As the 1972 election results came in, my uncle locked himself in his bedroom and drank one shot of whiskey for every state Richard Nixon won. He was very drunk indeed (WIKIPEDIA - United_States_presidential_election,_1972) I'm much more of a lightweight than he is, but in his honor I introduce the Sarah Palin Drinking Game. Since this will play out over the next week or two, the drinks will become payable at the Halloween party.

1. If John McCain doesn't fire Sarah Palin, take a drink.

2. If Sarah Palin is 'allowed to resign,' take a drink.

3. If the campaign cites sexism as a contributing factor to her departure, take a drink.

4. If the campaign cites liberal bias in the mainstream media as a contributing factor to her departure, take a drink.

5. If campaign spokesperson Tucker Bounds names the New York Times specifically as a contributing factor to her departure, take two drinks.

6a. If Thursday's debate is cancelled because the campaign has not yet appointed a new vice presidential nominee, take a drink.

6b. Alternatively, if Palin hasn't mercifully dropped out by the debate, drink heavily throughout.

7. If the campaign replaces Sarah Palin with Rudy Giuliani, take three drinks - you'll need them.


- Z

Doing my volunteer duty:

$5 for Hospice gets you into 48 [!] bars on Chippewa, Elmwood, Allen, and elsewhere. (e:dragonlady7) and I will be at the Century.

(MAP TO: 320 PEARL ST)

- Z

OK, some of you chemical-heads were probably wondering about the absinthe (e:zobar,130) so - inspired by (e:joshua) 's beer reviews - here goes. We cracked open the bottle on my birthday, and though I tried to pay attention, things started getting hazy after about half a glass.

Let's get the FAQs out of the way first: if you think thujone is going to take you Higher, you're better off picking up a loaf of sage bread at Weggies. If all you want is to get tanked, you'll get just as twisted with a mason jar of Shine On Georgia Moon.

For the rest of you who are still reading: absinthe is weird, man. It isn't like anything else I have ever drunk, and I drink some pretty weird shit (WIKIPEDIA - Balzam).

Nouvelle-Orleans
Jade Distillery, France
68% ABV (136 Proof)

Uncork The people at Jade pride themselves on historical accuracy; accordingly, their absinthe is corked and waxed. It's a nice touch, but I destroyed the cork and had to go through great pains to avoid getting wax chips in the booze.

Whiff Smells great right out of the bottle. Gentle anise aroma backed with a full complement of herbs. Life would be so much better if we could replace all the crappy scented candles and air fresheners in the world with open bottles of absinthe.

Prepare This is the fun part. [Please note: dilution is not optional, although with better absinthes, sugar is.] If you haven't got any absinthiana (WIKIPEDIA - Absinthiana), a small [4oz] wine glass and a slotted bar strainer will work ok. Pour one ounce of absinthe in the glass, put the strainer on top and put a sugar cube on the strainer. Slowly drip ice water over the sugar cube. Watch the absinthe. This is cool: as you add water, the anethole [anise oil, also present in fennel] comes out of solution and turns the drink from a transparent chlorophyll green to opaque yellowish white. After the sugar has dissolved and you've added 3-4oz water, you're ready to drink.

Sip Sip gently and enjoy the aroma all up in your head. The flavor is much milder than you might expect, and only faintly reminiscent of the bottle aroma. It's anisy and herbal, but not at all like Grandma's pizzelles. Despite the water and sugar, it's neither watery nor syrupy; rather it's a bit oily like heavy cream, and not particularly sweet.

Freak out Since you've cut the absinthe 3:1 with water it's down to about 34 proof [comparable with Irish cream] - but those four ounces are going to take you to different places. You're not high; you're not lucid - you're drunk as a skunk, and you're not even fooling yourself. Furthermore, by the time you're halfway through your glass, your tongue is numb from the alcohol and anethole. I spaced right the Hell out and only rejoined society at great length.

- Z

- Z

Friday morning when I woke up my roommate said to me

'...Did you hear anything weird last night?'
'No... why?'
'...because I think I may have poured a beer into my laptop.'

but
that does not compare
to what happened Friday night.

I started the evening by preloading in a coworker's hotel room and managed to empty a flask of Crown Royal+Yukon Jack. Then we went in a large group to an art gallery where we were given tickets for drinks. We were supposed to get two; somehow I ended up with four. It turns out that I'm the only person in the company who drinks whiskey; normally this would mean that I would be the only person to order whiskey, but such was not the case. I ended up drinking three very large glasses of whiskey on the rocks -one bourbon, one scotch, and the Crown I had ordered for myself.

