I’m in Philadelphia now. Last night I met up with Tim and Ellie and Basil at Bar Fly, and we proceeded to drink like it was 2003. I knew there was a reason I stopped doing Irish car bombs. Ellie is going to be mad at me for calling them Irish car bombs, since that isn’t really P.C., but I don’t know how else to describe chugging a pint of Guinness with a shot of Bailey’s and Jameson clinking and churning around inside. And I really don’t know how to describe multiple car bombs, except to say that I was fairly certain my dog was speaking English to me this morning as I stumbled in darkness to get dressed, rent a car, and get my butt down to Philadelphia. I’ve been quite squarely on the wagon all year (hence the lack of picture posts), and somehow this last week I’ve fallen off and done a face plant. This afternoon I did a meditation for my liver.

But I made it to Philly in one piece, and even had a great day at the Sixers practice facility. I’m working my bum off on a feature on one of the guys, and it turns out he is a wonderful human being who has invited me to go bowling with the team tonight. I am going to scour this hotel for some Mountain Dew, order some chicken, take a shower, and try to make it through the evening without passing out and drooling all over myself. Oh, and if anyone has some socks I can borrow, that would be helpful, too. I have a feeling I’m going to embarrass myself on the lanes tonight (hello, all-time high score of 103!) so I might as well be comfortable in my shoes.