The secret cure for New Year’s doldrums—Cachaca!

A zillion microbes for your child to play with

My typist abandoned me today to take the kids to an indoor play area, a filthy, sweltering sauna (she complained) that could prompt any sound atheist to conceive of purgatory as being fully possible.

The smell at the play area? Deep-fried things, not necessarily food.

The patrons? The sub-70-IQ ass-crack parade, a truck ride away from Walmart. Big hair, small vocabulary.

Their progeny? The apparent hope of our planet.

If my mum sounds like a miserable snob and potential eugenics proponent, consider that she, with her crap finances, losing snakes-and-ladders game of a career, thrashingly desperate parenting, inability to vacuum, and impending 43rd birthday, is experiencing a post-New Year’s letdown.

I can relate. Our house is officially dry—if you ignore the Malibu dregs and worm-inhabited mescale my parents insist could poison us. A blue bin of empties (which my mum forgot to put out for the collection truck) attests to the fact that we are…bereft of alcohol.

No wonder my mum is being such a drag. If she’s a fraction of the alcoholic I am, she must be suffering. My dad too—he’s watched, like, a hundred episodes of Monk.

I tried to cheer them up by reminding them about the Brazilian rum sample headed our way.

Me: Make sure you’re home for the Cachaca delivery.

To make a copacabana cosmo, you need Cachaca.

Mum: The what?

Me: C-A-C-H-A-C-A. Tropical rum. UPS. You’re welcome.

Mum: Excuse me?

Me: So you have to be home for that. And the painting. We need a frame for that too.

Mum: Why don’t you answer the door?

Me: I’m a bear. Bears are scary. The UPS driver will freak.

UPS tracking says it's in St. Paul, MN. It's getting closer. Thank you, Dan Lacey!

Mum: I’m out tomorrow, sorry, buddy.

Me: NO! You have to be home! I need that Cachaca!

Mum: You’ll live. They’ll put a sticker on the door and we’ll get it later.

Me: Noooooooo!!!!!

Mum: I doubt it’s coming anyway. Seriously, who would send you alcohol?

OMG, my parents are so harsh.

ASTROLIQUOR for Dec. 30-Jan. 5—What the stars say you should drink

My Fellow Inebriates,

Here’s your booze horoscope:

This is a very special week for you, Aries, which means you’ll be off the dole soon. If you can snag a job interview this week, take it, because you are hot, hot, HOT. The only thing that could ruin it for you is a bender. That’s why I’m recommending a gin & Coca Cola combination—your gag reflex will save you from yourself. Then again, you might like it, in which case…enjoy the soaps.

Taurus, the dark times are ending. Yes, things are getting happier, but shit in your house still keeps breaking. Could it be that you are knocking it down while drunk? Try to put breakables away before you start mixing vodka and Mountain Dew. Then you won’t need to spend your booze money on repairs. Oh, and one more thing: there’s an ill-intentioned Sagittarius stalking you, so don’t lose consciousness. I’m sorry if that’s creepy, but it was in the stars.

You are focused on beautiful things this week, Gemini—sculpture, paintings, pretty clothes. Don’t forget beautiful drinks! Here’s the perfect recipe for something pink and lovely:

  • 1 oz white rum
  • 1 oz vodka
  • 1 oz gin
  • 0.5 oz Grand Marnier
  • Splashes of cranberry or tropical juice

Shake with ice, then pour into an old-fashioned glass and garnish with a cherry. Beautiful to look at! But you won’t look so hot after half a dozen.

Cancer, you’ll encounter a stranger this week who turns out to be more familiar than you thought. A friend of a friend perhaps, or maybe an old school buddy from long ago. You’ll bond strongly over Jack Daniel’s. Be careful, though, and establish some facts before you start slurping it off each other. This person could be your cousin. Oh, snap!

Wish I could predict a torrid affair for you or at least some small intrigue, but it’s a “nothing” week, Leo, which is probably good for you and certainly good for the police. Whatever stimulation you need is up to you! Make sure you have a nice bottle of wine to keep you company or—if you’re bored out of your mind—a big bottle of Smirnoff.

You’re feeling young, Virgo, maybe even ten or twenty years younger than your actual age. Act quickly before self-consciousness intrudes, and install yourself at the trendiest bar you can find. Order embarrassing drinks and spread the love. I see you covered in whipped cream with people pointing and laughing behind you. YEAH! Here’s a good drink for second childhood:

  • 1.5 oz creme de cacao
  • 0.5 oz banana liqueur
  • 0.5 oz coconut cream
  • 3 oz cream

If you are seriously old and on heart meds, forgo the cream and order milk. You’ll still manage to embarrass yourself.

