ASTROLIQUOR for February 1–6—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

Aries, this week offers you the chance to ditch a couple of people who’ve been bugging you. You could do a Facebook friend cull, which wouldn’t require any diplomacy, or you could behave like a typical Aries and pick a fight. Totally up to you. Meanwhile, mind your pennies, hit your boss up for a raise, and ignore anybody’s advice, no matter where it comes from (this space excepted). And if your boss says “Pack your things,” that’s the time to throw a punch. BTW, your drink is punch: Hawaiian Punch with Jack Daniel’s.

Taurus, your intuition is right on the money this week. In fact, people are asking you for advice. Now’s the time to start your own psychic counselling service. Did you know Sylvia Browne charges $850 a reading, and she thought Mitt Romney would win the U.S. election? Holy crap, you don’t even have to be right more than 50% of the time to make a shitload of money “helping” people—and the stars say you should do it! They also say you need a mint daiquiri, so get out the rum and Cointreau.

Always sociable, Gemini, you will have more than your share of interesting discussions this week—mostly about other people’s dirty laundry. Amazingly, no one is shocked by your sordid questions. (Are they all as loaded on Hennessey and peach schnapps as you?) You have a gift for looking someone right in the eye and asking, “Did you ever get that mole on your ass removed? It looked just like Rick Santorum.”

Cancer, the week starts with a financial windfall—possibly the Lotto Max jackpot or a massive prize home. As delighted as you’ll be, you’ll finally have to confront the question: “Now that I can buy as much alcohol as I want, whenever I want, and I don’t have to work for money, nor do I even have to leave my show home … will I just spend every day ripped out of my head?” You might want to dry out for a week and think about it. (Or not.)

Leo, your mind turns to sunshine and debauchery, which always calls for tropical blender drinks. As you frappé rum, pineapple juice, coconut cream, and a banana, you think of all sorts of raunchy ideas. Not about your partner, though, so it’ll be an interesting week. You may be thinking, Well, it’s fine for me because I don’t have a partner.  But the stars are not here to help you; they’re here to mess your shit up, so your raunchy ideas will be about animals or siblings.

Virgo, this is a good week for contacting people and reheating old friendships. You are coming across as less superficial and more trustworthy than usual. You feel a genuine urge to take care of others—but be careful if you’re buying rounds at the bar; too much generosity could empty your wallet. Better to invite a few good friends over for dinner champagne and vodka. Add some cranberry juice; the stars say you have a bladder infection.

Libra, you’ll be assailed by technical glitches this week. Expect trouble from your cell phone, tablet, iPod, vibrator—you name it. Be especially cautious about downloading porn; experts at LBHQ tell me that’s the numero uno way to catch a virus. If you have to spend all your money cleaning your computer (and that means the keyboard too—use a towel), you’ll have nothing left in your bar but vermouth (which you could drink with some bitters, but wouldn’t some gin be nice too?).

With a headful of Chardonnay, you’re not going to come up with any good answers this week, Scorpio. Ask friends for solutions to life’s problems. They may surprise you with their innovative thinking and/or just camp out at your house and finish your Southern Comfort. And the stars? They’re random as all hell for you: Write a long, rambling email to your oldest friend. Do not ride the bus at all between now and Valentine’s Day or you will certainly get involved with a weirdo.

Sagittarius, you’ll have the impulse to visit an old Leo friend—someone who tolerates you about once a year. Once upon a time you two hooked up, then things got weird for years, but now all is cool…at least unless you start slamming beers and 80-proof vodka together. Keep your drink total under, say, eight, and your meeting will be uneventful. BTW, the stars think you should go to the gym.

Professionalism continues to take a backseat, Capricorn, as you lash out at co-workers over a shared project. Try giving them some space instead of pushing your opinions. At the very least this will win you some respect for your maturity. At best you’ll get to take credit for the project without having done much work. Nice going! Spend your bonus on rum and triple sec.

