Category Archives: drinks

by | September 2, 2008 · 5:13 pm

a tale of two outdoor concerts.

I love outdoor concerts. I love live music in general, and being outside listening to live music makes me feel like I’m actually sort of outdoorsy. I mean, there are bugs, and I’m sitting on the ground, right? 

This Labor Day weekend, I attended two truly American outdoor concerts, and I find the juxtaposition of these concerts to be very entertaining. On Sunday night, I went to the National Symphony Orchestra’s free concert on the Capitol lawn. The Capitol was behind us, the Washington Monument was in front of us, there was a ridiculously gorgeous sunset, and generally the entire event oozed classiness. Our view basically looked like this:

Of course, the only songs I really recognized were the suites they played from movies (um Harry Potter? AMAZING.), but still, it was classy. After the concert, we even went out for some classy glasses of wine at a classy restaurant AND took a cab home. I know, I’m an adult. (As long as you disregard the fact that we tried to bring wine into the concert and failed because they legit tear apart your bag looking for booze and weapons, so we had to hide the wine in the bushes. That wasn’t so classy.)

Unfortunately, my faux-maturity came to an end last night when I attended a Jimmy Buffet concert. You heard me. Jimmy Buffet. I know you’re jealous. Going into the concert, I anticipated dancing like a hippie alongside a bunch of people who looked like my parents. I wasn’t entirely off-base on that assumption, except instead of dancing next to a bunch of middle-aged white folks, I watched in horror as police tackled them to the ground and arrested them. I have never seen so many arrests in such a short period of time, and man, those cops were brutal! It was mostly entertaining/shocking to watch all of this stuff go down, but at one point I found myself alone right as a cop took down a fat guy in a Hawaiian shirt, and I nearly started crying I was so scared. My favorite fight, by far, involved two trashy women who started going at it right in front of us. One of them was holding a child and screamed “Can’t you see I have my baby here?!” right before she smacked the other woman in the face. That poor kid’s gonna have some issues.

On the whole, the Buffet concert was a hell of a lot of fun. I thoroughly enjoyed dancing around like a sweaty maniac to all of the songs I know by heart (har har), and for a dude who’s like 112, Jimmy sure puts on a good show. (Although we think he maaay have been lip syncing some of the songs…) 

I loved that everyone at the concert went all-out when it came to tailgating. We were proud of ourselves for having Margaritaville brand margarita mix, but some people brought sand, decorated their cars like sharks (fins to the left baby), had baby pools to lounge in during the tailgate, etc. One little girl even had a sign that said “I missed my first day of kindergarten to be here.” Again with the good parenting.

The costumes in general were absurd. I saw more bikini tops on people who shouldn’t have been wearing bikini tops and shirtless dudes who shouldn’t have been shirtless than I ever wanted to see, and I started to get jealous that I didn’t have a parrot on my head. My favorite costume was this younger couple that was totally decked out in pirate gear, and I told them how much I loved their outfits. Then later in the night when we needed our car jumped, THE SAME PIRATE COUPLE stopped to help us. How’s that for karma?!

While hopped up on margaritas and Jimmy Buffet, I made a startling observation: Jimmy Buffet and Joe Biden are twins who were separated at birth. (And they even have the same initials…dun dun dun.) See for yourselves: 

Right?!!

Now for your at-work enjoyment, take a listen to my favorite Jimmy Buffet song (and be sure to notice Jimmy’s mustache and the delightfully literal video): 

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | August 19, 2008 · 4:19 pm

hooray! frat slaps are getting classier.

For me, the thought of boxed wine brings to mind frat slaps (and subsequently the worst night of my entire college career) and the general lack of classiness that goes hand in hand with drinking in college: cheap beer shotgunned in a dorm shower; shots of Aristocrat chased by vending machine Diet Coke; shady water bottles smuggled into any and every event. Ah, don’t you miss it? 

