Fort Worth Weekly // August 2-8, 2023

RawDogging Life

I haven’t always been like this, this sad, soft, pathetic kind of way. I used to be in decent shape. I could bench press way more than my own weight, and I could run three miles rather easily, even in the heat. The last time I tried jogging a couple of weeks ago, I had to stop after one and a half laps exactly. I could barely breathe, and tiny demons were stabbing my knees with flaming-hot pokers. Being about 1 stone overweight apparently conjures them.

STORY AND PHOTOS

BY ANTHONY MARIANI

Iwas about 10 feet in the air when I felt the contents of my lower intestine begin to force their way through the seat of my cargo shorts.

Fudge.

“You OK?” my wife said, having just joined me on a landing with our 11-year-old son.

“I’m not doing well,” I whispered.

“What?”

“I …,” I began, sheer shame preventing me from meeting my soulmate’s eyes. “It’s … I gotta use the restroom.”

Go ziplining, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Now here I was about to crap myself, and we were only on the first measly level of a 6-story structure. I had no idea what my body was trying to tell me. Maybe the heat was to blame. Maybe the height. Maybe it was the four? six? 10? Natty Lights I’d drunk the night before — just like pretty much every other night dating back to 2018. All I knew was that I had to get back on flat, steady land. The only problem was how. Rope bridges, ladders, and bright yellow zipline tracks shot off in all directions from the landing where I had set one palm on a support beam, casually, as if I didn’t want to hug it like an old friend with a $10,000 check addressed to me. From near the center of the three-dimensional M.C. Escher in which I had found myself, I was able to spy an escape. Or so I’d thought. The quickest way down seemed to start with crossing a “bridge” of around two dozen brown, plastic octagons, each about the size of a dinner plate, each sitting atop a vertical steel pole. This “bridge” looked like a series of geometric lily pads, but if you stepped wrong, you weren’t going to splash gayly into a refreshing pond. Your harness was going to snap (guaranteed), and you were going to plummet what seemed like 1,000 feet to your painful death. No railings. Just angular lily pads. And unforgiving open air. Still stuck on the landing, I watched my wife and son, D. and A., power across a rope bridge to my left. I looked down. My feet were swimming in my cavalierly, stupidly untied sneakers. Every part of my body below the waist was Jell-O. My heart skittered like Morse code. Shadow rimmed my eyes. My mouth was so dry, I could barely swallow. “Fudge.”

This excursion to Twisted Trails was part of an alleged mini vacation. We were spending a few days in San Antonio visiting D.’s seventysomething parents at their new senior-center house. I think I Earl Campbell’d them to reach into the cooler for a Natty the second we walked through the door. The big idea to go ziplining definitely did not come from me. For me, afternoons weren’t for cheating death. They weren’t even for breaking a sweat. They were for kicking back and getting loose.

Like all of my close friends, every single one, I had been boozing off and on since high school. Unlike them, I’d been boozing nearly every day since my beloved older brother killed himself five years ago and nearly every day ’til exhaustion since the lockdown. A study by the National Institute on Alcohol Abuse and Alcoholism says that per capita consumption increased 2.9% in 2020, the fastest rate since 1968. Alcohol-related deaths also shot up 25% between 2019 and 2020, and Harvard experts said that, while the world may be back open, rates of alcohol consumption still hover around their pandemic highs.

Grief only worsens the situation. I’m 52, the same age as my alcoholic brother when he took his life and only about 10 years younger than my alcoholic dad when lymphoma claimed him. The volumes of

literally hundreds of aluminum and glass containers over the years flooding my body have reduced my central nervous system, or CNS, to something like a dozen strands of last night’s spaghetti left out in the sun all day. I can’t believe I’d made it as far on the “amusement” ride as I had. It was only the first level, true. Still, I had to zipline from one point to another to reach the landing where I’d begun to clench my cheeks and plan my rapid descent. The whole time I was slowly falling apart. The whole time my central nervous system was failing me, the decades that I’d spent ingesting effectively poison stripping me of my ability to think rationally or control my haptics. I just didn’t realize I was doomed.

