ASTROLIQUOR for March 9-15—What the stars say you should drink!

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

You got wrecked last weekend, Aries, and you have similar plans for the one coming up. What starts on Friday may well continue into Monday. Phone your boss now and secure Monday/Tuesday off to recover. Sure, there’ll be a pile of work on your desk when you return, but that’s okay—it may reset your focus. Your attention span has been sketchy lately. Your brain cell count is probably down about 25% (and you know they don’t grow back!). That’s what comes of combining Smirnoff apple vodka and watermelon schnapps all day.

Taurus, somebody at work has a boot-heel on you this week, but you won’t let this freak control you for long. You are slippery as soap, and you know how easy it is to drop the soap. The drama that ensues will make your mate nervous as to whether your job is in jeopardy. If there was ever a time for Malibu, this is it. Mix it with some Blue Curacao and 7-Up to quell those anxieties.

You have plenty of opinions, Gemini, and this is a good week to share them. If you keep them to yourself and say “I told you so” afterwards, your friends will hate you. Tap into your self-confidence. This is a perfect week to tell people exactly what you think of them. And if you need a little help finding your nerve, a martini works wonders. For you, split-personality Gemini, a 4:1 gin-to-vodka ratio is perfect. Add vermouth and shake with ice; garnish with lemon. If it looks crystal-clear, you’ve done it right.

You feel busy but you’re actually your true lazy self, Cancer. But it’s a mistake to rest this week; your creativity is on a big upswing. Apply it to building a bar in your basement. Stock it with all kinds of Smirnoff, then branch outward to weirder things like Licor 43 and Blue Curacao. If you have your own bar, you’ll make friends more easily.

Leo, the psychiatrist’s couch is paying off with all kinds of insights into different areas of your life—work, education, relationships. You’ve learned what you’re good and not good at. For instance, you are very good at draining a bottle of blended whisky. You’re not as good at pacing yourself. Stretch that bottle out by adding other ingredients:

  • 3 oz whisky
  • 1 oz Grand Marnier
  • 2 oz cream
  • 2 tsp icing sugar
  • 2 egg yolks

Shake everything up with ice and strain into a champagne flute. If you’re worried about salmonella, skip the eggs, cream and icing sugar. Ahhh!

Your personal enrichment continues, Virgo, with art and love elevating you above your daily routine. You’re enchanted to the exclusion of all others. And with your own big bottle of vodka, you don’t need anyone else. Maybe just some Gatorade for taste and rehydration.

Libra, you’re hot for somebody who doesn’t share your feelings. Awkward! Don’t harp on it; you stand a strong chance of becoming a stalker. If you get frustrated, share your feelings with an impartial friend. But don’t abuse this person! Friends can only take so much obsessive lunacy. Distract yourself with this crazy recipe:

  • 4 oz vodka
  • 1 oz Pisang Ambon (emerald green and fruity!)
  • 1 oz passion-fruit liqueur
  • 2 oz vanilla ice cream
  • 10 oz pineapple juice

Shake it, shake it. What a lot of effort—but worthwhile if it banishes those crazy stalker thoughts.

A hook-up is in the stars for you, Scorpio. But will it be trivial or non-trivial? The only way to find out is to go home with that stranger. It’ll be a turbulent, emotional week, at the end of which you’ll be exhausted. This is not the week for experimenting with challenging recipes. I see you with one bottle in each hand, alternating Bacardi 151 and Wild Turkey.

Sagittarius, one of your posse will disappoint you this week, souring your relationship and derailing your emotions, which leads to more than a few work screw-ups. But don’t give up; you’ve invested a lot in this person. If someone offers to mediate, accept the help. Get out the blender, whirl up a big pitcher of rum, melon liqueur, lime juice, pineapple juice, and coconut cream. This is your Mediation Beverage. The three of you will either sort out your dispute or have a three-way—and if you’re lucky, both.

Ratchet up your efforts this week, Capricorn, and you’ll reach your goals. But don’t rope others into doing the work for you. Be patient and introspective. After a few days, look up from the grindstone and you’ll find someone checking you out. But it’s just a flirtation, not worth risking a long-term relationship. Ease up on the vodka so you don’t make any blotto decisions.

Aquarius, money isn’t everything, something you realize as the weather improves and nature becomes more attractive. Do outdoorsy stuff: feed birds, check out the ducks, go for a hike. It’s a little-known fact that hot people go outside. Don’t forget to take along a flask full of gin, just in case nature gets boring.

Pisces, you have to keep working no matter how tempted you are to pull a no-show. If you apply yourself, you’ll actually get results, although you have an unfortunate slack-ass reputation to overcome. Just remember, if you’re not earning money, you can’t buy beer. And the other incentive? Someone at work wants to get with you after hours.

Coaching my dad through International Women’s Day

My Fellow Inebriates,

If my friend hadn’t posted this picture, I wouldn’t have known it was International Women’s Day. Awash in the same cognitive disconnect as most work-at-home parents, cutting cheese sandwiches into shapes before hitting the playground, my mum wasn’t aware of it either.

