Another labored Holiday with the no-fun patrol out in force, warm champagne in one's hand while you wait for the rest of the bubbly to pour, a hurried and insincere kiss(in my case), finally culminating in a fitful sleep.
At least this year we won't have to wait/wake up at dawn's crack to watch Tennessee in another mid-tier bowl game first thing in the damn morning.
I think I will tie one on over the weekend to make my point.
Comeback Beer of the Year: Löwenbräu! I don’t know what the hell happened to the Schlitz rebranding campaign with the original recipe because it sure didn’t come through Knoxville. I was really looking forward to their attempt to relive the glory days, but they missed their opportunity while Löwenbräu stormed back onto the scene! Well not entirely, I mean, not every bar or grocery store carries it, but damn it’s so delicious. Delicious and fresh. Refreshingly delicious. Light, delicious, refreshiness that is also tasty. And -- Ooh THE JINGLE THE JINGLE! A CATCHY JINGLE!! (sings catchy jingle) Never mind the odd serving size of 11.2 oz bottles. Prost!
The room began spinning, and my fun had been doused,
The shot glasses were lined on the counter in disrepair,
In hopes that Holiday fun soon would be there.
(no such luck)
Yeah, it was like that. I managed to use a tiny loophole to drink some gratis Traitorous Jack Daniels that, since I didn't spend my money on it, was technically okay to drink. You've heard the will is strong, but the flesh is weak...well, in this case my constitution rejected this inferior product like a vortex of hatred and pain. It was like surgery gone terribly, terribly wrong. Once again, fuck you poseur Lynchburg pricks. You and your market research can go to Hell.
Film: The Big Lebowski
In this 1998 cult-classic, Jeff Bridges portrays one of the best on-screen slackers in recent cinematic history. Part drunk, part stoner, The Dude bowls his way through early 1990’s Los Angeles soused on White Russians and living the high life, all while being thrust into the middle of a kidnapping farce by inept henchmen who confuse him with a millionaire of the same name. Never mind that he doesn’t hold a job or can barely pay rent, these things do not deter great drunks from enjoying their lifestyle. The narrator informs us that The Dude may be the laziest person in all Los Angeles County, but that oversimplification doesn’t convey the complexity of a man able to compete for a spot in the bowling league championship, navigate the seedy underworld of porn magnate, Jackie Treehorn, and at the same time help his special lady friend conceive.
The Dude rises above all adversity, usually relying on a pretty strict drug regimen to keep his mind limber. It seems almost every scene shows The Dude enjoying his favorite drink, a “Caucasian”. I recall many times at the height of the film’s popularity when my friends and I would consume numerous of these bastards at home and the local bars, lactose-intolerant stomach be damned! Not to mention the other illicit substances glamorized on screen. Mind if I do a J? Ah, some things never go out of style…
The film had plenty of excellent characters making the Dude’s plight that much more entertaining. Props to The Nihilist, Uli Kunkel a.k.a. Karl Hungus, who downs a bottle of JD in the swimming pool and passes out cold. Yes, it is exhausting being a nihilist. Remember when Tara Reid was one of the hottest things going? The film also produced endless quotes that you probably still hear today:
“Do not fuck with the Jesus”
“This is what happens when you fuck a stranger in the ass”
"Shut the fuck up, Donnie!"
"All the dude ever wanted was his rug back"
Yes, we all know the translation. That's kindergarten shit.
This honey liqueur from The Fatherland tastes like one might expect by even a cursory glance at the bottle: Honey and pain.
While researching this stuff, I found the recipes for actual cocktails and cordials more offensive than a klan meeting, so I see no need to burden you with the laborious descriptions. Rather, I will give a few thoughts about the liquid itself. If you think it will taste like cough syrup, then you are on to something...however, it accomplishes this feat by still being more of a drink than potent sludge.
We stumbled across this basket wearing cocksucker a few years back. Like many of these European drinks it had a brief period of cachet among our group...usually by the last person to buy a round of shots once Jager, 'schlager, Jamesons, and Patron had all been purchased.
I'm not saying it is as vile as slivovitz(fuck no) but it can cause problems. One should take care not to be encouraged by the little Grateful Dead show prancing about on the bottle weave. This stuff packs a punch. Fortunately, most of my pubs and bars have begun viewing Barenjager as a purely specialist drink with few takers.
Personally I think it is another confused European drink that further clouds my judgment.
