This madness popped into my head more than two years ago. Naturally enough, inspiration struck over a dry martini. Make that a dry gin martini with nothing but a couple of generous tots decent gin and a cursory rinse of dry vermouth bathed in a goodly amount of ice and drained into a cocktail glass of significant size.
A month of martinis, I said to myself, a little too loudly apparently as a couple of barflies nearby lifted their heads and momentarily stared understandingly in my general direction. In truth, however, the notion had been stirring in my brain for more years than I cared to admit. Get it? Stirred, as opposed to shaken. Sure, I know—obscure martini humor. Get used to it.
For the next many months I documented my everyday life as defined by my imbibing habits, using a digital camera to record what I probably would not have remembered. I told myself that I would not begin to place this dismal account before the pitying public before I had a full 30 days under my liver. Clearly, I cleared this hurdle by a goodly distance. And so I begin.
Here I am at sea between California and Hawaii with nothing much to do for a few days and ample access to the drink of my dreams. Why not begin this folly now, though it is bound to bring only grief to those who love me. Consequently, what you see here is the first in a daily month’s worth and more of questionable choices, along with a bit of narration and opinion. This photograph is of a vermouth-scented Tanquerey martini, as seen from a perch in the Skywalker bar at the stern of Princess Cruises’ Golden Princess. Cheers.