Nice weather has a tendency to conjure up pleasant nostalgia. Living in central/western New York for the past 15+ years should yield indifference toward the long, drab winters we experience…but I still have my gripes. I’m grateful that I can get out and carve fresh powder on the mountains with my snowboard from time to time, but mostly winter is just a bummer. I feel so much better when I can go stand outside in shorts and a t-shirt, and comfortably bask in the sunshine.
So naturally, good memories are more plentiful & more firmly rooted in the warmer seasons. This past week has been especially nice (minus the day or two of rain), and it got me to thinking about my last summer, and the experiences & feels that it held. I have to be honest with myself: it wasn’t all bad. I was certainly struggling to cope with/understand a great many personal issues, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t have any fun at all. Specifically, I had some great learning experiences working as a promoter.
The above is a decent representation of life now vs. life then. I spend much of my time these days data processing/job hunting, hunched over my computer. But back then…the lively street below is almost exactly what East Ave. (a 5 minute walk from my apartment) looked like on a daily basis when the sun was out; and it depicts to a T what Rochester’s downtown summer festivals felt like. I vividly remember walking around amongst all those characters during the Jazz Fest last June, spreading the word and passing out tickets to hype my company’s club night. When the sun become overbearing and I felt parched from delivering my sales pitch to a variety of potential patrons, I could grab a refreshing sangria from one of the street vendors. I might run into a fellow promoter or city acquaintance (you meet a lot of these in this line of work); we could stop down into the Belgian beer bar for a pint and catch up.
It’s that kind of casual drinking that I’ll miss most, I think. As an aggressive drinker, it’s a rare occurrence when you can actually just sit and enjoy the company of others, without the beverage holding the center of your attention. But where other people can leave the bar and stop drinking or return home satisfied with their social outing, my feet always seemed to carry me to the next bar or the nearest liquor store. The word “enough” just simply doesn’t exist in the alcoholic’s vernacular. Instead I think “more” is in there twice, taking the place of “enough.”
Never. That is some fine ’80s disco vibes on that track, though.
I will decidedly NOT miss the crippling hangovers that accompany those long summer days of drinking, however. I so recklessly disregarded my health last year when I was out partying (depression’ll do that). I cannot be grateful enough that the regenerative properties of my youth & vitality probably kept me from contracting a serious illness. #ThankUBasedImmuneSystem.
Speaking of my general state of health, I have done poorly this week on getting outside to yog. So off for a night run I go. #OMGitsalmostbikiniseason!!
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Have yet to hear anything back from the zoo, but I really, really want that PR job. Hey, if this zebra can love that giraffe, anything is possible…right? Right.