I went to a neighborhood street festival this weekend. I love neighborhood street festivals. I used to love them more, because they are a prime midday outdoor drinking opportunity.

When I arrived with a friend, the festival was in full swing. It was smoky from the food vendors and packed with people. My friend suggested we duck into a bar and sit for a while. The bar he chose turned out to have a rooftop deck. It was a happy surprise. The rooftop was a perfect place to people-watch without the smoke and crowds. My friend got a fancy Belgian beer and I got a Diet Coke. We settled in and the sun was shining. It was pleasant.

It was pleasant, but I realized right away that had I been drinking it would have been fucking awesome. It would have been one of those times when the stars and ducks and everything line up to make a perfect day. Had I been drinking, the surprise rooftop deck would have seemed an unbelievable gift. I would have felt mad love for my beautiful friend and all my beautiful friends everywhere. I would have felt that deep, deep contentment -- a chasm of contentment widening to engulf my entire life.

Instead, it was pleasant.

While I was drinking, I would occasionally be forced by a hideous hangover or a particularly painful incident to reconsider my lifestyle choice. I always determined I would happily endure the lows of the drinking life in order to enjoy the highs. I told myself that non-drinking life was a soul-numbing flatline of medium-to-blah existence.

Well, I�m not living medium-to-blah. I�d say I�m medium-to-high-happy. However, my life no longer contains moments of rooftop high when everything is perfect beyond belief. I guess this is because even when things are going fine it�s hard to soberly and rationally decide that life is perfect beyond belief. On the other hand, I�m no longer throwing up in the trash can under my desk at work, so things are looking up.

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