Smorgasbord #66

Dry Spell | Dry January | A Real Pain

Jan 31, 2025

Dry Spell

When you are a dessert dweller, rain is a novelty. My kids have asked me for rain jackets and boots, and my answer when they request these items is always the same: It rains five days every year in Phoenix. No. They’ll grow out of them before they can use them.

This week, small talk in the office resolved around whether or not Phoenix would break the record for the longest dry spell in (recorded) history. The record was set in 1972, 160 days without rain. We had already surpassed the second-longest dry spell, so there was a buzz around the topic. We would tie the record if it didn’t rain by January 29th.

Some grey clouds were teasing all week long. And then, on Wednesday, there were some ridiculously light and scattered showers. I didn’t think they would count as “rain,” but the rule is that any rain needs to be recorded at Phoenix Sky Harbor. How much was recorded, you ask? 0.01 of an inch. That’s it. Dry spell over. I’m as disappointed as you are right now.

It almost feels like we were cheated from being part of history. I was already picturing myself proudly wearing a t-shirt with the legend: “I survived the longest dry spell in Phoenix.” But it wasn’t meant to be. We’ll have to wait until August or September, when the Monsoon season ends, to start the counter again and see what happens.

A day after we broke the dry spell? Sunshine. Way to rub it in, Phoenix. I shouldn’t be so invested in this, yet here we are, complaining about the weather. On the other hand, this united us dessert dwellers who are now looking forward to spring training, blooming saguaros, and sand storms.

Dry January

While in Mexico, I drank a 750-ml bottle of Mezcal that my mom brought from her trip to Oaxaca. It was very smooth and smoky. According to my mom, this was a very artisanal operation, and she saw how it was bottled, which apparently is commonplace for smaller producers who don’t sell their batches to more prominent companies. I also bought a bottle of aged rum and some coquito, a Puerto Rico staple for Christmas. Coquito is dangerous because it’s sweet, and you don’t really taste the alcohol. I mean, if you mix rum, cream of coconut, and sugar, that’s the Caribbean version of Irish Cream.

In the months leading up to Christmas, I noticed how alcohol had become a crutch when I was overwhelmed, especially at the end of the day, before bed. It was easy to justify a nightcap and say I had “earned it” because I made it through dinner and bedtime.

I had heard of Sober October but didn’t participate because our wedding anniversary is on October 4th, and it would feel “wrong” not to drink on a special occasion. I guess I could’ve started right after that, but I abandoned the idea altogether. Then I heard about Dry January. I looked at the calendar and saw we had no major celebrations that month, so I decided to try it. When I told Diana about it, she decided to join me, because she said “it’s not fun to drink alone,” and she’s right.

The first couple of weeks were challenging. Dinner and bedtime can be loud and chaotic, and now I didn’t have the crutch to pacify myself at the end of the day. Unfortunately, I pivoted to food and ate my feelings in front of the TV. I promptly corrected this because this is not good either.

In the third week of January we tried tonic water with bitters; it scratched the itch. It was okay. I ordered a ginger beer at the cigar lounge; it felt like a treat. Diana had an NA whiskey sour that wasn’t good. It smelled eggy, and the mouthfeel and flavor were off. We toyed with the idea of buying zero-proof spirits, but since we had a poor experience with the whiskey sour, we decided against it. I have enjoyed a lot of seltzer and a few glasses of kombucha.

Allegedly, my liver should be regenerating by now. I don’t know how to tell if this is happening. It’s supposed to help my gut microbiome—something else I don’t know how to measure whether or not it changed. Better sleep and mental clarity were the two benefits that I could see an improvement in. I probably saved a few hundred dollars on the trips to the liquor store I didn’t take.

I’ll probably continue to abstain from alcohol since I haven’t craved it for the last two weeks in January. I’m not saying I won’t have any alcohol going forward, maybe during date night or for a special occasion, or if it is offered to me. I know; I went from spamming your inbox with cocktails to Dry January. What can I say? People change.

This is something I’ve read as a takeaway from participating in Dry January: your relationship with alcohol consumption changes (for good, in my case). Maybe it is because I’m getting older, and I’m starting to value sleep over getting a buzz. I know that if I indulge a bit too much, the consequences are getting costlier. And on top of everything, I still have to be a parent, regardless of my state. So, cutting back seems like an overall win.

A Real Pain

Diana and I are always looking for movies to watch together. When I saw that “A Real Pain” was available on Hulu, I was intrigued by the number of laurels in the poster. In my twenties, I made it my mission to watch as many movies as possible that had either participated in or won awards at different film festivals—Sundance, Cannes, you name it.

I watched a lot of weird movies, but I also realized I’m a sucker for road movies and WWII movies. This movie combines both of those. It’s the story of two American Jewish cousins who fly from New York to Poland to go on a Holocaust tour and visit the town where their grandmother (a concentration camp survivor) lived. The cousins are extreme opposites; one is kind of a loose canon, a drifter of sorts, and the other one is a father and husband who struggles with OCD and anxiety.

The movie includes several pieces by Chopin (I didn’t know he was from Poland) and showcases a bright and warm Polish landscape, which makes me more interested in visiting. I don’t want to spoil much of the plot in case anyone wants to watch the film, but I’ll say that Kieran Culkin and Jesse Eisenberg's (who wrote, directed, and acted) performances are incredible. It’s both sad and funny, poignant and light-hearted.

During the second act, one of the characters asks how the descendants of people who went through such enormous struggles end up making certain life choices. This question resonated with me because I’ve thought about how family ancestry has shaped who I am.

My grandparents were born in the 1920s, a century ago, in Mexico, which had just gone through a revolutionary war. I come from farmers and blue-collar workers. My parents are retired teachers, and I’m an engineer. By Mexican standards, this is good, even expected.

I see myself as extremely fortunate to live here and now. I’m thankful for the sacrifices made by those who came before me. I’ve also been thinking a lot about generational trauma, which seems to be in vogue now. How much has this trauma affected who I am? I don’t know. I don’t want to dwell too much on it. It is easy to point fingers and play the victim.

Every generation goes through struggles and trials, so why would it be any different with me? There are advantages and disadvantages of living in this era. I’m just trying to make the best of it, focus on what I can control, and let the chips fall where they may.

The temptation to let emotions be in the driver's seat is latent. What’s the right balance though? I don’t want to be a stoic; I want to respond appropriately to the events around me, a kind of Thomistic approach to emotions. I’m still working on this; check in later for more developments. In the meantime, check out this film; a perfect candidate for movie night.

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Sobremesa

Does it rain a lot where you live?
What’s your favorite non-alcoholic drink?
What would you thank your ancestors for?