During my senior year of college, my roommates and I gravitated toward the super classy glass jug of Livingston Farms Blush Chablis, but I am no stranger to boxed wine. According to this New York Times article, boxed wine is becoming more common and more popular, partly because it is a heck of a lot better for the environment:

More than 90 percent of American wine production occurs on the West Coast, but because the majority of consumers live east of the Mississippi, a large part of carbon-dioxide emissions associated with wine comes from simply trucking it from the vineyard to tables on the East Coast. A standard wine bottle holds 750 milliliters of wine and generates about 5.2 pounds of carbon-dioxide emissions when it travels from a vineyard in California to a store in New York. A 3-liter box generates about half the emissions per 750 milliliters. Switching to wine in a box for the 97 percent of wines that are made to be consumed within a year would reduce greenhouse gas emissions by about two million tons, or the equivalent of retiring 400,000 cars.

Pretty cool, right? Of course, there are plenty of people who would never resort to boxed wine (the horror!), like one dude who commented on the article and wrote: “Utter lunacy. I’ll buy wine in a box on the Tenth of Never.” Oh calm down sir! It’s not as if we’re asking you to do an ice luge in a tuxedo. Perhaps because I’m sort of poor and still drink like a college student, I think this is all pretty great. A decent boxed wine gets you more bang for your buck, is better for the environment, and has a longer shelf life. And now that boxed wine is getting sort of trendy and necessary, nicer wines are starting to become available in boxed form. Maybe you don’t want to be served from a box at a restaurant (…resisting immature joke), but why not pass around the plastic bag at a casual dinner party with friends? 

Anyway, next time you’re spinning in circles chugging directly from a bag of Franzia while your friends cheer you on, remember this: you’re not just blacking out; you’re saving the environment.

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | August 14, 2008 · 4:18 am

i vant to suck your blood.

Has anyone else heard about the exciting new beverage called Tru Blood that is supposed to LOOK LIKE BLOOD? Yeah, don’t trip over each other running to 7-Eleven. I first saw a billboard for the stuff this past weekend when I was in the dirty Jerz (if you can manage a good guido/blood joke, you win my eternal respect), then I kinda forgot about it until now. Because I am an excellent, respectable blogger and a legitimate news source (and the only news source for people like my sister), I did some research. First, I stumbled upon this brilliant commercial:

Ah, see, now you totally want to drink it. No?

Then I took a look at the beverage’s website. For starters, to enter it I had to write in the day I “turned.” At first I was confused, and thought maybe this was alcoholic blood and I had to enter my birth date because that is the most legitimate way to determine if a person is of age. Then I looked again. The date I “turned.” What the fuck? I haven’t even read those Twilight books, so I’m not into the vampire shit. (Although my friend Alaina does do a HI-larious Dracula impression.) But, like I said, I’m a respectable blogger, so I played along. I think I turned on July 5 of Century IV. Cool. 

On the site, I am told that Tru Blood is “All Flavor. No Bite.” It is “a synthetic blood nourishment beverage.” Hmm. Somehow, I’m still not convinced. BUT there is a quiz to see what “type” I am! I’m a sucker (pun intended?) for quizzes, so I tried it out:

Q: How many times per night do you get the urge?

A: Um. Er. Twice a night?

Q: Who is your taste?

A: Ha ha, you can choose a regular size guy or a huge dude. My roommate loves huge dudes. For me, it’s the normal-sized dude.

Q: How do you spend your free time?

A: Home alone? No, I practically lived in a commune all of last year. Theater? Uhhh, no. Playing sports? Is breaking hearts and taking names a sport? Oh Jesus, I’m sorry. Partying? If partying means drinking heavily and then only talking to your closest friends, then yes.

Woo, I’m type AB, “the cerebral architect.” Apparently that means I’m claustrophobic but also mingle well with most other types. Heh, I do love strangers. Just FYI, the other “types” are O, which is hearty and satisfying; A, which is light and delicate; B, which is aggressive and energizing. 

There’s also store, where you used to be able to buy things like a Tru Blood onesie or “ladies boy briefs.” Unfortunately, they are sold out.

Best part: the disclaimer at the bottom: “Synthetic blood products contain varied cellular content than actual blood. Please consult a Tru Blood Cellular Specialist for specific nutritional information.”

That sentence doesn’t even make sense. And I’d really like to contact a Tru Blood Cellular Specialist, but they don’t give me a number. 