As you see, they have run the hose through the back of the unit to connect the CO2 tank, which saves space for the keg inside. The regulator appears to be about the same size and quality of my own, but their tank is larger. I think the overall size is a bit smaller than mine since the tank is on the outside. I don’t know about quality or durability, but for a plastic box that sits immobile and dispenses beer I don’t think it takes much to maintain working order. This one was black with a faux stainless steel finished door. If I didn’t already have mine I would definitely buy this one.
The best part is the $399 price tag, coming in at a whopping $200 LESS than what I paid about 9 months ago at Overstock.com. But I ain’t crying about it ‘cause I’ve had cold beer at my place ever since then. So there you have it. Now go get it. (keg not included)
Ah, the joys of whiskey season are mitigated somewhat by the doldrums. Even the stoutest of constitutions can be laid low by the winter cold. Usually, I would recommend chugging Nyquil or Robo until the storm passes. Some of the backwoods folks and those who are generally superstitious of modern medicine disagree with this tactic. Whatever.
These are the same folksy homemaker types that while the hours away watching Martha Stewart's merde on the various cable outlets, or worse still, Oprah of all people. Rather than lay down cash for a proven cold-killer with hallucinogenic side effects they would have you consume a nasty concoction of tree bark, herbs, and cat crap in order to get well.
First, cram it with walnuts Moonbeam. I believe in science and modern medicine. Second, even if I was willing to forgo the abyss of Nyquil's blue-green solution, I could find better home remedies. So, that leads us to the Hot Toddy(or Totty, if you live in Dickensian times).
Oh look, how fucking cute. How fucking avant garde while posing as traditional. I was going to actually post some recipes for this...thing, but after getting enraged by merely looking at the picture with Lemon Pac Man and what appears to be cinnamon, I've opted to go in another direction. Spare yourself the timely method of comparing the relative benefits of cinnamon or honey, tea or cider, brandy or other liqueur.
Instead, just give a big fuck you to all that mess and drink straight bourbon.
But, LVL, you say...the medical community discourages alcohol due to dehydration...not to mention the hardship it causes to the general physic ....blah blah...zzzzzz.
Fuck them in the ear. Drink your way through it, twat.
Dull Gatherings at the Workplace – During these hard economic times I assume there will be a lot of cutting back by companies looking to save money. No better way than to stick it to your employees and scale down the party budget. If they do something like order a cake and bring it in during lunch, I’d hardly call it a party. Best to eat your slice, go back to work and punch out at the usual time and get the fuck out of there like nothing happened. Now, if it’s after work things can get tricky. Do you have to go, and will it be noticed if you do not attend? Will beer be provided? Play it safe and plan to attend – with your flask. A dry party can seem fun when you’re the only person holding the sauce. Share some with a fellow co-worker and it forms a bond like you’re breaking out of jail together or you threw him a life jacket from a sinking ship. Don’t overdo it though. We've all seen the picture of the girl passed out, naked on the picnic table at the office party. Have your nips and leave before things get boring. Excuse me, more boring.
Lunch or Dinner at a Restaurant – Another standby, this one can be fun as long as the company is picking up the tab. If you get together as a group and have to pay for your own meal I suggest finding a new job. Typically most companies are generous enough to pay for a group meal, perhaps even a drink or two and dessert if they’re going through the trouble of hosting the party. Some drawbacks may be the lack of prompt service for large groups, limited or no alcohol around the boss, and forced conversations with co-workers you don’t give a damn about. Upsides may include ordering expensive menu items you normally couldn’t afford, or possibly having some fun with these people outside of work. Anything is possible. Be wise and bring the flask just in case. You can fake an illness and leave abruptly if things get too bad.
Beware the gift swap! These are usually a waste of money because we (wisely) limit the dollar amount to around $10 or so as not to break everyone’s holiday shopping budget. Then you get a shitty gift from the Dollar Store that not even your grandmother would use and it goes straight in the trash when you get home. It doesn’t have to be that way, that is, if you let alcohol do the talking. Pints and half pints of booze fit this price range perfectly. 6-packs of good beer, small flasks, a liter growler from the local brewery, a mixed bag of airplane minis, and wine are all excellent choices. *Bonus: $10 gag gift – pint of Rock and Rye.