As I had been conditioned by our absurd, upside-down culture, I was trying to be alpha. You should have seen me on that first zipline. As my sweet son looked up at me (and possibly “to” me), I aligned the wheels of my harness to the track above, trying to hide my shaking. Then you’ve got to step out onto this tiny fucking ledge with nothing around you except unlimited sky and the tops of leafy trees and just fucking shove off. Into the air. I must have astral projected because I did it, and crossed another “bridge,” before my body started to shut down. Fact: “Fake it ’til you make it” works only when you’re sad and then even barely. The inspiring idiom has absolutely no bearing on central nervous systems pushed to the point of death by too much partying.

I’d always considered myself more alpha than beta, on the ground or in the air. One summer in college, I roofed. Walking the pick took some getting used to, but I never felt I was going to evacuate my bowels into my clothing. I never felt less than alpha. On the landing, I had to “fake” alpha status as best I could. There was absolutely no way I was going to embarrass myself by calling for help from the very fit brats running the ride and patrolling it like Spider-People, and my wife would have been so utterly ashamed she would have made me walk back to Fort Worth. I would have rather fallen. Or shat myself. Or both.

Holding onto the harness strap above my head with a grip so tight I could have crushed a human skull, I step-step-stepped across the octagons. Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, don’t look down, holy shit.

The CNS is quite amazing. It’s like our multitentacled CPU, guiding “everyday activities such as waking up; automatic activities such as breathing; and complex processes such as thinking, reading, remembering, and feeling emotions,” Google says. Too much drink depresses the CNS, slowing down brain activity while also messing with our mood, behavior, and self-control. Drunk People Doing Things isn’t freaking hilarious because everyone in the clips is executing perfect swan dives into pools or dancing expertly or riding bikes off roofs without fracturing several bones below. The follow is funny because we clearly love self-anesthetizing and celebrating our newfound temporary relief. Every buzz is a shiny, sparkly little gift from the gods, and we sure do love the sweet release that only alcohol can bring.

On the landing on the other side of the octagon “bridge,” I exhaled and searched for D. and A., the maze of ropes, ladders, and ziplines seeming to shift slowly in multiple directions at once like the gears in some rumbling monster machine. My options to earth had now been reduced to only two: either ride another mf zipline to who knows where — my vision kept zigzagging — or, no kidding, cross a tightrope Karl Wallenda-style. Super-hard pass. Hands still quaking, I aligned my harness wheels to the track above me and stepped out onto another stupid little ledge. I bit my lip while shaking my head — “got dang it” — and, once again, just fucking shoved off.

The first time I tried alcohol, it was one of my dad’s Miller Ponies. Probably angsty about one real or perceived heartbreak or another, I simply opened the fridge one night while the rest of the family was asleep, popped the top, and took a sip. I recall recoiling in disgust and replacing the open bottle. There ya continued on page 5

Sometimes it takes almost soiling yourself on a zipline to dry out from pandemic- and grief-related tippling.

Yeah, no.

LIVING LOCAL

Best Of 2023: Voting Begins Now!

Fort Worth Weekly Marketing Feature

Hey Doll (wink, wink), it is now officially Best Of season. No, the Barbie movie is not our special issue theme, but isn’t it fun for the voting phase? Anyway…

With its magazine-style glossy cover, great photographs, and insightful opinions on the BEST of everything this area has to offer, Best Of 2023 is the issue you don’t want to miss. Our critics will make their choices, and the Critic’s Choice winners will be announced in the Best Of 2023 special edition on Wed, Sep 27.

But the critics aren’t the only ones whose opinions count.

Now thru Sun, Sep 10 at midnight, our readers will make their voices heard by partici-

pating in our online-only, write-in ballot to determine the Readers’ Choice winners for the Getting & Spending, People & Places, Arts & Culture, Good Grub, On The Town, and Sounds of the City sections. Here are the categories within each section:

Getting & Spending Categories

Antique & Vintage Finds, Barbershop, Beauty Service, Boutique, Car Wash, Place to Buy Cigars, Place to Buy CBD, Charcuterie Boards, Place to Buy Coffee, Customer Service, Day Spa, Dry Cleaners, Farmers Market, Furniture Store, Place to Buy Gifts, Grocery Store, Gun Store, Hair Salon, Place to Buy Jewelry, Liquor Store, Meat Market, Metaphysical Shop, Music Store, Optical Shop, Pet Services, Record Store, Smoke Shop, Tattoo Studio, Thrift Store, Vape Shop, and Place to Buy Wine.

