A probing review of ARC DU RHONE

My Fellow Inebriates,

Occasionally I get asked to weigh in on subjects like the Shroud of Turin, sustainable agriculture, NAFTA, Vatican II, etc., so when Emily of The Waiting mentioned colonoscopies, or rather, #colonoscopies, I promised I’d write about that topic next. You’d be amazed how many people are tweeting about this ass-invading medical procedure. Rectums are twitching, stomachs are growling, and people are talking about their conditions in succinct little <140-character offerings.

Ketchup allowed for what??!! OMG!!

If you’ve been following, you know I don’t have a hole (at least not yet), so I haven’t had the pleasure of a colonoscopy, but my parents should be hitting the right age any day, if they haven’t already, at which time we’ll certainly post graphic, personal pictures, especially of my dad.

I had no idea preparing for a colonoscopy was as involved as it is. For three days you go on clear liquids, which I read as “gin.” One day before the procedure you flush everything out with laxatives and fluids, the goal being to “clear the colon of solid matter.”

You have to get special training if you want to perform colonoscopies.

Before the endoscope goes on its dark voyage and unless you live in a non-sedating country like Norway, you might score some fentanyl and laughing gas. Depending how anaesthetized you are, you might then watch the instrument toilet-snaking its way through your anus and on to even more exotic internal locales.

Wait, you say. How big is the endoscope? I’m not sure I wish to have any sizable instruments probing my ass.

By the looks of the scopes advertised on 1800ENDOSCOPE.com, which buys and sells endoscopes, they are pretty big-ass devices with an alarming length of tubing, a worrisome nozzle-like terminus, and of course a waterproof camera.

You wouldn’t want just anybody snapping on gloves, digitally probing your sphincter, then urging that thing through the rectum into your colon. You’d want somebody with medical talent, and you’d probably want them sober. You wouldn’t want them to have just finished a bottle of ARC DU RHONE (2010). Even the bottle says to “savour responsibly”—i.e., not right before performing a colonoscopy.

Vinified from Grenache Noir, Syrah, and Carignan Noir, ARC DU RHONE is unoaked and bursts with fresh berry aromas. Soft and luscious on the palate, this wine is a gorgeous, full-bodied exemplar of southern Rhone Valley wine. Weighty and boasting a substantial 14% alcohol, ARC DU RHONE promises and delivers ripe fruit, subtle black pepper, and smooth tannins. The finish is lingering and delightful.

Unfortunately, if you are booked for a colonoscopy within the next three days, you’ll have to pass this one up. Gloriously opaque, it would probably darken your colon and mess with that little camera’s imaging.

As for your talented medic, he/she could certainly enjoy ARC DU RHONE—just not before scrubbing in. It would make a good thank-you gift if the doc is gentle (and if not, keep it for yourself).

Best of all, this bottle is only $14.99, so you won’t feel like the liquor store is ass-raping you—just your doctor.

ω

ASTROLIQUOR for June 8-14—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

You regard your relationship as immune to interference, Aries, but keep any Sagittarians you know on your radar, because one could get between you and your partner this week. The catalyst will be a shot—actually, shots—containing peppermint schnapps, peach schnapps, vodka, and grenadine. What ensues will last until September, and it won’t necessarily be mindless and debauched.

Taurus, nature will beckon this week, although appointments may interfere. Like many Taurus types, you feel a constant need to desist from working. You daydream at your desk, feeling sorry that you get no holidays, when in fact you’re always on a mental holiday. It’s okay to vacation this way, especially with some Grey Goose in your desk.

Without opportunities to vent, Gemini, you’re on a path to snapping, so be sure to bust out this week at the bar rather than tormenting your coworkers. You don’t want them to think you’re a tool. If you can’t get to a bar, pack that booze along to work with you in the mornings. A shot of Bailey’s in your coffee will work wonders, and hey—wouldn’t your boss prefer you drunk and positive than sober and negative? Totally.

This is a terrific time to improve your home, Cancer, but doing it cheaply is a challenge for you. Self-discipline isn’t your strong suit; if it were, you wouldn’t have chugged all that Vincent Van Gogh espresso vodka last week and permanently puke-stained a decent pair of shoes. Try seeking out simpler pleasures and small purchases for your house such as throw-pillows in a barf-camouflaging dark color.

Leo, someone is counting on you this week, but you’re too distracted to help. The distraction is a love interest of the unattainable kind—someone who’s taken, perhaps, or maybe a blood relative. This is not a good time to load up on watermelon schnapps, especially at a family picnic. Go easy on the booze, at least until your forbidden urge(s) pass(es).

An exciting week lies ahead, Virgo, featuring parties, good friends, and lashings of Stolichnaya. Your star is rising socially. Get in touch with old friends, especially a Capricorn from long ago who pops into memory. I see you on a happy bender, making effusive toasts with espresso martinis, and wearing a thong.

