We Have Heard the Chimes at Midnight
There's so much to say about my trip to San Francisco two weekends ago. I don't know if I have time to it justice...what happens when you mix blog with hurried... blurried I guess.
One thing is that ZAP is just too much wine in one place. It's true I had some of the very best zins in the state (thought the turley was gone by the time I got to their table; I have had the honor of being served that wine twice in my life). I also had lots of marginal, or moderately successful wines. A few very poor ones, but not many. Yet while I tried to pour out everthing but the little I needed to taste (though this didn't happen with those I truly loved) about three hours into it I was completely gone. Over-zinned. Forgive me for I have. Beyond buzzed and into drunk, S and I went outside, watched the light on the gray winter water, and managed to have a pretty good talk about our relationship, one I want to have again, sober. In its most succinct form, more talking, sharing feelings, and ironically, less drinking.
I've actually cut way back on my alcohol since about Christmas. I had a physical, and one liver value, or one enzyme which may be excreted by the liver, was a high. I'm going back for a retest next week; my doctor is not concerned, though of course I am a little. Also, heartburn, more accurately a force which seems to cause spicy food, or too much food, and definitely alcohol and food to simmer into my throat pipe had become almost a daily occurence. I was referred to a belly doctor who is going to do slide some kind of optical scope down my throat. In the meantime, prevacid is very helpful, and when I quit drinking so much in the evenings, say, one or two glasses of wine at most, some nights nothing, I didn't need the meds very often. Whatever I have going on with my belly valve, alcohol plays a huge role.
And I have drank plenty. I have heard the chimes at midnight in many a locale. I've been drunk in San Francisco, and beach drunk at night in Seal, strolled from bar to bar on Pine Ave., and wandered home from Limericks down second street in LB when I lived there probably once a week. God knows how much I drank in the golf-cart town of Avalon. I've done drunk sushi, drunk mexican (oh, the mi casita casuela in Avalon) drunk german, drunk french and drunk italian, and a whole lot of drunk house dinner parties where the booze, beer, wine, are truly endless, flowing more than any restaurant.
Before I go further I must say, please don't misunderstand, when I say drunk I don't mean sloppy slurring stumble drunk. Or throw up drunk. Or black out drunk. I mean heavy-buzz, must wait to drive, pretty darned tight drunk. I don't believe I'm an alcohlic; I have been able to restrict my drinking with only moderate effort. But I've had too much fun, drank at times for the wrong reasons (like reducing anxiety) and I'm through with the pace of it.
Of course, it wasn't just the buzz I was after; I've had wonderful wines from all over the world (wine, more than any substance, truly blends art, food, and drug-use) the best beers and top shelf spirits. You know, in summer... perhaps ice-cold sapphire gin martinis with french vermouth, orange bitters and cherry tomatoes for garnish before dinner, followed by California syrah and microbeers with grilled beef at table, then more wine with cheese if I'm lucky, then scotch single malts on the deck, or maybe tawny port from australia or perhaps grand marnier or benedictine and brandy, served alongside vanilla ice cream under a hard shell of carmelized sugar. If that sounds wonderful, it is. I love to give and attend dinner parties, though the distance between gee I'm happy drunk at a friend's house and gee I feel sickly uneven the next day narrows rapidly.
Alcohol goes wonderfully with food, and it relaxes the mind, but it's so easy to drink more than I should, to come home in the evening and drink, two, three, even four drinks, styled around whatever we're eating but also to take the edge off my own constant anxiety. And that, I'm sure, is not good.
But this post was supposed to be about San Fran.
I ate bhurmese, french, jewish, chinese dim sum...in 24 hours. And had about 50 zins (see above). And forgot my heartburn med.
But the city is very beautiful, and full of adventure. Sat. night I wanted to go the top of the mark, a bar/restaurant on the twentieth or so floor of the mark hopkins on nob hill. Those of you who read know my height/elevator/tall building phobia; SF is a great place to address that problem. And the top of the mark has been famous for deacdes. Only when we got there it was packed. So we tried another hotel, the drake, and I noticed their top floor was one or two higher than the mark's (unless I was imagining this in my panic). We finally ended up at the hyatt, and when I walked into the elevator and saw thirty six freaking buttons I about passed out. Thirty six floors, and we're going to number thirty six? I blew my nose on the way up to distract myself. Then took a window seat.
The view of the city at night from up there was truly stupendous. And I sat right against the window wall, though I kept leaning to my left, as if I was making a slight turn on a motorcycle. I ordered a macallan neat (see above) but had already had too much wine to finish it or care. Still, I'm going back. Thirty six floors baby.
***
As an epilogue to the liver test, I just got my results, taken almost two months later, and they were completely normal. How great that felt. One of my liver enzymes was over twice normal in December. My triglycerides, which were a little high, also came down to normal. How good it felt to know I didn't have heptitis or some awful thing. I really think it was becoming a light drinker, a glass or two in the evenings, some days no alcohol...for me, for now, no hard stuff. And I've been going to the gym more, lifting and doing cardio more because I have more energy.
For years I released tension through exercise; Scooter remembers my gym addiction. Then that got swapped out for social drinking. Bad trade. A little alcohol is good, too much over too long has not been good for me. I have heard those chimes; heck, I've climbed the bell tower and swung on the rope. But when it comes down to it, grey goose affects the body just like night train. Moderation. Aristotle's key. I'm not quitting, just cutting back.