And yes, just maybe, this is all a huge marketing ploy for the new HBO series True Blood, but if they ever do come out with a drink, you know I’ll be the first dutiful researcher to buy it.

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | August 12, 2008 · 8:49 pm

update on my east coast adventures.

It seems that every so often, Kathleen or I get busy with exciting things going on in our real lives, and then we write a post apologizing for our embarrassing lack of blogging. I clearly just took a little hiatus myself, so let’s get you updated on my life, shall we?

The reason I’ve been more or less out of commission the past few days is that I made a huge, grown-up move to Washington DC. Hooray for me! I’m so mature that I even ordered our cable and Internet and bought (and put together!) my own bed. Chuckle all you want, but these things are huge for me. We didn’t have to do that stuff at my college. (Side story about the bed: I ordered it from Craigslist from this stranger boy, and arranged for it to be dropped off the next morning, while I was alone in my apartment. I told my mother this plan, and she immediately freaked out and assumed that I would be raped and murdered by said stranger boy. So naturally, I Facebooked him to see if I could gauge his rapist tendencies. Turns out, we sort of have a mutual friend, and also, he’s a professional lacrosse player. He didn’t rape or murder me, and now I get to sleep where a professional athlete once slept. Take that, Mom.)

Aside from slowly becoming a huge fake adult for the past few days, I’ve also been up in New York/New Jersey visiting some of my best friends from college. I hadn’t seen any of them all summer, and I was insanely excited to be reunited. The weekend did not disappoint.

For starters, I got to see the Counting Crows live, which made me giddy because they are my favorite band and I’d only seen them once before. Katie and I maybe had a little too much cheap wine before the concert, and we maybe forgot to eat dinner, and Katie maaaybe slept through Maroon 5, who opened, but it was still wonderful. I don’t care if Adam Duritz is old and kind of unattractive; he has dreadlocks and I’d like to marry him. 

The rest of the weekend was filled with straight-up college-style debauchery, just as we hoped. There was drinking, excessive eating, obnoxious dancing, and enough stories to fill several books. Here are some highlights (and I truly wish I didn’t have to censor these, but if I’m ever going to change the world, people have to think I’m respectable): 

  • Katie’s poor boyfriend having to meet all FOUR of Katie’s parents at once. It was so fun to watch. Katie’s dad and stepmom were coming home to meet the boy (whom we will call “DJ”), so Katie’s mom decided that she would come over with her own boyfriend and add to the awkwardness. I must say, DJ performed quite well.
  • DJ telling me I look like Karen from Californication. DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THIS MEANS TO ME?! She is my idol, and I don’t know that any compliment will ever again make me as happy as that one did. 
  • The fact that Madeline and I actually won two out of three pong games to win the only portion of Beer Olympics that we actually paid attention for. Have I mentioned that I’m TERRIBLE at pong?
  • The end of my vegetarianism. Did I not totally predict this shit? The offending meats were breakfast sausage and pepperoni, obviously.
  • Making friends with all of our NYC cab drivers. We met the greatest people! One man, Ram Lama, was a sherpa in Everest who worked as the head sherpa on like a million expeditions. I’ve never understood why sherpas don’t get more credit. We freak the fuck out when some American white dude climbs Everest, but sherpas climb it regularly. Without oxygen. While carrying all of the American white dudes’ crap. It’s amazing. We also met a Pakistani cab driver who essentially said that because I dressed like a whore, I could never be a Muslim. (And, for the record, I was not really dressed like a whore. My dress just happened to be, er, a little short.) I proceeded to get in a bit of a religious debate with this driver while my friends laughed from the backseat. 
Exciting things that did NOT happen this weekend: I didn’t get to ride in the Cash Cab. Sigh. Maybe next time.

 

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | August 5, 2008 · 6:16 pm

my complicated relationship with the olympics.

As I’ve said before, I really do love the Olympics. (Kathleen does too.) It’s one of those things that you can’t help but anticipate, even if you’re not a die-hard Olympic fan (which I surely am not). It’s like the Superbowl, or Christmas: whether or not you really care about the event, and even if the event is sort of a letdown because you don’t follow football or your relatives are crazy, it’s still great to look forward to it and then eat lots of appropriately themed foods.