Gala Events - Yes, apparently the rich folk gather at the country club, a hotel, or some kind of resort and treat themselves to lavish dinners with fine wines and champagne. I only know of these because I worked many of them during my catering and bar tending days during and after college. If you find yourself at such a party I recommend that you live it up. Gorge yourself on fancy hors d’oeuvres, order expensive brandy, call the servers “boy” and request explicit sexual favors from the staff, preferably the owner. They’ll go along with anything as long as the bill is paid. And guess what, you’re not paying a dime! (BTW, karma is a bitch)
Neighborhood Party – Never been to one, so I have no idea what to tell you. I’m thinking something from the ‘70’s: fondue and cocktails for the adults, lemonade and cookies for the kids. Wives swapping recipes, husbands talking business, etc. Eggnog is served at this party – whether you want it or not. This is a great time of year to catch up on gossip, further ongoing rumors, and create envy discussing your holiday bonus or even the decorations in the yard. But what the hell do I know? Spike the punch.
Your Friend’s Party – Now we’re talking! The best parties by far are the ones where you know the host and exactly what you can get away with. Plus you know almost everyone else there too. These are your friends, so they won’t mind if you start ahead of time and do some front loading from home. You want to be in extra-good spirits when you show up! Beer, wine, bourbon – go for the hat trick! Put on your crazy reindeer sweater. You’ll want to call a taxi because you know how you always get at these things. Show up roaring Cheech & Chong’s Christmas favorite, “Santa Claus and His Old Lady”. That’ll let everybody know you’re feeling tight. Give your host(s) the bottle of Kentucky Gentleman you brought and make yourself at home – at their bar, Crown Royal time!!
Day Visit – Consider yourself lucky. You can do this visit standing on your head, but more likely you’ll be sitting on your ass all day, stuffed full of holiday dinner and sweets. If your family is half way decent there will be a couple of beers or some bourbon at some point during the visit. Even if there isn’t any booze you probably can maintain your composure until you get back home and relax with a drink in your hand. You made it! Have at least 6 cocktails before you pass out in the easy chair in front of the TV.
Multi Day – These are the worst visits. Visiting for longer than 1 day usually involves travel. You MUST pack extra booze for this trip. Bring liquor and plenty of it. Whenever your plane touches down or the car is parked in the driveway you’ll need a strong belt, straight from the bottle if necessary. Hunker down for 2.5 days of irritating kids, odd uncles, weird aunts, and other whack jobs that make up your family. Don’t forget the in-laws – yeah, those fuckups. Use every opportunity you can to take a nip. Here are some examples: arrive, nip; unload luggage, nip; settle into room, nip; bedtime, nip; wake up, nip; have breakfast, nip; help your dad get the fryer out of the garage, nip; play with the nieces & nephews, nip; run to the store (oldest nephew drives), nip; call your bookie, nip; kickoff, nip, halftime, nip; you lost your wager, glug; after dinner, nip; and so on. After so many nips you may develop some side effects:
All this sneaking booze business may be null and void if you belong to a “half decent” family that doesn’t frown upon drinking. I do not belong to such a family, therefore I have to sneak around like a teenager lest I upset my dear mother and father. What I want to know is WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED TO MY PARENTS!? They used to booze it up all the time when I was growing up. I learned from them! I aspired to be like them! And how do they pay me back – by quitting! Much worse, they preach against it all the time. Many phone conversations have ended with my mother saying “now don’t you be out drinking that beer”. It’s like beer has been on the evening news reported as a mass murderer or some deadly virus. I can’t wait until their next visit when they see that I’ve got a meast-like kegerator sitting in my kitchen right next to the sink. My mother may faint. And they wonder why I don’t visit home more often.
So there you have it. Several holiday situations and how to drink your way through them. Make sure to always keep your emergency flask filled and ready to go at a moment’s notice, and follow the ABC method of boozing: Always Be Carrying.
Last night I was 'awarded' a $5 comp card/coupon/crudely drawn note for being on a winning bar trivia cabal. Yes, I realize that is quite a sum to command. Thanks to my knowledge of NFL quarterbacks and 1980's shitass action films, I proved myself a valued member of said team. It was also almost entirely composed of womern so that was also a plus.
On to my question: would it be prickish of me to use this bounty of bar cred on $1.50pint night? Drink three and slam the sumbitch down? Do the stride of pride out the front door?
I mean, its not like the bartender would care...I'm not such a skinflint as to not tip them properly. Besides, at this point they already know I'm an unpredictable lunatic.
Your asinine comments are welcome.
Our good friend, and former Knoxvillian, Frank has transplanted himself in the beehive state for the past several years. As many of our friends and UT alumni have moved out of state we attempt to stay somewhat connected, and some have even found their way to our little blog seeking a taste of Knoxville. Frank sent me an email about a week or two ago lamenting the woeful Vols and 3.2 beer in Utah. My liver weeps for all those who must endure weak beer and lack of proper drinking whiskey (aka party liquor). I've reposted his message below as a reminder to us all: it's hard to get drunk on 3.2. So true that there's even a song about it, check the YouTube link.