This is the time to negotiate all things financial, Libra, at least until the end of the week. Then it’s time to contact old friends. Remember you need to phone or visit people once in a while—phone sex doesn’t a full life make. Tell your friends you’ll give them special coffee if they come over, then load them up with cherry brandy. They might not have sex with you, but at least you’ll use up all that languishing Kirschwasser.

Your psychological problems are becoming more public, Scorpio. Try talking to a professional about stuff that’s bothering you. If that person turns out to be an idiot, trust the bottle instead—but only something strong will do. Dial back your angst with equal parts tequila, Jagermeister and peppermint schnapps. If that combo doesn’t cure you, it’ll spur a psychotic break, and sometimes those are cathartic.

Sagittarius, your problems seem very big, but if you read the news you’ll realize they are minuscule. Am I lecturing you? Yes, because the stars tell me you’ll be stalking a Taurus this week. Stop that! Adventures are good, but only when your special friends are willing. Here’s some preemptive punishment: Cointreau-and-cognac shots! Do lots of them so you’ll stay at home and avoid being a nuisance.

You’ve been doing too much pretending, Capricorn. You barely know yourself any more, and people are starting to think you’re a douche. Part of the problem is your pretentiousness about wine and whiskey. If you adhere to very high-quality alcohol, your tastebuds become spoiled. Reset your tastes with something bizarre before you become intolerable. Here’s your prescription:

  • 3 oz watermelon vodka
  • 3 oz watermelon rum
  • 2 oz apple schnapps
  • 2 oz berry schnapps
  • 2 oz watermelon schnapps
  • Gingerale to taste (I recommend “none”)

Shake it up and down it. After that, any wine is gonna taste awesome.

Aquarius, that thing you’ve been working on, that you’ve poured your heart into, that thing you’ve sweat blood for—well, your boss thinks it sucks. Drown your sorrows with some nice Russian vodka. A vodka bottle will never call you a loser. A vodka bottle is your friend. All the bottles are your friends.

Pisces, this week features an erotic attraction to two or three people, maybe all at once. Obviously liquor will be needed to manifest this idea properly. Malibu should do the trick, with lashings of melon, banana and cherry liqueur. With all those flavors flying around, the whole gang will be happy, and at least some of you should score.

BAILEY’S IRISH CREAM—emulsification, coagulation, inebriation

My Fellow Inebriates,

The recycling truck just passed by (we missed it and are stuck for another week with sky-high paper and corrugated cardboard). The house looks like a tornado hit it. What is all this holiday loot? Will it enhance our lives? Or is it tomorrow’s litter?

A few favorite things…

Last fall the four-year-old acquired Nacho the Chihuahua, complete with hook for attaching to keys or a child’s backpack. Miss V quickly elevated the animal to near-godhood, its presence necessary for sleep, bath, and all special occasions, including its own twice-weekly birthdays for which cakes are baked and decorated. For Christmas Santa brought the next-size-up Nacho, prompting an ecstatic family reunion for the two of them and, not least, Miss V.

I don’t mind Chihuahuas, but they make me think of tequila and our lack of it. Despite Nacho’s status as favorite pre-K Christmas present, it makes me really thirsty.

The six-year-old’s fave gift? An Easy Bake Oven. I was relieved to see the small opening in this frightening appliance as well as the exhortation to parents to participate in its use. This means I probably won’t get cooked in it, although the smaller Nacho might.

For my dad? A T-shirt. I don’t know if this was his favorite gift, but anything that prevents my dad from walking around shirtless is okay in my book.

And my mum? She got the best gift of all: BAILEY’S IRISH CREAM. Yes, it’s ass-expanding and heart-squeezing, but ahhhhh, there is nothing like Bailey’s (although, come to think of it, Carolan’s and Feeney’s are pretty good substitutes). Decadent and silky, BAILEY’S on ice is the best end-of-day reward for putting up with kids parenting. It’s gentle enough for whiskey novices to appreciate, and for those who still find it strong, a little milk dilutes it nicely.

Supposedly the BAILEY’S recipe wasn’t perfected until 1973 because whiskey and cream don’t naturally mix together. Plenty of DIY Irish cream chefs have experienced having to shake up their separated home versions. Gilbey’s of Ireland homogenizes BAILEY’S with the aid of an emulsifier, which is why theirs stays together and yours doesn’t. (But I wonder which tastes better? I still haven’t tried the DIY version.)

Brain Hemorrhage

The best thing about BAILEY’S is its versatility. It can be drunk straight, over ice, as part of a cocktail, or poured into coffee. A number of shooters call for BAILEY’S specifically because it coagulates when combined with acidic mixers, creating foul-looking drinks intended to be shot for sport and gross-out factor. It’s important to down these shooters really fast or the texture will make you toss your cookies.

What did you get for the holidays? Will it get you drunk? Or will it enhance your life in some other way?