In honor of my excitement for the Opening Ceremonies this Friday, I have proposed a Beer Olympics with my nearest and dearest New Jersey friends. We’ll see if it actually works out. I’ve always wanted to participate in some sort of drinking Olympics, and until now, I’d never gotten the chance. Then again, things like that always sound good in theory, and then are kind of miserable in practice (read: case races). But I digress.

What I wanted to tell you is that things like this MSN slideshow make me even more excited for the Olympics. I mean, who doesn’t get all jazzed about pictures like this:

But then I read articles like Sally Jenkins’ “Partners in Grime” (WashPo), and I get all depressed. In the article, she first talks about the terrible pollution in Beijing, which is so bad that some athletes have even had to drop out of the Games:

Athletes are threatening to skip the Opening Ceremonies because they’re afraid the environment of the host city will sicken them or compromise their medal chances, and distance runner Haile Gebrselassie dropped out of the marathon because the fumes are too heavy for him to run that distance.

How awful is that? Can you imagine waiting FOUR YEARS for your Olympic shot and then not getting to compete because of the polluted air? I would not be happy.

On top of the International Olympic Committee’s disregard for the health of its athletes, it appears the Olympics are just one big money-making scheme, just like everything else in this world. And I guess if I thought about it, I knew that, but it’s so much more fun to pretend that it’s still all about the love of the game (which, hopefully it still is for most of the athletes). Here’s Jenkins’ take:

So what is this Olympics really about? It’s about 12 major corporations and their panting ambitions to tap into China’s 1.3 billion consumers, the world’s third-largest economy. Understand this: The International Olympic Committee is nothing more than a puppet for its corporate “partners,” without whom there would be no Games. These major sponsors pay the IOC’s bills for staging the Olympics to the tune of $7 billion per cycle. Without them, and their designs on the China market, Beijing probably would not have won the right to host the Summer Games.

Plus, there are all sorts of human rights violations going on, with people being jailed unnecessarily and generally treated like crap so that Beijing can “look good” for the Olympics. (And this NY Times article unearths a pretty sad truth: that literal walls are being put up to block homes and shops that aren’t deemed appropriate for Olympic visitors to see.) Depressing, right? It’s upsetting that an event which was supposed to be about a pretty pure thing has become more about politics and business, and has often led to a good amount of protests and violence.

Sigh. Enough Debbie Downer-ing for one day, eh?

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | August 4, 2008 · 8:44 pm

when our work’s done for us.

Walsh, our Chicago-based correspondent, sent us this excellent six-word headline from the Discovery Channel online:

“Tree Shrew Lives on Nature-Brewed Beer.”

Um, awesome! Basically, this one plant in West Malaysia produces a nectar that smells like beer and has a 3.8% alcohol content. A bunch of animals like to toss back a few at nature’s bar, but the tree shrew is the real frat dog in this rainforest:

The researchers conducted video surveillance of visitors to the plant and determined that many species bellied up to the bar-like scene, particularly at night, when the number of visits more than doubled. Nocturnal imbibers included the gray tree rat, the Malayan wood rat, the chestnut rat, the slow loris and the pentailed tree shrew.

The latter two animals spent far more time than the others did moving up and down the palm flowers and licking off the available nectar and pollen. The shrews stayed an average of 138 minutes per night, while the lorises fed for an average of 86 minutes each night.

But don’t worry, the tree shrew isn’t going sob to you about how much he misses his ex-girlfriend or vom in the cab. According to the author of the article about this crazy critter, Frank Wiens, “The [shrews] show no obvious signs of drunkenness when observed from only 9.8 feet away away.” Better than I can say for myself.

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | August 4, 2008 · 8:26 pm

dear god, am i skinny yet?

Now that I’ve been eating somewhat like a skinny bitch for the past, oh, four days, I’ve started looking pretty good. Take a look at this picture of me, just hanging out poolside:

Not bad, right? 

