My friend Scarybear says that with enough mental discipline (not a small stumbling block) I can train my mind to send out brainwaves and make my parents buy me any alcoholic beverage I want. He says he does this regularly with cookies and Rolo ice cream, although he still finds pizza challenging to get them to order.
What do you think, my fellow inebriates? Can it be done? Or is Scary imagining things?
Miss P left this sitting on a chair in the living room this morning.
Totally freaky, right? Only two things immediately occurred to me as more frightening:
So what the hell is going on with this picture? For quite a while P has been drawing females with flat heads, giant puckery lips, and grim expressions. Perhaps it’s a developmental phase; one of Dad’s colleagues says his own daughters are drawing flat-headed, big-lipped evil princesses too. Whatever the reason, such images are totally scary and therefore good reason to drink a bottle of wine.
Beckoning from the fridge: VINA ESMERALDA TORRES (2011). Billed by our favorite booze-shop consultant as “the best turkey wine” he’s had in the last 20 years, this Spanish offering retails for $13.99 and consists of Moscatel d’Alexandrie (85%) and Gewurztraminer (15%). I am too drunk to put the little diacritics on those varietals, but you know what I mean. Nor do I care whether this wine pairs with turkey, which gets served maybe once or twice a year at LBHQ and invariably demands the sacrifice of a full bottle of sparkling wine to the cooking process—a sickening travesty compounded by the asparagus that may or may not accompany the cooked bird.
Ackkkk!!
At 11.5% alcohol, VINA ESMERALDA isn’t really up to the brain-cell bludgeoning required to erase scary images, bear-directed trauma at the hands of young children, or terrifying paranormal episodes. It won’t erase shit—you really can drink the whole bottle without incident. And you should. Delicate floral aromas waft from the glass as the wine glass starts to sweat, releasing some spice and tropical fruit as it warms slightly. This is a gentle and refreshing wine with almost a hint of effervescence—nothing obnoxious, though, just a suggestion. Off-dry and easy-drinking, VINA ESMERALDA is virtually impossible to keep in your glass.
Needless to say, our bottle is all gone, and sobriety is around the corner again. And OMFG, my fellow inebriates, this freaky picture is still here, staring at me.
My Fellow Inebriates,
As annoyed I am that no drinking is occurring at LBHQ these days, Scarybear is even madder. Not that he gives a rat’s ass whether we have any beer in the house. His big gripe is the lack of cake at (or since) my mum’s birthday last week. Nobody even thought of cake; that’s how busy they are. And Scary lives for cake.
He also lives for TV, and yesterday my dad decided to put our plasma out to pasture. As he took it off the bracket, Scary’s funk became even more funereal than it had been for Glen Bear (whom V says “might be in the stuffie box” at kindergarten—but will she ever remember to check?). And we know who broke the TV.
“You’ve just crossed over into the Fluffy Zone.”
This is what Sylvia Browne says about the whole thing.
OMG, Sylvia Browne called me a “customer.” Sylvia Browne won’t solve the Fluffy problem unless we send her some cash.
But Sylvia Browne predicted that Mitt Romney would win the 2012 US election. Why would I trust her to tell me why/how Fluffy broke the dishwasher, clogged the toilet, made the air too cold at LBHQ, possibly disposed of Glen Bear (unless Carnivorous Duck ate him), and zapped Scary’s beloved plasma TV with his mind??
I wouldn’t even trust Sylvia Browne to review a bottle of LAGUNITAS LITTLE SUMPIN’ WILD ALE. She’d never, even on her wildest predictive run, guess that it weighs in at 72.5 IBU and 8.8% alcohol. This shit is hoppy with a capital H. If you like beers that beat you up, LITTLE SUMPIN’ WILD is for you. But Sylvia Browne would never know that, because she probably never even predicted the Twinkie’s demise.
Incidentally, we have Twinkies up here in Canada. They are on the shelves at Walmart the way they always have been, with their zillion ingredients and infinitesimal vitamin profile. They do not seem to be an obsession here, unlike the apostrophe-less Tim Hortons coffee, which is crappier than all the Twinkies, Ding Dongs, and Cupcakes the Hostess factory can spew out on its very worst day.
But why would you have a weak, acidic Timmy coffee when you can have a hop-thrashingly strong ale from Lagunitas Brewing Co.? It pours a golden hue with a coarse, clingy head. From the get-go it assaults you with citrusey, piney, earwaxy hops and a honey-nut pulse behind. Those fumes don’t lie, my fellow inebriates, LITTLE SUMPIN’ WILD packs a wallop. You get spice, pine, grapefruit, and biscuit in gratuitous lashings. Bend over as it kicks your ass; it is a surly item with a crisp yet creamy mouthfeel and plenty more punches where the first ones came from—which is to say, it will stick around in your mouth.
The verdict? Let Scary eat cake, and let Fluffy duel Sylvia Browne on PPV. Let me have LITTLE SUMPIN’ WILD—preferably for breakfast.
Liquorstore Bear 