Did you ever wake up under a chicken coop covered with
overnight droppings? I have. Have you ever barbecued yourself on a hot stove? I
did. Have you ever come home smashed, ending up the unintended clown for your
daughters’ sleepover? I did. Were you ever so hungover you forgot your own
name? I was. I once went with my brother-in-law for a haircut, an excuse to go
to a bar, and lost him for three days. I almost fell off the roof of the
Peabody Hotel, smashed, looking for the famous ducks.
WITHOUT THE LAMPSHADE - How I Learned to Love my Brown
Martini is my tale of boozing through roughly twenty-five years of my life,
performing some hilarious antics that defy belief. In a quarter century I made
it my job, a career, if you will, to pursue hard drinking in lieu of becoming
the typical working stiff. It was more important to get to the bar for the
first drink than work late for advancement. But I was still lucky, mostly
finding people and companies that drank as much as I did. I was a happy drunk
that has one hell of an adventure to relate.