Okay, actually, I’ve successfully not consumed diet pop or meat since whenever I finished Skinny Bitch (a whopping four days ago, OKAY?!). I was feeling really inspired yesterday and decided that I was going to be a vegan until I go to New York on Thursday, but I went to a Mexican restaurant today, and Mexican food without cheese would be a crime against humanity. So I cracked. Also, if we’re getting technical, the skinny bitches said that to be truly healthy, you’re not supposed to have any alcohol besides organic red wine. Yesterday I maybe had a shot of tequila with my family friends at 11:45 a.m. They made me do it.

So my progress is as follows:

  • I was a true Skinny Bitch-style vegan for three hours yesterday.
  • I was more or less a “vegan” for a little over 24 hours.
  • I have been a vegetarian for four days.
In my book, that ain’t bad. Let’s see what happens this weekend when I spend many drunken days/nights with my bacon-and-chicken-nugget-loving friends. Wish me luck.

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | August 1, 2008 · 11:01 pm

the skinny bitch with the mac.

Yesterday, I gave in to two popular trends that I’ve been resisting for quite some time: I bought a Mac, and I began reading Skinny Bitch. Big day for me. I’ve been needing a new computer for oh, about two years, but because I am not what we call “technology savvy,” I avoided buying a new one for fear that I’d be so overwhelmed by all the features that I’d sob while pounding on the keyboard with one hand and shoving a Wendy’s breakfast sandwich into my mouth with the other. Speaking of breakfast sandwiches, unless you’ve been living under a rock for the past few years (or were muffling your friends’ advice with the sound of crackling bacon), you’ve heard of Rory Freedman and Kim Barnouin’s book Skinny Bitch. According to everyone in the world, it will make you become a vegan and weep at the sight of a hamburger. The thing is, I quite enjoy things like pepperoni pizza, dairy, diet coke, and Big Macs. Rory and Kim want me to stop eating those things, so it naturally took me a while to crack the book. But more on that later.

Back to my new friend, Mr. MacBook. Kathleen already makes love to her Mac thrice daily, and everyone else who owns one practically begs you to cross over to the Dark Side. But I wasn’t ready. I had mentally added “Apple computers” to the list of things I will never understand (along with cars, economics, the appeal of Rock Band, how to do my own hair and eye makeup, fax machines, etc.). Then it got to the point where my old, “trusty” Gateway computer could barely open Gmail without crashing, and I decided I had to make a decision. PC or Mac? Mac or PC? ARGHHHH!

I don’t know much about computers, so the technical stuff doesn’t faze me much. Here’s what I wanted: a laptop that was pretty, and a laptop could function while holding my bajillions of songs and photos. That’s all. I went back and forth for a while, and my friend Katie ultimately convinced me. Her MacBook had recently crashed (yeah, you thought that wasn’t supposed to happen, didn’t you?!), which initially sent me running back to the Dell Web site to pick out a nice navy blue computer. Then Katie told me that even though her Mac crashed, she would get another one again in a heartbeat. Plus, even though Macs can crash, PCs crash about a zillion times more. That was all I needed. I creeped around online for a little while, where my new debate became black MacBook or white MacBook? White MacBook or black MacBook? (And if you know me, you know that I am hopelessly indecisive and decisions like this are truly agonizing for me.) I finally settled on white (looks cuter in my bedroom — that was seriously part of my rational — and the letters on the keyboard won’t rub off), and then scampered off to the Apple store. Now here I am, assuming the “Kathleen,” blogging on my Mac from my bed. So far, no regrets.

Now about that scary vegan book. So far, I like it. I mean, you have to love a couple of girls who say things like, “Now don’t piss and shit yourselves, but…” Although they do look like skinny bitches (a brand of human I tend to hate):

Some of their claims seem a leetle out-there, but on the whole I think they’ve got a point. Is it likely that I’ll actually become a vegan? Um, no. I don’t know if I could live a life that didn’t include cheese, ice cream, or whiskey. But I’m halfway through the book, and so far I’ve decided to give up diet pop and at least try to not eat meat for a while. I’ve been working on the diet pop thing this summer anyway, and frankly, the book’s descriptions of slaughterhouses are enough to make even my father consider becoming a vegetarian. Luckily, I’ve become addicted to fake-meat breakfast sausage, and I’ve never been a huuuge meat-eater, so I may be able to stay on the bandwagon longer than, say, Kathleen. 

