only a couple of occasions during those 33 days when I wished I had a drink in my hand, once at a 4th of July BBQ and once during every single second of every single brunch.

Instead of drinking/staying out late/being hung over I spent July sleeping more than I usually do, reading a lot and probably running myself into early knee replacement surgery (I logged a little over 115 miles including four half marathons over consecutive Saturdays).

Even though I won't be continuing my boozelessness into August (Micky’s in town from Chicago tonight and I'll be in Provincetown next week), I'm happy I did it and, I will admit, a little bit proud of myself.