Book Review: The Drunk Diet by Luc Carl

This is a diet and fitness book for the 99% of us who refuse to listen to any horseshit from people who write diet and fitness books.  Consider me to be at least one of them.

But this is a hell of a lot more than some self-help horseshit.  It's a memoir about Luc's struggle for self improvement, and how he achieved it through eating right, exercising, disciplining himself, & keeping his eye on the prize.  But it's also a hell of a decadent and fun ride through all of the struggling, drinking, carousing, thinking, loving, bullshitting, and, above all, ROCKING & ROLLING that goes on between the bar, the stage, the gym....and most likely, your old lady's bed. It's a dark glimpse at the wee hours of the Lower East Side of New York City, and the sun that shines in Brooklyn when the party is over.

What I really like about the educational aspect of The Drunk Diet is that Luc tells us what works for him as much as he tells us what DIDN'T work for him, in regards to losing weight & getting in shape.  But he also takes the opportunity to tell us what ELSE might work for the rest of us that might be different.  He's not condescending or pretentious about it, or trying to presume that everyone has the same goals, or that everyone's body is going to work exactly the same way to achieve them.  He gives us a line of thinking that will help us figure out what the best way is for ourselves.  I appreciate that.

I sort of think of The Drunk Diet as being The Ramones of diet & fitness books. The Ramones showed all of the Punk Rock bands in their wake (the Sex Pistols, The Clash, etc....and certainly everything passing for "punk" these days) that Rock N' Roll greatness could be achieved while still being simple, real, cool, and fun.  But just as importantly, the Ramones showed us that if THEY could do it, than so could the rest of us.  Luc does the same thing here. He is up-front about how difficult the process was for him to look and feel the way he wanted to, and he tells us exactly what he was thinking through all of it, which doesn't always paint a pretty picture.  But he also documents every small victory and reward that he got for all of his hard work, and makes a compelling case for us doing the same thing.  He makes us see that our goals are attainable.  I appreciate that too.

Something else that I'm sure sets The Drunk Diet apart from its peers is that Luc put a lot of his personality into it.  He uses a narrative that is straightforward & honest, and spoken in his own (often profane) language.  According to an English professor I once had, that gives The Drunk Diet the makings of a Classic American Novel.  Hell, I'd be willing to get that if Mark Twain was alive today, that he'd check this book out for the laughs alone, even if he wasn't interested in getting in shape!

I really fucking appreciate that, and I think you will too.

Read this fucking book.

Buy The Drunk Diet on Amazon.

Buy The Drunk Diet on Barnes & Noble.

Marty E.
2/29/12
Brooklyn, NY

If I Had Known What I Was Getting Into....or....My First Day In New York

I rolled into town feeling like a cold caller trying to sell beige slacks on June 1, 2000, with about 3 grand (in checks & money orders) rolled up in my sock, over a hundred pounds of luggage on my bruised shoulders, and little the fuck else.

I flew in from Minneapolis after spending the one last night with my ex-girlfriend, and leaving my best friends & life as I knew it...and there was no turning back. (I that believe you CAN "look back" every once in awhile - to reflect, which is what I'm doing here).

On my flight, I remember the pilot saying through the loudspeaker, "Ladies & Gentlemen.....uuuuuuuuummmmmm.....if you look to the left of the aircraft.....uuuuuummmmm.....that's Lake Erie...."

It was then that it occurred to me that I didn't know where the fuck I was going to be in a day, much less a week, a month, or a year!  Sure, it sounds exciting and romantic, and all of that crap....but when it's right in front of you face like a burning jungle, it's more than a little bit daunting and pretty fucking scary!

Well, I arrived at LaGuardia, and grabbled my luggage (consisting of a hockey bag that resembled an overstuffed burrito, a backpack, a case with my snare drum, sticks, and kick drum pedal....and I think I might have had my cymbal bag with me as well), and grabbed a cab to Manhattan.  I was to go to the acting school where my good friend Alfredo worked and attended classes, grab the keys to his apartment in Bay Ridge (in South Brooklyn) and head to his house. So I rolled into this old brick building on Jane Street, with all of my crap....which I left in the stairwell (I figured, if anyone wants to carry this shit, go right the fuck ahead and steal it) and walked past all of the acting students.  Looking like the dark shadow of death's understudy, I walked up to the desk.

"Hi....my friend Al should have left some keys in the desk for me.....??????"

The old hag behind the desk squinted, took a look at me, pulled the desk drawer out, gave it a way-too-quick once-over, and dismissed me with, "I'm sorry....there's nothing here!"

Stunned, I asked, "Are you SURE? Can you please look AGAIN?"

"I JUST DID....there's nothing HERE!"

I began to panic.  I tried to call Al, but he wasn't picking up. 

I didn't know what the fuck to do....I was beyond exhausted, and I didn't have anywhere to go, really. I was in a strange, ENORMOUS, cold, new place that I didn't know my way around yet, and I was weighed down with everything I owned in the world.

It then occurred to me that another buddy of mine, Lenny, was making the same move that I was, and he had emailed me his new # a week beforehand.

With nothing else to do, I called Lenny....thank CHRIST he was home.

"Hey Man....how are you?  I'm completely SCREWED!"

"Well....that sucks, Man," he said, "....well....do you wanna come hang out for awhile?  I'm in Astoria, but...."

I grabbed another cab, this time to Astoria, in the North-Western part of Queens....with a feeling of suspended animation, and also fucking RELIEF, that I at least could be under a friendly roof with all of my crap for at least the rest of the afternoon.

I rolled up to his apartment (which was either on 30th Ave, 30th Street, or 30th Road) and he was unpacking boxes....so I dropped my extra baggage in front if his front door, and fell into a chair.

Lenny, very nonchalantly asked, "Do you want a beer, Dude?"

It's your friends that pull you through.

I eventually got a hold of Alfredo late that night, and he apologized profusely, and said that I should head to his place. He also told me that his keys were, indeed, at that acting school of his, and that the wench at the acting school felt badly about missing them.

Anyway, I packed my luggage on my aching back and walked to the Subway for the ride to Al's house.  What's funny about that, is that Lenny lived on Ditmars Ave in Queens, which is where the N Train starts.....and Al's place in Bay Ridge Ave, in Brooklyn, was, to make a long story short, near where it ends.  So I took the yellow line for the 2 & 1/2-hour trek.

(Let's recap....I'd taken a cab from LaGuardia to Greenwich Village.....then got in a cab from there to Astoria, then took the train all the way from there to Bay Ridge Ave.  My route that day basically was in the shape of a gigantic number 4!)

It was after 2 am when I finally got to Al's house.  Before I crashed out in my sleeping bag on his floor, I called my Mom.

"I thought I'd hear from you a long time before now....where have you BEEN?"

"I'm too exhausted to tell you, but let's just say my shoulders are, literally, black & blue."

"OH MY GOD," she exclaimed.

I told her I would call her the next day, and I proceeded to pass out on the most comfortable floor I've ever laid my head upon.

This was only the beginning....and it still causes explosions in my mind to think about now.  But, if I'd known then what was waiting for me after that, I'd have told you it was all worth it.  And I'm here to tell you that it was!