So in a way, I’m now that girl. But I think I’m okay with it. I’ll keep you posted on my progress. If you catch me practicing Scientology or wearing Crocs, though, please feel free to institutionalize me.

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | July 29, 2008 · 6:26 pm

wonkette says pop, so i win.

You know the age-old debate of pop vs. soda vs. coke? Well, it’s over, because Wonkette says “pop.” See for yourself in this article on the interesting antics of Chuck Stepanek, a former Republican candidate for the Nebraska state legislature:

“According to court records, police say Stepanek drove under the influence of marijuana in Lincoln on May 29, 2007. Police said he was seen naked at a convenience store near South 27th Street buying a pop, then later at the Sid Dillon car lot, before getting into his car again and driving it into a light pole.”

Okay. I maybe just realized that the “pop” comment was actually from a quote from the local Lincoln paper, which makes sense, because Midwesterners and Coloradans like me (who are NOT Midwesterners, thankyouverymuch) tend to say “pop,” you nutty East Coasters tend to say “soda,” and the truly crazy Southerners say “coke” (which must really anger those Pepsi people). So actually this whole post is a big lie.

Still, this debate gets me fired up. I was ecstatic one time when I got to see Joyce Carol Oates read from High Lonesome and she said “pop” instead of “soda” in the excerpt. I was so excited, in fact, that when I went to get my book signed by Oates, I told her that I was thrilled that she said “pop,” and she was all, “Well, yeah, I was trying to make it seemed old-fashioned.” Which does not help my case.

You know what does help my case? This super-scholarly Web site that breaks down the geographic distribution of pop vs. soda vs. coke vs. other. (What could “other” be? Carbonated beverage? Soft drink?) The site’s impressive conclusion at the end of all this is the following:

People who say “Pop” are much, much cooler.

Ha ha! I WIN!

Also, can we talk about how Stepanek got high and then wandered naked into a convenience store? I’m no stranger to spending time in convenience stores (read: 7-Eleven) in an, er, altered state, but naked? I guess I’ll have to work up to that.

[Posted by Mallory]

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by | July 29, 2008 · 1:16 am

thoughts on bourbon, blogging, and SAHMs.

Confession: I have a new girl crush/idol in the world of bloggy women. Her name is Heather B. Armstrong, and she is snarky and wonderful. On her blog, Dooce, she describes herself as a “Stay at Home Mom (SAHM) or a Shit Ass Ho Motherfucker.” (And really, she’s not exactly a stay at home mom, because that implies that she doesn’t work. Really, her blog is so successful that both Heather and her husband work full time on keeping the blog witty and awesome and, you know, functioning.) Plus Heather says that she “love[s] bourbon, chips and salsa, Britpop, and television that excels at being really awful.” Hellooo, kindred spirit. She even looks cool and witty and like the kind of girl you’d want to go have drinks with then maybe dance on a table and meet some strangers and have a late-night breakfast burrito from 7-Eleven:

I’ve decided that I want to be just like Heather when I grow up. I would like to be snarky and fun and irreverent and have a cute husband, perfect daughter, and a job that lets me hang out in my PJs all day, presumably drinking bourbon and eating chips and salsa as the wit escapes my brain through my fingertips. Not such a bad thing to aspire to, eh?

Here’s an excellent excerpt from Heather’s FAQ:

“I’m surprised you haven’t been reported to child welfare with how public you are about some of the things you think and do regarding your daughter. Paper towels are very dangerous for your daughter to chew on. She could suffocate. don’t let her be alone with them. I’m amazed at how foolish you can be sometimes.”

When you call DCFS, please get the story straight. Not only do I leave her alone with paper towels, I set her in the middle of a flea-infested floor and surround her with sharp objects and porn. Then I turn on a wood-burning stove in the corner of the room and seal all the windows. Before I leave the room and lock the door, I stick a bottle full of vodka in her mouth, to muffle the screaming.

Heather, I dig you. I also hope that one day Kathleen and I will actually be important enough to have an FAQ section. I don’t think we’ve received any questions, unless you count the marriage pleas from the millions of attractive bachelors. Okay now go read Dooce and be happy.

[Posted by Mallory]

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