Sober Movember is, supposedly, a three-pronged attack of self-awareness. Part one was to embarrass myself on a daily basis by giving everyone an excuse to say “Hey man, I think you got some dirt on your upper lip.” Twenty-two days in, I think we can consider this one a success. Check. If I weren’t so full of myself my self-esteem would be in the shitter by now.
Secondly, it was to prove to myself (and, I suppose, all y’all who read this) that I can do something I haven’t done regularly since my freshman year of college: have fun without drinking. I think this one can, thus far, be considered a success as well. I’ve gone to a Blazer game, the best concert of my life, DD’d for the first time (I think) since I turned 21 (and actually enjoyed it), hung out with a bunch of damn rednecks and not drank a half-rack of Busch Light in the process, met new people, gotten a lot of reading done and most importantly, generally enjoyed life. So let’s put a check-mark next to that one.
The third and final prong of said attack, to carry on this weak military-strategy metaphor, came around my flank and bit me right in my ghetto ass. I was supposed to see how much money I saved by not drinking for a month. I mean, I can do some quick math: $7 at the bar after work four days a week ($112), usually $20-30 on redneck weekends and $50-75 on downtown weekends ($140-210) for a maximum total of about $325 per month. So we’re talking a decent chunk of change—enough to pay for most of a plane-ticket back east if I had the vacation time to go back every month. It’s also slightly more than my monthly car-payment. However, there was one factor I didn’t take into account: if I want to have fun, I still have to spend money, and Holy Fuckin’ Moses did I spend some cash. Thank god I have four years of college under my belt and remember how to survive 10 days under the poverty line.
So, lesson learned? Keep drinking. I actually spend less money when I’m out making a scene somewhere in the greater Portland-metro area. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. Naturally, there were extenuating circumstances leading to my broke-osity, but if Fox News can, um, spin news about what’s going on in the country, then I can spin news about myself if I damn well please. You came here to hear the latest and greatest Jeff Kennedy news, and as editor-and-chief, director, producer, interviewer and interviewee, and I’m more than happy to provide a fair and balanced perspective to you all—but I’ll be damned if I’m going to stop deluding myself.
We’re in the home-stretch of the most mustachioed and least drunk month of Anno Domini 2009. I can now start saying things like “A week from Tuesday, my upper lip is going to be slightly colder than usual, and I can’t wait,” or “In eight days, I’m going to drink two beers and slur my words as I call everyone to celebrate with me.” This makes me happy. Don’t get me wrong—it’s been enjoyable thus far, and will continue to be, but sometimes you just want a beer. And as I sit here watching the Colts possibly choke away a game (12:13 left in the 4≈, 14-12 Colts with the Ravens in the redzone), listening to my roommate cheer every time the Ravens do something well or, as is much more often the case with him, every time the Colts fuck something up, I want a goddamn beer.
And now, here’s a mustache and asian chick interlude.
For the record, yes, that is a piece of art we have hanging in our apartment. We found it on the street and knew it must be ours. We’re extra classy.