And actually, I've been less anxious since I quit drinking to medicate it. Dig those jacks.
Gotta run.
One thing is that ZAP is just too much wine in one place. It's true I had some of the very best zins in the state (thought the turley was gone by the time I got to their table; I have had the honor of being served that wine twice in my life). I also had lots of marginal, or moderately successful wines. A few very poor ones, but not many. Yet while I tried to pour out everthing but the little I needed to taste (though this didn't happen with those I truly loved) about three hours into it I was completely gone. Over-zinned. Forgive me for I have. Beyond buzzed and into drunk, S and I went outside, watched the light on the gray winter water, and managed to have a pretty good talk about our relationship, one I want to have again, sober. In its most succinct form, more talking, sharing feelings, and ironically, less drinking.
I've actually cut way back on my alcohol since about Christmas. I had a physical, and one liver value, or one enzyme which may be excreted by the liver, was a high. I'm going back for a retest next week; my doctor is not concerned, though of course I am a little. Also, heartburn, more accurately a force which seems to cause spicy food, or too much food, and definitely alcohol and food to simmer into my throat pipe had become almost a daily occurence. I was referred to a belly doctor who is going to do slide some kind of optical scope down my throat. In the meantime, prevacid is very helpful, and when I quit drinking so much in the evenings, say, one or two glasses of wine at most, some nights nothing, I didn't need the meds very often. Whatever I have going on with my belly valve, alcohol plays a huge role.
And I have drank plenty. I have heard the chimes at midnight in many a locale. I've been drunk in San Francisco, and beach drunk at night in Seal, strolled from bar to bar on Pine Ave., and wandered home from Limericks down second street in LB when I lived there probably once a week. God knows how much I drank in the golf-cart town of Avalon. I've done drunk sushi, drunk mexican (oh, the mi casita casuela in Avalon) drunk german, drunk french and drunk italian, and a whole lot of drunk house dinner parties where the booze, beer, wine, are truly endless, flowing more than any restaurant.
Before I go further I must say, please don't misunderstand, when I say drunk I don't mean sloppy slurring stumble drunk. Or throw up drunk. Or black out drunk. I mean heavy-buzz, must wait to drive, pretty darned tight drunk. I don't believe I'm an alcohlic; I have been able to restrict my drinking with only moderate effort. But I've had too much fun, drank at times for the wrong reasons (like reducing anxiety) and I'm through with the pace of it.
Of course, it wasn't just the buzz I was after; I've had wonderful wines from all over the world (wine, more than any substance, truly blends art, food, and drug-use) the best beers and top shelf spirits. You know, in summer... perhaps ice-cold sapphire gin martinis with french vermouth, orange bitters and cherry tomatoes for garnish before dinner, followed by California syrah and microbeers with grilled beef at table, then more wine with cheese if I'm lucky, then scotch single malts on the deck, or maybe tawny port from australia or perhaps grand marnier or benedictine and brandy, served alongside vanilla ice cream under a hard shell of carmelized sugar. If that sounds wonderful, it is. I love to give and attend dinner parties, though the distance between gee I'm happy drunk at a friend's house and gee I feel sickly uneven the next day narrows rapidly.
Alcohol goes wonderfully with food, and it relaxes the mind, but it's so easy to drink more than I should, to come home in the evening and drink, two, three, even four drinks, styled around whatever we're eating but also to take the edge off my own constant anxiety. And that, I'm sure, is not good.
But this post was supposed to be about San Fran.
I ate bhurmese, french, jewish, chinese dim sum...in 24 hours. And had about 50 zins (see above). And forgot my heartburn med.
But the city is very beautiful, and full of adventure. Sat. night I wanted to go the top of the mark, a bar/restaurant on the twentieth or so floor of the mark hopkins on nob hill. Those of you who read know my height/elevator/tall building phobia; SF is a great place to address that problem. And the top of the mark has been famous for deacdes. Only when we got there it was packed. So we tried another hotel, the drake, and I noticed their top floor was one or two higher than the mark's (unless I was imagining this in my panic). We finally ended up at the hyatt, and when I walked into the elevator and saw thirty six freaking buttons I about passed out. Thirty six floors, and we're going to number thirty six? I blew my nose on the way up to distract myself. Then took a window seat.
The view of the city at night from up there was truly stupendous. And I sat right against the window wall, though I kept leaning to my left, as if I was making a slight turn on a motorcycle. I ordered a macallan neat (see above) but had already had too much wine to finish it or care. Still, I'm going back. Thirty six floors baby.
***
As an epilogue to the liver test, I just got my results, taken almost two months later, and they were completely normal. How great that felt. One of my liver enzymes was over twice normal in December. My triglycerides, which were a little high, also came down to normal. How good it felt to know I didn't have heptitis or some awful thing. I really think it was becoming a light drinker, a glass or two in the evenings, some days no alcohol...for me, for now, no hard stuff. And I've been going to the gym more, lifting and doing cardio more because I have more energy.
For years I released tension through exercise; Scooter remembers my gym addiction. Then that got swapped out for social drinking. Bad trade. A little alcohol is good, too much over too long has not been good for me. I have heard those chimes; heck, I've climbed the bell tower and swung on the rope. But when it comes down to it, grey goose affects the body just like night train. Moderation. Aristotle's key. I'm not quitting, just cutting back.
And actually, I've been less anxious since I quit drinking to medicate it. Dig those jacks.
Gotta run.
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