As I read the tales of debauchery from my longtime home in Knoxville, I don't know whether to be envious or grateful. In most years it would not be as difficult to lament being stuck here in a southern Utah town with a population of about 200, no work, Vermont-like temperatures(OK-not that bad), and 0(zero) bars per capita. However, Coaches Fulmer and Whittingham have complicated the situation. While I have to drive 60 miles round trip to the closest "liquor store", a closet in the corner of an outdoor retailer, pizza joint, and fishing guide operation that is open from noon to 7pm five days a week, I have found solace in one way that I might also offer as an option to my friends on the liver transplant wait list in Knoxville-support the Utes.
I know-the Mountain West is not a real conference. Hence Utah's inability to secure a Rose Bowl appearance despite an undefeated conference title-winning season(the second such in five years). But this actually provides a good short term opportunity for disenchanted Vol fans. Rather than have to debate the age-old question of whether it is better to root for or against conference rivals in bowl games, buy a red sweatshirt. Watch the SEC championship game with the same anticipation as your boys in Salt Lake City-"give us Bama or the Gators, in New Orleans or Tempe, just get us out of Utah/Knoxville." Enjoy having and defeating a truly nauseating, elitist rival like BYU (Jim McMahon not withstanding)-think Vanderbilt but more Vanderbilty. Then, when UT (that's kinda confusing huh? UT/UT Tennessee/Utah get it? here I meant the Vols) returns to prominence once again and Johnny Majors Ave is once again filled with revelry, any Utah connection is easily denied due to a relative lack of national media coverage and who will remember anyway?
Of course, it could be my unfortunate situation that has led me to such desperation. I may be thinking too clearly. Too much blood in my alcohol system and all that. After all, "it's hard to get drunk on 3.2."
The grass is always bluer
On the other side of the fence
And you know love is always sweeter
When she gives you a second chance
We came in through Nevada
Mr. Two Peak got us here
And now we'd like to have a taste
Of good Rocky Mountain beer
I remember the sound of her sweet southern voice
As I jumped out the window and was gone
I remember the cool Colorado night
But there was something I forgot
In these big Rocky Mountains where there's so much to do
It's hard to get drunk on 3.2
If it's CU Boulder or BYU
It's hard to get drunk on 3.2
Some folks they joined the Peace Corps
Some work to ban landmines
Other folks help the world one bar at a time
My head is sober, my stomach's full
To better serve the Lord
I'll never be untrue when I'm drinking 3.2
Thanks to that state liquor board
If it's CU Boulder or BYU
It's hard to get drunk on 3.2
It's hard to get drunk on 3.2
It's expensive to get drunk on 3.2
He was brutally handsome,
and she was terminally pretty
She held him up, and he held her for ransom in the heart of the cold, cold city
He had a nasty reputation as a cruel dude
They said he was ruthless, they said he was crude
They had one thing in common, they were good in bed
She'd say, 'Faster, faster. The lights are turnin' red."
Life in the fast lane
Surely makes you lose your mind,
Life in the fast lane
Are you with me so far?
During DfV, we here have examined the early implications of the new staff, and while Lane Kiffin was not our first choice, he certainly wasn't the worst potential coach. His assistant coaches will be his strength, and that is something that the outgoing staff was woefully lacking. Some of the Fulllllllmer dead enders will cling (see: Stockholm Syndrome, trauma bonding) to the inbred notions of keeping the defensive staff intact, but those folks are fooling themselves. While John Chavis and staff were quite able on 1st and 2nd downs, they were positively criminal in their schemes for 3rd down. It is tiresome for the defense to play well for two downs only to give up the conversion and repeat the awful scene. It tires out the line(thin during recent years) and causes all the usual detriments when your team is on the short end of the TOP stick. You exhaust your athletes, and let's be honest without Eric Berry and the opportunistic secondary this year's defensive stats look much worse. John Chavis is a good enough coordinator to find suitable employment elsewhere. Best wishes.
The offensive staff needs to get the Hell out of here. That's the worst shit I have seen in my life, and I played on some rotten offenses. Nuff said.
I realize that some on you might wonder why we give attention to football so much here on what is primarily a boozing blog. Well, while it would be a filthy and odious lie to say that this season drove us to drink, it certainly caused a dangerous spike in drinking to the point of catatonia and throwing up. Who among you can think of InCrompetent without wanting to knock back seven Patron shots, two double Makers, six IPAs, and a single Lowenbrau?
That's what I thought.