Sometimes I feel that the only way I can keep track of the days is by monitoring the beer bottles gathering in my recycling bin. When they reach the top, that means a few weeks have passed. Or is it just one week? With this terrible winter and a terrific, if terribly time-consuming newborn, you must forgive me if I'm glugging more beer than the average bear. I've been tethered to the house, changing diapers with one hand while drinking with the other.
And then sometimes I use both hands to write stories. It hasn't been easy, that's for certain. I've spent much of the last month orchestrating several events for NYC Beer Week, namely Jimmy's Homebrew Jamboree 2—Still Jammin' and Cold Comfort, my lager-tasting event in Brooklyn's old Nassau Brewery lagering caves. Seriously. The events have been amazing. Amazing! But they are also draining. I'm a little too Type A to relinquish control, something that allows me to tailor everything to a T. But it also means that I am the man picking up pretzels, buying ice and sending emails to everyone.
Like Zach Braff in Garden State, I need to embrace my inner calm and learn to just let go.
Or maybe I should just become a medicated zombie. Is that the moral here? Either way, I need to learn to chill out a bit, give up control and trust folks to help. As a freelancer, it ain't an easy emotion to embrace. For the last 12 years, I've only had myself to count on. Want this story written? Do it yourself, buster. Care to get paid? Well, you better send off an invoice and cross your fingers twice. See where I'm getting?
There is only one me.
And I am no longer 22, with an endless reservoir of espresso-like energy.
But I digress. I'm merely hashing out my issues in a very public forum, sort of like my old column with the New York Press. Sadly, there's little time for confessional writing these days. Perhaps that's directly impacting my emotional well-being, turning me into one of those cranky-ass, stink-eyed New Yorkers who, like lichen, have adhered themselves to the city, unable to leave, stuck with your peculiar lot in life.
But the writing! Oh, have I been writing. With my two index fingers—I never really learned that QWERTY nonsense—I've been a busy little beaver. From Bon Appétit to Imbibe, here's a smattering of my recent stories. But before I depart, a question: I've been pondering returning to writing a first-person column, sort of like the one I wrote during those Press days. Would you read that again? Or would you rather I stick to stories like these?
First We Feast, “Style Kings: The Best Breweries in America, By Category″: Who has the best IPA and sour beer?
Bon Appétit, “9 IPAs to Drink in Winter—Bitter Beers for Bitter Cold″: Ever wonder breweries release hoppy beers during the winter? Here's the answer.
Bon Appétit, “9 Milk Stouts to Drink If You’re Breastfeeding—or Just Thirsty″: With a newborn at home, it's time to drink.
Bon Appétit, “11 Beers Made with Breakfast Foods Like Bacon, Oats, and Coffee″: Bacon: It's no longer just for breakfast.
Bon Appétit, “Sour Beer Primer: How (and Why) to Drink These Funky Wild Ales″: Bring on the funk. My first feature for the magazine.
Bon Appétit, “10 Spicy, Chile-Spiked Beers We Love″: Some like it hot. I know I do.