February 18th to 19th: an all day and night and most of the next day routing to Sevilla
How many drinks does it take to fly from Los Angeles to Spain? One… two… three… exponential factorial due to lost time? Let’s go with 7 or 8.
This makes me sound like a lush and I fear I’m giving the worst of the worst impressions. I recall a social media experiment wherein a “social influencer” posted all sorts of photos of herself in all sorts of wonderful places. And her point was that in every single photo she had an adult beverage in her hand… and that if people looked beyond the shiny sheen of paradise locales, they’d notice she was in fact an alcoholic. That was one of the few times I admired someone who sought to be a “social influencer” as she sought to sound the alarm on good time Charlie pics and the misdirections of social media as a whole.
All of this is to say that I don’t have an alcohol problem but that I’m mindful of the number of photos I’ve posted here wherein I have a drink, if not in hand, then by my side. And of how many drinks I had on this little jaunt so far.
In my small defense, I was hoping to self medicate myself and sleep “across the pond.” I failed miserably and after having the cabin spin right round like a record baby right round round round, I have a splitting headache I haven’t been able to shake. I recall a friend… or maybe it was a poet… or a friend who was a poet?… saying hangovers are the faustian price we pay to bacchus for our reveleries and there is no such thing as an open bar.
***
The night before my 4 am wakeup, I went to a lock picking class at the Magic Castle with my brother. I had long wanted to take the class and had built up my expectations for it to such an extent that not even the return of Houdini would have been half as impressive. Like many a thing in my life that I’m not immediately good at, I was frustrated and annoyed at the difficulties of picking a lock… even the plastic, FisherPrice style “My First Lock Picking” toy that “the professor” started us with. Maybe it was a few too many gin and tonics that contributed to my lack of dexterity and sloppy handiwork… but the long story short is that while I was glad to spend time with my brother, I was frequently frustrated… and nursing a hangover before even starting this intercontinental trek.
So, hair of the dog…
