I'll Drink to That...Not Any More.

An inseparable component of writer lore is drinking. Ernest Hemingway and his daiquiris. Charles Bukowski and his boilermakers. Dorothy Parker and her scotch. To celebrate the drafting of the Constitution, the Founding Fathers consumed legendary quantities of wine. 

When we think of nostalgic writer tropes, there's the typewriter, a wooden desk, wads of discarded manuscript paper, smoke curling from a cigarette parked in an ashtray, and a bottle of hooch nearby. The typewriter and paper have been replaced by a laptop, the wooden desk exists in one form or another, few of us smoke, but a bottle of some adult beverage remains at hand. I remember fondly the opening and closing parties of Lighthouse Litfest, with dozens of us writers crammed on the porch, drinks at the ready. Seems like the best conversations at writer conventions happen at bar con, us scribes nursing cocktails, either bellyaching about the publishing industry or trading gossip. Good times. 

Which for me have come to an end, sadly. About a year ago I began to get a headache after consuming even small amounts of spirits, followed by a mild hangover. I tried different alcohols and mixes but the results were the same. I laid off drinking for several weeks, hoping it might be a passing reaction. Unfortunately, no. The evening after I buried Dirk, if there was ever an occasion for a drink, this was the time, so I sipped a half-glass of red wine. The headache made its dreadful appearance, and the next day I suffered a double whammy from the hangover plus the guilt of losing my sweet, handsome dog.

Teetotalers relentlessly preach the evils of King Alcohol. The ethyl alcohol in liquor is toxic to your liver. A hangover is symptomatic of the poisoning. The long and heavy consumption of alcohol can cause cirrhosis. Also consider the effects on your brain not to mention impaired decision-making and lives ruined by alcoholism.

On the other hand, before the first bread was ever made, people were already imbibing beer or mead. The early cavemen looked forward to their daily cups to celebrate surviving the prehistoric wilderness. Every culture in the world has some form of fermented beverage. Few things smooth the rough edges of putting up with our fellow human beings like a little sauce.

Despite the screeching by modern-day Temperance scolds, people who drink light to moderate amounts of booze tend to enjoy longer and happier lives. Why? Because alcohol is a social lubricant. Those types of drinkers are better adjusted, more emotionally grounded, and more fun to be around. And frankly, I miss wine tastings and happy hour cocktails.

If you're not drinking and are in the Denver area, mark these events on your calendar.

The Scorned Lovers Anti-Valentine's Show at Prismajic. 

Erotic readings from the works of Kim Kennedy and Helen Hardt with interpretive burlesque. Romance advice from the Love Sultan. Fire dance. The bashing of the Scorned Lovers Piñata, filled with naughty gifts. Fashion. Music. Cocktails. An Immersive Art Experience.

Friday the 13th, February, 2026. 7-10pm  Tickets online $20. Get them here.

Check out the Jefferson County Library's In Conversation with Lisa Gardner, emceed by Carter Wilson, along with a panel of local authors, including me.

Saturday, February 21. Noon to 4pm. Mile Hi Church, Lakewood, CO. Register here.   

 

 

 

 

Living in the Kill Zone

I'm 64 years old, which puts me inside the foyer of the Coronavirus kill zone. Fortunately I'm in good health. At least, I hope I am. If you hear that I've keeled over before my next post, then I spoke too soon.

It's a strange time. As I noted in Facebook, this feels like a slow-motion Apocalypse. One with wifi. All my book signings and convention appearances have been cancelled. My writing seminars at this summer's Litfest will be conducted on Zoom, the new medium of business and social communication.

When I take my dog for his walk, I notice quite a few people out and about. Most are with their dogs and the rest either couples enjoying a stroll or kids on bikes with a parent supervising. The playground at the local park has been marked with yellow tape and placed off-limits. Schools, libraries, and churches are closed; liquor stores and pot shops have been deemed "essential" and remain open. When Denver first issued the stay-at-home mandate, places that sold booze or weed were to lock up. Lines immediately formed. Emotions heated from anxious to testy. Wisely, to cool things down, the mayor granted an exemption, as did the governor. And the law prohibiting restaurants from selling liquor for off-premises consumption was also lifted. So on the plus side to this catastrophe, you can even get cocktails delivered or served with take-out. Causes you to wonder just how pointless such laws actually are. Although it's cheaper to buy booze at the liquor store, the act of getting adult beverages delivered makes imbibing them seem a little more tasty.

One of my favorite phenomenons is the law of unintended consequences and this pandemic has brought plenty of examples. In this case, that nature abhors a vacuum. With people's travel restricted and their subsequent absence from the greater outdoors, mountain lions have ventured from the foothills and into the city of Boulder. Groups of these pumas have been photographed wandering the streets, no doubt cataloging where the neighborhood pets can be found for later dining. There hasn't yet been any clashes between mountain lion and human, but when the quarantine is relaxed and people rush back outside, the big cats might not so easily yield and return to seclusion.

A lot of people are hanging out on their front porches, enjoying their to-go margaritas. Outwardly, the mood is like a prolonged recess. All whom I've met have been friendly, cordial, and keeping the approved social distance. At the bus stop, when passengers disembark, everybody, including those waiting by the bench, immediately shuffle in a comical dance to maintain a six-foot boundary.

But I can't deny the inner foreboding, the grim tension behind the calm facade. Part of that angst is of course because of the virus, and to what extent it will ravage the population. Who and how many are going to die? The other part of that worry is about the economy and the loss of jobs and income. If you've ever been unemployed, I have--twice--you know the malaise that corrodes your spirit. Not working is no vacation. It feels like you're being smothered.

As a species, we humans have a remarkable capacity for survival. The purveyors of doom and gloom regard our situation as a fixed circumstance and dismiss our ability to learn and adapt. Seeing as we are Type M for Murder, I'm waiting for when this crisis eases and the criminal shenanigans to appear. You know, like those bodies that wash up after a flood with bullet holes in them.