I can’t stop drinking beer

By

Brett Anderson

 

I’ve recently moved back to America’s Finest City—San Diego—for those who don’t know.   It’s the middle of winter right now, early February to be exact and most of the country is presently tundra.   My sales territory at my job are the wonderful people of the Garden State—New Jersey.   It’s snowing and sleeting there right now, they can’t get a break!  Even their chest hair and medallions are frozen. 

 

I, on the other hand, am sitting in shorts and a t-shirt (no shoes) as I write this from my sunny apartment with the door open and the warm 75 degree breeze flowing through this place.   I’m also drinking beer.   I find that I am often drinking beer here.   Now I’ve always loved beer and I’ve always drank beer since high school.   However, there is something about this town that makes me drink beer when I otherwise shouldn’t be drinking beer.  I’m not saying I’ve been in the middle of a eulogy and paused for a sip.  Nor am I claiming to have ever used a stadium pal at a Padre game.  But I drink when I shouldn’t. 

 

For instance, tomorrow I have a slew of new business prospects that I should close.  My commission/paycheck depends on it and although it’s not that big of a deal, still, it’s Thursday, not even 4pm, and I’m throwin’ down a delicious IPA that I should otherwise be drinking on the weekends only.   I wouldn’t say I have a beer gut, but it’s in its infant stages.  Some of that is carne asada burritos (stand by for I CAN’T STOP EATING CARNE ASADA BURRITOS in my next article). 

 

What is it about this city?   Sure it’s “America’s Finest”.   Sure the beaches are some of the most pristine in all of California (and lest anyone try and leverage L.A. against San Diego….you’re begging).   And sure it’s the 7^th largest cosmopolitan city in America with outdoor activity all around me and health and wellness factors to boot.   I should be swimming daily.  I should be doing triathalons, or running along the beach religiously. 

 

And yet, instead of going on a hike, I’m drinking beer.   This happens all the time for no reason.   I simply can’t NOT drink beer in this town.  So we can approach it in one of two ways.   Is there something about me?   That is, perhaps I’m an alcoholic?   Or is it something about San Diego that induces this kinda thing in its residents?   In other words, is there something in the air here that says, “Hey, remember how it’s almost 78 degrees in February?  You do?  Of course you do?  Why aren’t you drinking a cold beer then?”

 

Let’s start with the first option.   There’s alcoholism in my family on my dad’s side.   He used to drink beer pretty heavily.  But in 1984, he absolutely quit cold turkey.   He just chose to stop drinking altogether.  No AA.  No rehab.  No intervention.  He just decided that was that.  Last I checked, true alcoholics can’t “choose” anything when it comes to their habit.   They simply have a disease.   Of course this doesn’t mean that I don’t have a disease.  But I’ve never gotten a DUI.  I’ve never had a drop of booze in a work setting.  No one has ever approached me with “you might have a problem Brett”.  I’ve never lost a friendship or a girlfriend over it.  Only once have I used a flask for drinking, and that was because the concert venue I was attending was a DRY venue, which is complete bullshit!  Why the fuck am I even going to see Journey if I can’t throw back a few cold ones and pretend that I’m Steve Perry!?  You’re talking about one of the greatest sing-along rock bands of all time and I’m supposed to sit through that shit sober?   Not to mention that Pat Benatar opened.  No sir!  What’s more, I’ve never had the addictive personality that truly craves any given thing.   So that rules out alcoholism.   On to the next hypothesis.

 

Perhaps San Diego itself has a way of influencing this habit.   Fact:  it’s probably the #1 destination spot in the continental U.S.   Fact:  the weather here is decidedly the best in all of America.   Fact:  it’s a laid back town.   Fact:  the craft beer scene here is definitely in the top 3 of all U.S. markets.   Beer is running rampant here!!   Everywhere you go there’s craft beer and sunshine around the corner.   New breweries popping up left and right!  http://www.nytimes.com/2012/05/27/travel/san-diegos-thriving-craft-beer-scene.html?_r=0

 

But let’s take a closer look at the demographic of SD and the mentality therein.   The average age of a San Diegan these days is roughly 33 years old.   I moved away when I was 24 years old.   I spent ten years in NYC and then moved back at age 34.  I can say that I definitely noticed a change in demographic.  It’s a younger person’s town.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, but it’s no wonder the beer scene here is out of control.   What’s more, the lifestyle here is so friggin’ sweet and wonderful that the whole environment beckons one to say “ahhhh, it can wait til tomorrow, it’s nice out today, let’s do happy hour instead of growing up!” 

 

So basically, there’s nothing about this town that has a sense of urgency or deliberateness.  There’s not much that sends the message, “hey man, you’d better get your act together or you’ll end up poor!”  So why not just kick back and throw a few beers down your throat and just wait to see what tomorrow brings.   My theory?   THIS is why salaries are low here even though the cost of living is high.   The economy and sociology of this city is such that there’s no incentive to pay higher wages because employers somehow KNOW that they can get some 20-something kid who’s willing to live month-to-month or, better yet, still living at home, to do a 60K per year job for only 30K.   And this kid, like me, is probably drinking a lot of beer. 

 

Lest I paint myself with an a brush of laziness, that’s is absolutely not the case.   And therein lies the paradox.  Do you know how ambitious you have to be to live in NYC for even 3 years, let alone 10?   You have to be a specimen of diligence and ambition to survive there for that long.  You gotta want it!   That was me.   Again, I’m not saying that I didn’t drink 18 beers in one night, hop up to the roof, sit on the edge like a fuckin’ idiot and tell Kelly Strandemo that I loved her.  I’m not saying it DID happen.  But I’m not saying it didn’t.  That’s for you to decide. 

 

I digress.   The point is I’m a hard-working, ambitious over-achiever with ten years of Big Apple hustle on his resume and yet I too can’t stop drinking beer in San Diego!   I want to.   But I can’t.  Not only do I love beer for the wonderfully fine beverage that it’s become.   Not only do I love beer for the flavor.  And not only do I love beer for the effects.   But I REALLY love the combination of all those beer-related factors up against sunshine, beaches, mountains, a median yearly temperature of 72, cool people, sunsets, and a thriving culinary scene. 

 

So I ask….what’s a guy to do?  Ahhhgghh!  I’ll do something about it tomorrow, right now I need to finish this glass. 

 

Also….don’t ever see any arena rock band sober.  You’re missing the point.