Meanwhile - there is a exhibitor who has been trying unsuccessfully for a very long time to get placement in our paper. I don't know why people would read her advice column, since I couldn't stand talking to her for five minutes. At any rate, she gloms onto people - anybody, whether they're in editorial or not - especially those who work for papers she's not in. I see she's roped someone else in and I decide to spring into action. I go up to these people and say to this other woman the first thing that comes to mind, which is, inexplicably:

'Hey - your boots fucking rock!'

To my credit, they were cool boots, but what kind of degenerate just walks up to someone and compliments their boots? We talk about boots for about thirty seconds and this lady just vanishes. I'm thinking yeah, I'm a good person.

Except
i'm left
with the advice goddess.

So I'm like, hey look - that's great - but I've got to go ... refill ... my ... canapes. And I disappear into the crowd, except I can't find anybody from my company. I end up chatting with the art director of New York magazine instead. Some guy who claims to have partied with Paul Fallon in Moscow shows up and says hey, there's a party up on the 19th floor later tonight.

Eventually my people start showing up again, but it's getting late, the place is emptying out, the bar is closing, and I've still got three tickets. Make that five, after everyone's given me their leftovers. I go to the bartender, hey, what can I get for five tickets? He goes, um ... And I go, here's an empty flask. [I know, it's a long shot.] And he goes - well, what do you like? I figure, shoot for the stars, right? and I go- You got any Crown? He takes the tickets and fills the flask, all the while getting the hairy eyeball from the other bartender, and I leave with a $10 tip.

By this time, the shuttles to the hotel were no longer running, so we hire a cab. Cabbie says: where do you want to go? [In retrospect, it was a reasonable question to ask.] And we say: I dunno. And he says, I gotta take you somewhere. And we say: We're not from around here, really - we just want to go out. And he says: well, ok, where do you want to go? And I say, well, where do you hang out?

So he drops us off at the hotel, which is about two blocks from the art gallery. My one coworker [unbeknownst to the rest of us] gives him a $20 for our $3.50 fare and says keep the change. I tip him $2, and my other coworker says, I'd like to tip you but I've only got a $20. He says: [heh] I've only got eight bucks. She says: [heh] well have a good day then.

We end up at a bar near the hotel, but it's not really my scene, and my one coworker and I just kind of hang out outside and shoot the shit. Coincidentally, this is when I finish the second flask of whiskey. Eventually everyone reconvenes and we hit the streets to get back to the hotel. Except it's Juneteenth and the streets are swarming with people. Some dude goes 'Yo! Jesus!' [OK, I need a haircut.]

We finally get back to the hotel, and up to the 19th floor, and there's nothing.

except

a life-sized cardboard cutout of a 1950s-era housewife.

Mooch'd!

We take my new date to another party on the patio with a crappy 80s nostalgia band where I run into trouble with the locals. Hey! she says, what are you doing with her? I'm like: we're partying. And she's like, you can't party with her, she's cardboard! That's wrong! And I'm like, if love is wrong I don't want to be right. And she's all: that's not natural! And I'm like: I'm from New York, anything goes. She threatened to call (e:dragonlady7) . I said, don't worry about her, she's down.

The party ends. I drop off my cardboard date at the hotel room and two of my coworkers drunkenly decide to swim the [rather stagnant and nasty] Arkansas River, which runs by the hotel. [A video of this is available.] They claim to be refreshed, but the rest of us think that maybe they don't smell quite right. A bottle of vadko is passed. Someone says, why does this stuff taste like crayons? Someone else says, well, it's Fleischmann's. [Later, he says: crayons? I don't know about crayons, but that flask was filled with irish cream for about a year ... maybe I should have washed it out better.]

It was getting very late, so we called it a night.

The next day, at the Bill Clinton keynote lunch, somebody who looked very familiar sat down at our table. I'm trying not to make eye contact, but she says, 'hey, I saw you yesterday-' and I said, 'ehm, I didn't embarrass myself, did I?' and she said 'no, at the website critique...' I said, 'phew - after the critique I had a fair amount of booze and did some regrettable things...' She says, 'oh, yeah, you had the cardboard date. How did that turn out?'

- Z

Geezer drinks are the new hipster drinks. Had a brandy alexander at Shadow Lounge last night that rocked my socks off. Here's another goodie you'd be able to make if only you hadn't poured out that Christian Brothers your great-uncle gave you for Christmas eight years ago.

Sidecar
1.5oz brandy
0.5oz cointreau
some sour mix and a lemon wedge

Serve neat and cold in a chilled stem glass. V. tasty, v. dangerous.

- Z