Libra, things are going to break and spill this week, so think about plastic mickeys, and remember—you can always buy more vodka if you need to. Sure, some douchebag associate will criticize you for being a sloppy drunk, but we’ve all been there. Of greater concern should be a message offering you an opportunity—something tells you it might not be legit. It’s really fun to answer all your emails while wasted, but don’t give your banking information to anybody just because they ask; make sure they’re somebody important, like the son of the deposed leader of Nigeria.

Someone within your social group needs you, Scorpio. Fortunately, you’re sensitive to friends’ moods and can react appropriately. At least when you’re not hosed! If this person hits you up after you’ve consumed a bucket of Drambuie with butterscotch schnapps, Kahlua, and Irish cream floating in it, then good luck, because he/she won’t be addressing the diplomatic you. Fortunately (yet again) this person is a sap and will forgive you anything.

Sagittarius, you’re under extreme pressure this week, seeking something that might not be attainable, and which competitors are also hotly pursuing. The solution may be to do a 180 away from this goal. Sometimes you can’t win. Hole up at home and find a distraction. Ever combined coffee, raspberry, and pear liqueurs with some bitters and then blended it up with vanilla ice cream? Me neither, but we should both do it.

A valuable offer crosses your desk, Capricorn. It could be a promotion or it could be a long-wished-for item such as an art object, suddenly deeply discounted. Take advantage now, before you overthink it. Some would say take a brisk walk and weigh the pros and cons. Boring! If your rational side is getting in the way, get out the vodka and rum, add some lemonade, and pound it.

Aquarius, good fortune is smiling. This is a great week to purchase lottery tickets (for small winnings) and suck up to your boss. Whatever madness you engage in, keep it moderate, because August features some purse-string tightening. Have no fear, though—by September you’ll be able to loosen the restraints again. For now, just buy a really high-quality vodka and try to sip it slowly.

Pisces, your house will probably get flooded this week, and while you’re camped out at a neighborhood gymnasium, hoodlums will break in and loot all your gin. It comes as crappy news to naïve you that other humans can be such jerks. Hang on until August, when things improve and you can take some sort of revenge. Or if you’re not the avenging type, just get drunk and stay that way.

PASO CREEK ZINFANDEL (2010)—Restoring you after, if not during, that playdate

My Fellow Inebriates,

Miss P has a friend (A) over for a playdate, so we animals are mimicking that famous ET scene and playing statues. This might be overkill; at 6 years old, she and her friend would probably eschew stuffies anyway in favor of some vapid online game whose object is to “make the nerdy girl pretty.”

My mum doesn’t know how this evil game came to P’s attention, although she suspects a particular classmate, friend B—the one who introduced Justin Bieber (“Beaver”) and who wants P to join her after-school cheerleading and beauty pageantry groups. This is the reason friend A has been invited over but not (“never!”) friend B.

OMG! OMFG!!!

My parents are realizing, though, that whatever control you exert over your kids’ friend choices when they’re tiny drops precipitously with the onset of school. As soon as you start doing drop-off playdates—and unless you’re a saint you know you want to—you consign your kid for several hours at a time to the unknown. Who knows what the hell those crazy people are feeding your kid, telling your kid, asking your kid, showing your kid, saying in front of your kid…

And that, no doubt, is what friend A’s mother is asking herself after dropping her child at our messy house, with its yardful of random unidentifiables, its imposing kluge stereo which, for all she knows, could have live wires sticking out everywhere, and my mother answering the door with an apology for not having vacuumed because V won’t let her (for a month—is that even credible?). Never mind the wild bears playing statues on the bookshelves, our hairy asses blocking her from reading worrisome titles.

Ken’s not playing statues; he wants you to see his junk.

But at least we’re not drunk. True, it’s only 4:00pm, but in some households (and if I had my druthers) we’d be throwing up already. With hard-thrumming rain like today’s, a nice hearty zin like PASO CREEK (2010) would be perfect. I don’t know if friend A is used to her parents breaking out the booze immediately after school, but who knows? You just never know with playdate kids. Maybe it would make her feel at home if we pulled the cork right now. At 15% alcohol, this Zinfandel has “playdate” written all over it—or at least recovery from same.

The label features a freaky-looking little owl, the kind that can do a 360° head spin. This is a boozy wine with a bold nose. You might want to decant it to give that owl a chance to settle down, if you can delay gratification while being overcome by earthy redolence. Swish this deep garnet liquid around and you get berries, plums, and black pepper. Waiting half an hour does pay off with this wine; the flavors are deeply concentrated and need a bit of oxygen to fully strut their stuff.

By the time you finally sip PASO CREEK you may well be having conniptions, what with three little girls screaming around the house playing dress-up and this voluptuous wine seducing you from the decanter. The sip is big and robust, delivering lush berries and plums while maintaining good balance. Weighty and palate-coating, PASO CREEK has a lengthy finish, much the way little girls’ happy shrieks echo in your ears after they’ve gone to bed. It’s boozy, yummy, and worth the $18.