People & Places Categories

Place to Adopt Pets, Apartment Community, Camp for Kids, City Councilmember, Dentist, Doctor, Dog Groomer, Hospital, Lawyer, Local Celebrity, Place to Meet Locals, Music Lessons, Nurse, Photographer, Professional Athlete, Radio Personality, Realtor, Social Influencer, Tattoo Artist, Teacher, Television Personality, Veterinarian, Place to Work, and Place to Work Out.

Arts & Culture Categories

Animal Rescue Group, Art Gallery, Artist, Arts & Crafts Class, Burlesque, Culinary Class, Cultural Event, Dance Troupe, Day Trip, Dog Park, Drag Performer, Entertainment Spot, Gallery Exhibit, Golf Course,

Kids’ Activity, Place to Take Kids, Place to See Movies, Museum Exhibit, New Mural, Nonprofit Organization, Paint Night, Podcast, Park, Recreational Class, Theater Production, and Theater Troupe.

Good-Grub Categories

Bakery, Barbecue, Breakfast, Brunch, Burger, Burrito, Cajun Food, Chef, Chicken-Fried Steak, Chinese Food, Coffeeshop, Deli Sandwiches, Food Truck, Fried Chicken, Indian Food, Italian Food, Japanese Food, Korean Food, Mediterranean Food, Mexican Food, New Restaurant, Pho, Pizza, Queso, Ramen, Restaurant, Salsa, Seafood, Soul Food, Steak, Street Tacos, Sushi, Tamales, Tex-Mex Food, Thai Food, Vegan Food, Vegetarian Food, Vietnamese Food, Waitstaff, and Wings.

On-The-Town Categories

Bar-Bar, Bartender, Beer Selection, Bloody Mary, Brewery, Comedy Club, Comedy Open-Mic Night, Craft Cocktail, Dance Club, Distillery, Dog-Friendly Patio, Drag Show, Happy Hour, Hotel Bar, Karaoke Night, Late-Night Food, LBGTQIA+ Bar, Margarita, Martini, Mixologist, Patio, Restaurant Bar, Shot List, Sports Bar, and Wine Bar.

Sounds of the City Categories

Album, Americana/Roots, Bassist, Blues Band, Country Band, DJ Artist, Drummer, Folk Group, Guitarist, Hip-Hop Artist, Keyboardist, Metal Band, Open-Mic Night, Punk Band, R&B/Soul Group, Regional Act, Rock Band, Song, Tejano Group, Tribute

Band, Venue, and Vocalist. (The top winners from each of these categories will move on to our Music Awards 2023 Ballot, which will go live in October. More about that later.)

Business owners, this part is for you…

Are you interested in campaigning for one of the categories above?

Use the art at Bitly.FWW_BestOf2023_Article on your social media to invite your family, fans, followers, and friends to nominate you in the category of your choice at FWWeekly.com/Best-Of-2023-Ballot. Voters will need to vote in at least ten categories for their ballots to count, and it’s one ballot per person. If you need help writing your post, email marketing@fwweekly.com, but here is an example:

Best Bar? Joe’s Bar & Grill! To help us win the readers’ choice award for Best Of 2023, nominate us in the On The Town section. You must vote in at least ten categories for your vote to count, so show some love to your other favorite locals while you’re at it. Complete your ballot by 9/10 at FWWeekly.com/Best-Of-2023-Ballot.

How about advertisements?

To advertise with us during the voting phase and in the Best Of 2023 special edition, contact your FWW representative. If you don’t have one yet, please reach out to us at FWWeekly.com/Advertise-With-Us. With a publication date of Wed, Sep 27, the final deadline for space reservations is Fri, Sep 22, and the final art approval date is Mon, Sep 25.