The past several days have been a blur of extreme fun. Well, except for the other night/early morning when I came home and read about the death of Jerry Wexler. He was one of the coolest men I have ever met. Anyway, here's an excerpt from my Bar Tab column that's in the current issue of CL.
I'm on a bender, folks, leading up to a weeklong vacation that will include the consumption of several rivers of booze. Having to meet deadline is about the only thing that keeps my debauchery in check. Cut the leash and I'm a complete monster. Finding people to party on Sundays isn't as easy as it once was, though. Like Hank Junior says, all my rowdy friends have settled down. Yeah, I'm talking to you, Buck, you pussy.
"I'm at a birthday party," he says over a cacophony of piercing toddler voices.
I had to call him twice before he answered.
"You miserable fuck," I holler. "You guys attend more kiddie birthday parties than is acceptable."