The Right Luxury for the Right Moment

Conspiracies abound. Not on the grassy knoll or in a soundstage in Santa Barbara made up to look like the moon. The greatest conspiracies are among snobs and critics. Anybody can turn the hope of the human race, that we could walk on the moon, into money, and the most lucrative spin-off of the so-called alleged space program is astronaut ice cream. Hardly a gold mine.

But critics turn indistinguishable aromas into absurd evaluations. Who among us really thinks that a liqueur may really have "notes of evergreen", unless you're drinking through a coniferous straw? Or that a cigar may remind you of chocolate? And in a genius stroke of crossover mentality, they've begun to say market alcohols with tastes of tobacco and tobacco with flavors of alcohols. Truth is Beauty, Freedom is Slavery, Dogs and Cats, living together.

So, here's me trying my hand at it. And if any of the mentioned brands want to send me a case of their product as a trial sample, I can promise they will be mentioned again with kind words.

[Editor's Note: Many critics make the mistake of treating selection of intoxicant as a sensual experience. It is, like every facet of the truly trendy, a fashionable one. So instead of recommending a cabernet for a beef dish, a nice chardonnay for that chicken marsala, or an Australian Shiraz to go with Grilled Porcupine, I've attempted to match them better with how they might best be used.]

Coors Light: That new flick starts in ten minutes, your buddies are in the car revving the engine, the Cineplex is eight minutes away, and you only have a tenspot in your wallet.

Cobra Malt Liquor: You flunked your Spanish Midterm. Your ex-girlfriend was last seen in the vicinity of some other guy's crotch (or worse some other guys' crotch) and gyrating wildly. Your hamster died. And it's only fucking Wednesday. Best accompanied by Swisher Sweets. Sideways trucker cap optional.

Hennessy: Best when streaking the office of the President of Stanford. Just a bad pun? Yes. Cliche? Yes. But it's not like streaking is original.

Lagavulin Sixteen Year Old Single Malt Islay Scotch: You have just negotiated a deal that will secure the peace of a continent for years to come. But it cost you your family. Drink up, boy. The Nobel in Peace will be small comfort for never seeing your five year old son grow into the man you always hoped he would become. But at least it comes with enough cash to keep you in booze indefinitely.

Natty Lite: Beer pong.

Natty Ice: Beer pong. But with an ironic twist, because you're actually a Republican and you brought it home in the backseat of your Bimmer 3-series (the 5-series wasn't too expensive, it just wasn't quite what you were looking for). Don't forget to wear your collar up!

Charles Shaw: Summer Barbeque with friends, but a few old grudges. This way you'll get drunk enough to actually mention all the shit you've been holding against them for years. And when it comes down to fighting, and they attempt to shank you with the twisted edges of their Rolling Rock bottle, you'll have the extra inch of glass to ensure that it is their face and not yours that is bloodied beyond recognition.

Diesel, Everclear, Bacardi 151, anything that's more alcohol than anything else: You just bought a Sidekick/Hiptop/SmartPhone. It can take pictures, and send them to your friends. Or you can IM on it with your friends. Or remember the phone numbers of 950 of your friends. Or pull a Cyrano and talk for you to your friends. Until you realize you have no friends. Imbibe. Imbibe with a speed hitherto unknown, until you start seeing double. That way, if you make just one friend, you'll end up with two!

Djarum Cloves: You're sitting on your porch, blasting The Shins, and hoping that cute Indie boy from last week's Otter De-oiling still remembers your name.