don't get me wrong: i like a drink as much as the next guy. or girl.

but as i near the big 2-0

dammit, i mean...3-0

i've come to realize that i no longer enjoy getting wasted.

what has happened to me?

i can remember my finer moments: iowa city, puking in someone's backyard. new york city, puking in an alley (yes, there are a few) while nearly getting mugged in my drunken stupor home, wherever it was. what's my address? i eventually found it. puking out of a rental car in indianapolis (as a passenger), and just...3 weeks ago, puking my brains out after a small scale indie-electronica concert whose musical stylings did not, under any stretch of the imagination, warrant double vodka water after double vodka water.


what i can specifically recall about all of those instances is that i lost all control. and live to regret it.

how i've managed to not jaywalk and get hit by a bus, i have no idea. but i'm thankful.

what i now know is that in all of those moments, the best part was the buzz. the buzz is that magical moment when things are amplified, and you can feel it, you can remember it. yes. who doesn't enjoy a good buzz? non drinkers, i suppose. but personally, i don't trust non-drinkers. i don't like the way they look at me as i make the honest effort to enunciate. to appear sober, like them.

buzzkills. you win, congratulations. where's your trophy.

anyway, i enjoy embracing that small window of time when you feel better, fun, open to suggestion. it's what partying should feel like.

and then that damn shots-shots-shots song comes on, so you do one or ten, start drinking without tasting, start not remembering things. puking.


going forward, that small window of time - where things seem good, seem fun; i'm going to recognize the moment and enjoy it.

you're partying, ryan. have fun but keep it cool.

and reign it in so i can wake up the next day before 9am, tend to my garden, vacuum dog hair, and perhaps polish silverware.

bring it, 3-0.