My dad is not one to forget his apostrophes (very often), so I knew, when he emailed this picture with the header “Tonights wine” that he must be totally f#cked up.
Tonights wine
My friend Blackie Bear once told me his apostrophes are the first thing to go when he gets hammered, so it’s forgivable. WHAT’S NOT FORGIVABLE IS EMAILING ME A PICTURE OF A $28 CABERNET SAUVIGNON FROM THE OKANAGAN ON A DRY WEEKDAY!!!!
Even my evil mother is starting to think about cracking a bottle of wine.
My Fellow Inebriates,
Your booze horoscope is still a mess. I have to admit, dry weekdays are totally getting me down. I can’t even get up in the mornings, never mind figure out what the stars have to say. But finally—the weekend having officially been kicked off—I have a glass of wine in my paw, and the stars are forecasting. (But they are still full of shit.)
Aries, be careful with first impressions this week. It’s fine to be nude at home, but it’s no way to greet new acquaintances. You can stay in touch with your spiritual side without swinging your thing(s) around in public. In fact, you can change mentally. People are starting to recognize depth in you that wasn’t visible before. Could it be that you’re lucid this week? You got it, Aries, you’re this week’s Designated Driver.
Taurus, we all have responsibilities, and lately you’ve been keeping tabs on everybody else’s. Let go of the urge to compare, Taurus—you know other people are often douchebags and they will get away with whatever they can. It doesn’t have anything to do with you and your own objectives. Once you stop monitoring other people, you’ll feel free to go after what you want in life—i.e., Smirnoff with triple sec and Mountain Dew.
Gemini, your week promises to be free of f#ck-ups. If you play a sport, you’ll excel in it. If you go trawling the bars for a hook-up, you’ll find it. You might even get a job this week—but only if you book your interviews for the morning (assuming you can hold off till afternoon to pound that vodka-tequila shot). Life is good.
Cancer, crappy times are finally ending and you can see the light at the end of the tunnel. As you transition to a happier, saner life phase, people will seem more warm and colorful, and sleep will come more easily than it has in months. But life won’t be perfect! Something in your house will break (the stars don’t know what; they are just stupid balls of gas so they can’t be specific). And an Aquarius will be skulking around—maybe even stalking you. Do NOT share your Captain Morgan Tattoo with this person. Pour some Dr. Pepper into it and slam it back alone.
Leo, you’ll espy something beautiful and be overcome with desire. Whether an objet d’art or a pricey Champagne, you’ll insist on having it immediately, with no regard for financial consequences. But you should save some money this week, Leo, because something in your house will go on the fritz. Maybe an appliance, maybe your computer. That’s the thing about the stars; they like to be unspecific so they can say they were right—especially if you take their prediction as license to go apeshit-drunk in your house and wreck something.
You’ll encounter a stranger this week, Virgo, but a combination of peach schnapps, amaretto, Southern Comfort, and apple schnapps will ensure the two of you do not remain strangers. And the plot will thicken as you discover mutual acquaintances, enmeshing you in a prematurely complicated relationship. Who knows—maybe the two of you are even long-lost siblings? (Ew.) Your new involvement will keep your thoughts occupied all week, and maybe that’s a good thing.
Libra, you’ve got nuthin’ going on this week. The stars have literally nothing to say about your chart—nothing out of whack, no nutjob stalkers, no strangers stepping into your steamy shower. For some people a boring calm week is a comfort. For you…? Oh, for crying out loud, at least mix yourself a bizarre cocktail. Blend this up with two cups of ice:
Memory lane reaches out this week, Scorpio, especially if you are over 40 years old. Whatever age you felt best at, you’ll behave accordingly. And if you’re a young Scorpio with no drunken good times yet racked up, why not bust out this week? Either way, a lot of Scorpios will get involved in feats of immaturity this week. Mellow out afterwards with equal parts Kahlua, Bailey’s, and Frangelico (unless your drunken activities land you in jail, in which case…I once saw this movie in which a character made Merlot in the toilet, so you probably can too).
