Running on Empty

I commented on Twitter several weeks ago that I may be America’s laziest writer. But that’s not entirely accurate. Fairly accurate? Sure. Mostly accurate? Perhaps. About two Nicole Ritchie-sized snacks from being nail-on-the-head, spot-on accurate? Check ya tone, boy…

No matter how reclusive a maestro is, though, he still needs inspiration to guide the pen that writes his masterpieces. And for me, that means bottles pouring adult beverages into glasses almost as quickly as I’m pouring them out of glasses and down my throat. To make this booze distribution system—or, as I like to call it, “fluid sociological dynamics”—sustainable, a steady supply of fuel must be available to trigger the process. The most commonly used accelerant is a flimsy green and white (and sometimes purple) form of paper which is most often mined from computer slots in the external walls of banks. And in my case, well…let’s just say I’d be better off if I had to use plutonium to buy out the bar.

The 2008 economic downturn has finally caught up with me, a full two years later. This means that I’ve had to cease all frivolous spending for the foreseeable future—save for a case of Sam Adams’ Harvest Collection a month ago (I mean, if I’m not going to spoil me, then who is?). And so weekend after drunken weekend has passed without participation by moi. I’m not happy about it, but it’s my reality for the time being. Hell, just last week I was in Las Vegas—the Mecca of loose purse strings and alcohol-induced tales of epic proportions—for a business trip, and through the first five nights I consumed a grand total of ten drinks. That, compared to my standard of inebriated debauchery, is basically an Amish tea party.

The last day of the trip was a little different. I finally had time off, and I decided to do a little mild gambling during the day at the Wynn (which, on the whole, was a fail; but, on the bright side, I was able to put some money in the pockets of Steve Wynn, and we all know that poor pauper could use some financial assistance), where I got free Jack & Cokes. Then that night I got to see my boy B Rush for the first time in years, and we did it up with half yards of beer at the Yard House and then cheap draughts at Ellis Island. But even at the end of my booziest day in town (which still saw me back in my hotel room before midnight), I was still only mildly tipsy. Sad stuff, really.

But for a man with a limited budget, it’s my only hope for climbing out of my current hole. Otherwise I’d have to sell most of my possessions and live under the bar at Shady Grove.

*thinking* Hmmmmmm… No, no, nevermind.