Aquarius, traffic is out to get you this week. Don’t do any extra driving or deviate from your habitual route. Likewise, dark clouds are gathering at work. Keep a low profile; you’re good at being invisible when you need to be. There are nasty co-workers out to get you (OMG! The stars are paranoid!). All of which means you should save that big ol’ box of cheap white wine until AFTER you get safely home.

Pisces, invite your friends and family over for a nice home-cooked meal. FYI, this does not mean groundhog or raccoon or possum. Spend a little money to make a pleasant meal for your guests. Your generosity will thrill them and it will be good for you too. Who knows? Maybe they will show up with armloads of Jagermeister, rum, and DeKuyper Razzmatazz, making your outlay for supermarket ingredients a good investment.

THE GLENLIVET 12—To be shared with good friends only

Some dickhead from my dad’s office borrowed a $700 cable (stored in a special canister for years at LBHQ, and, like,  pristine) and—you guessed it—this dickhead took that cable, hooked it up to his own crappy stereo, then stuffed the cable back into the canister without even coiling it up, people. He crammed that interconnect in the can the way you’d shove spaghetti down the garburator. He didn’t give a crap whether it kinked, AND get this: When he returned it, he told my dad that it didn’t even sound that great.

This is, of course, total crap. My dad may not know shit about making a decent margarita, but he knows his audio, and his co-worker—we’re gonna call him “X”—is totally on his shit list now.

Which means, if we ever get any more GLENLIVET 12 in the house, X is not allowed to share it.

Okay, so he’s not allowed in our effing house at all, and especially not if we have GLENLIVET 12.

news_main_image_99The small empty bottle of GLENLIVET 12 now sitting in our recycling bin came from R, a good friend who does appreciate hi-fi, not to mention a good belt of whisky now and then. R and my parents (with the kiddies away at Nana & Papa’s) put away two bottles of wine before hitting the GLENLIVET 12, after one glass of which my mum wilted and we boys were left to pack the rest away along with a final red-wine chaser. That was such an awesome night that I haven’t even allowed myself to think of it since. I mean, maybe you live in a household where everybody pounds that much hooch every night, but I don’t, my fellow inebriates; most of the time LBHQ is practically a temperance zone.

My mum almost had a heart attack when she saw $80 in dead soldiers the next morning, but it was nothing compared to learning (1) that we have $700 worth of cable just sitting around the house; and (2) that my dad generously lends it out to tone-deaf dickheads who (3) return it looking like it’s been jumped on and possibly used for autoerotic asphyxiation.

glenlivet

If X tried GLENLIVET 12 he’d probably say it didn’t even taste that great. Then he’d return you a jagged, broken bottle with bits of glass floating in it. That’s because people like X prefer shitty things. And if you give them something nice, they piss on it!

X’s hypothetical GLENLIVET 12 review would be very wrong, MFI. With the light gold elixir’s fetching bouquet of fruit, caramel, and slight smoke, it serves up a smooth yet pleasantly oily mouthfeel that introduces itself to the palate gently, insinuating orchard and citrus notes, vanilla, and honey along with a pleasant burn. The finish is crisp and just a tiny bit medicinal—not overwhelming but certainly not disappointing either. This is more than a serviceable whisky; you can sip it comfortably, unless of course you pound it on a drunken tear with your awesome friend R, who, unlike X, is welcome at LBHQ any time.

Holy crap, is that a washing machine?

My Fellow Inebriates,

Typically I don’t go anywhere near the laundry room. Hell, my parents barely go in there. Which machine is more terrifying, I couldn’t tell you, but given my low chances of surviving the washer, the dryer’s horrors seem academic. In other words, when the inestimable Christine posted this video about a washing machine on my FB page, I was afraid.

But she’s Christine, right? Christine, who last came over with a canvas bag of Highland Park 12 and other goodies? So I figured I should watch the video.