Sagittarius, negotiations look excellent this week, especially for big-ticket loans like mortgages. Don’t be afraid! You can make the payments, although you may have to settle for cheaper gin and whiskey. The stars see you sitting on your new porch drinking a Bud and telling yourself you like it. That’s awesome! It’s the North American dream. And you’ll have lots of friends too, but you must remember to phone them.
If you’re having a tough week, Capricorn, you should consider telling a stranger about it. There’s no sense laying all your shit on a friend or relative; find somebody on the subway and tell them all about your hemorrhoids. Then again, you could see a doctor, but a medical professional might tell you to lay off the Scotch. And for a final piece of astrological randomness…buy someone some flowers.
Aquarius, a nagging problem has started to seem insurmountable. Even when you read about global misfortunes in the newspaper, you still feel whiny and sorry for yourself. Perhaps you need a bizarre sexual adventure; these can be great distractions, and they tend to dovetail nicely with Cointreau and triple sec. Post the pics on FB.
Pisces, you’ll realize suddenly that you have been pretending—who knows for how long? Check yourself out in the mirror and look at all the things that have happened to you. OMG, was that bit there before? What about that pendulous thing? What is it exactly? Realizations such as these are the bane of the sober mind. The antidote is a tub of Sangria, so find some crappy Cab and throw a bunch of brandy and fruit into it. Or hell, just drink the wine.
My Fellow Inebriates,
Upon learning Joe Weider had died, I had a sudden impulse to work out. After all, you don’t get to be 93 sitting on a barstool begging your parents for cheap rye.
But, hell, who needs to be 93 anyway? (Incidentally, for bears, 93 is more like 32.) If I live to be either, my parents will be long dead, and who will take care of me?
P and V??
OMG!!!
So the plan is to carry on drinking myself to death. Last night’s poison, SHOT IN THE DARK CABERNET SHIRAZ (2010), an award-emblazoned $13.99 offering at my local booze shop, appealed to my mother despite its contradiction between wine-show performance and price point. Finally optimism won out and it came home with us like an orphaned wombat.
We’ve been so-so about Australian wine lately. Yes, it’s awfully good for our general drunkenness and anti-longevity efforts. But Aussie winemakers are famous for harvesting overripe grapes or even adding sugar to wine to pump up its alcohol content, generating a boozy smokescreen for what are often “bulk” characteristics. Maybe we need to hit a higher price point (okay, we do). Or maybe we just haven’t been sufficiently diligent at avoiding:
SHOT IN THE DARK, while a stupid name suggesting half-assed viticultural efforts, nevertheless skirted all these other red flags, plus it came festooned with a row of awards, which ultimately propelled it into our shopping basket. Three-quarters Cabernet and one-quarter Shiraz, it benefits from decanting somewhat, although it ceases to develop new flavors after 15 minutes or so, at which point you probably want to pound it. Predominant aromas are sweet berries and a cloying grapey simplicity that is, in fairness, free of any chook or other barnyard shenanigans. Reasonably pleasant on the nose, it’s slightly more assertive on the palate, introducing herbs, oak, and eucalyptus. The mouthfeel is less dense than I’d have expected with this blend, coming off middling rather than dense. The finish is a bit forgettable.
SHOT IN THE DARK has garnered a lot of buzz, and perhaps these raves take into consideration its low price. I doubt I’m the only one staring at the emperor’s hairy ass—at least, my dad agreed this wine wasn’t all that—but the hype seems a bit over the top. It’s certainly not a bad wine, but as a centerpoint for conversation, without the distraction of food or conversation that sparkles more than my parents’, it ends up lacking. Most damning (at least in LBHQ terms) we didn’t finish this bottle all in one go. Instead we replaced the screwtop and went to bed. And that’s how I woke up sober and managed to work out for five minutes after hearing that Joe Weider was dead.
Liquorstore Bear 