It's a great message that's well with a repost, so here it is. It also makes me feel better as I'll be rolling around my hometown of L.A. in a few weeks in my rented Mini Cooper, and I've gotta admit the last thing I was is some celeb (or anyone for that matter) taking me out because they're driving drunk.
Designate a driver, hire a driver, call a friend, hail a cab, take the bus, get on the subway...whatever you do, don't drive.
With Chad, Left, seated. (With glasses)
I'm taking to the blog today to share something with you that I feel more passionate about than I saw coming.
I want to make it short and sweet so that anybody who wants to re-print it can copy and paste without editing...
Went out to dinner Thursday night. My car. One glass of wine. Carpooled from dinner to go out to one more place. Everyone in my car. At the next spot, I do the Diet Coke with Lime thing. My favorite scotch (Lagavulin 16 year) arrives under my nose. "Can't do it," I say. Then I find out my friend has switched to Designated Driver and has a plan that involves everyone getting home safe. Cool. I love Lagavulin when the time is right. Now it's the end of the night and I'm feeling wonderfully buzzy and ready to get dropped off to my house in my car, except the person that was going to follow my car in the DD's car to drive him back isn't in shape to drive either.
It's 2 o'clock in the morning. I call my housemate Chad. Chad's sleeping. He was in the studio all day. I explain to him that I need him to jump in the back seat of my car, ride to the DD's car and drive me back home. Of course Chad says "yes" and comes through like a champ. A champ, I say.
Here's what I want to tell you:
If I, incredibly hot/fugly John Mayer can make that call, so can you.
The distance from the parking lot to my house was about 5 miles, mostly straight shot up the coast of Santa Monica, zero traffic. And I didn't drive it. Me. The guy who gets the VIP velvet rope treatment in life.
Oh, and the call? It's not the coolest you'll ever sound. And the logistics? It's kind of inelegant. You trace the same route twice when all you want to do is fall into bed. But you gotta do it.
This is all coming from a guy who you can be sure would have found a sexier way to get home if there was one available. And there just isn't, especially in LA. (You can be sexy again the next day when you wake up with the rest of your big, beautiful life in front of you.)
I'm not writing this to earn golf claps, it's just that if I'm going to stand in any way as an ambassador of something cool or influential, this is more important than any pair of sneakers or a guitar.
And to give a big high five to the Chads of the world.
See you around
Sphere: Related Content