My mum’s not evil, but she’s not one of those people who always knew she should be mothering—children, animals, or even plants. In fact, her gut instinct told her not to (something she shares publicly, netting dirty looks from the “always-knew-it-was-my-calling” mothers). She’s toughing it out and faking her way through it. Her best chance, really, is to wait out the six months until both of them are in school full-time, with trained professionals doing the important bits. Because heart-shaped cheese sandwiches are just about her limit.

The plant my mum tortures

When I asked her if she knew March 8 was International Women’s Day, she said that not only did she not know of the occasion; she didn’t have a clue it was March 8—she barely knew it was March. I said, “Ha, ha, I guess I won’t get you a lobotomy as a present then.” Which she ignored.

Then there’s my dad, working late. Let me tell you, if I were my dad, I’d make myself scarce for International Women’s Day. It’s not like Valentine’s Day, which embittered women like my mother can scoff at. No, no, no…It’s actually pretty unlucky my mum has even learned of this date. Unlucky for my dad.

You see, if International Women’s Day were a gift-giving occasion, he’d be really screwed. He could buy her flowers and get crucified for (a) frivolous spending, (b) trivializing women’s issues, and (c) provoking my mum’s allergies. Any other purchase (except chocolate, which my mum’s ass particularly requests) would get dissected mercilessly. Thankfully he doesn’t have to enter the minefield until Mother’s Day.

Pssst! Dad! We can hide here.

I’m thankful too. I would have felt obligated to help my dad figure out what she wants. Getting into her mind isn’t my favorite thing; it’s like bushwhacking your way through a forest that not only lacks enchantment but hosts weird, ugly plants that exhibit non-Fibonicci leaf numbers. The few seconds I spent dwelling there this afternoon almost cost me some fur.

I emerged with some advice for my dad—the keys to any mother’s heart:

  • Silence and solitude. Take those monkeys away for a while; give her a chance to miss them.
  • Support. If she needs to work, help facilitate it—whatever “work” means. Facilitating it shows you believe in it. And you might be surprised at the results.
  • Cleaning. Notice when it gets done. Women like my mother would rather drink Windex than squirt it.
  • Dinner. Come when it’s ready. Call when you can’t.
  • Don’t buy anything. For mothers who spend all day with the kids, doing their own shopping means more than the purchase itself.

OMG! The fur in my head was pretty sore after this exercise. Perhaps there are some clues in this list about my long-gone girlfriend Dolly. She’s not a mother, but she is a woman (kind of). Maybe there were things I needed to understand better. Her bear fetish, for instance—I thought it was enough to sustain her interest. Her fixation on Journey songs—I thought they could supply whatever sensitivity I lacked. Her willingness to settle—until Fluffy came along.

And that’s why I’m getting wrecked tonight, my fellow inebriates. My head is muddled and sad. Beer reviews to come!

Excrementitiously green without dye—the Chicago River

OMG, look what they do to the Chicago River every year.

What’s the deal with dyeing the Chicago River green every year for St. Patrick’s Day? I thought the picture was photoshopped at first, but Chicagoans actually do this annually, my fellow inebriates. WTF?

I mean really—WTF? Where did this idea come from? From a historical perspective, throwing dye in the river is almost as arbitrary as throwing partially treated poo into it. At what point did this sound like a good idea?

The story is told with unapologetic glee by Dan O’Leary, who equates the Chicago River’s yearly “spectacular transformation” with the parting of the Red Sea. In 1961, plumbing engineer Steve Bailey, in an effort to locate a waste line being emptied into the Chicago River, poured green dye into the waste system and then checked to see where the color would appear. Overjoyed by the change from murky, excrementitious green to vivid Leprechaun green, Bailey suggested the city dye the entire river green every year to commemorate St. Patrick’s Day. Strangely, the city went for it, and Bailey helmed the operation, pouring 100 pounds of fluorescent compound in the first year, then playing with the amount over the next two years until he arrived at 25 pounds, enough to make a “carpet of green” for one day.

With dye

Bailey thought this was awesome; he was passionate about St. Patrick’s Day and wanted to dye all kinds of things green. You’d think Chicagoans would have questioned what chemical was entering the water, but it took until 1966 for environmentalists to point out that the oil-based dye was harming aquatic life. This cracked Bailey up and, despite not giving a shit about that sort of bleeding-heart concern, he concocted a new vegetable-based dye. This concession may well have killed him, as he died that year. Then again, maybe he just ate a lot of Ulster fry-ups.

Without dye

The Chicago River is one of the filthier rivers, with an estimated 70 percent wastewater. Over a billion gallons of sewage is poured into it every day, begging the question: Isn’t it green enough? And if Chicago thinks it needs to be greener, why not actually “green” the river?

Although money is predictably tight, private companies such as the Wisconsin brewer Leinenkugel have stepped up to raise both cash and awareness through Friends of the Chicago River.

I’d never heard of Leinenkugel beer. Our Canadian government-run liquor stores don’t carry it, so I don’t imagine I’ll get the chance to try it. Thinking about Leinenkugel’s concern for clean water gives me…well, delirium tremens, if I’m being honest. I’d love a beer right now.

So what is Leinenkugel beer like? I wish I knew! Apparently they have a damn fine amber ale. Anyone care to write a guest review?