An Enthusiast’s guide to gifts for drunks


When you’re known for drinking a lot, or when your entire public identity is say, based on the fact that you write an alcohol blog, people tend to be afraid to go on pub crawls with you or come to your house (although in retrospect that second one might have nothing to do with the drinking…).

Anyways, my point is this: You receive almost exclusively as gifts bottles and bottles and bottles of booze. I swear I’m not complaining—pretty please don’t ever stop giving me booze!—but let’s say you want to stand out in the eyes of a special drunken someone, or maybe you want to give your favorite drunk a present that will take them longer than 34 minutes to ingest (huh, that didn’t come out right). In any case, here are some solid gift ideas:

Drinkwel: Since you don’t have magic powers and can’t exactly banish from your favorite drunks’ mornings forever their wretched hangovers, we suggest buying them Drinkwel. We’ve written extensively about our favorite hangover-alleviating vitamin, and if you’ve partied with us, we’ve probably tried to force-feed it to you (those were just vitamins, I swear!)

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East coast trip day 1: Arrival


Drinks on a plane!

The Enthusiasts have crossed the country and just arrived in New York City. Our hearts may be in San Francisco, but our livers came along for the ride and are already warmed up from what was left of the 50ml bottles on our flight.

Unfortunately, this trip did conflict with SF Cocktail Week, the annual cross-bay celebration of mixology devised by the guys at the The Barbary Coast Conservancy of the American Cocktail. So while we’re missing out on some epic bar battles and loads of spirit samplings, I’m confident we can make up for it at the various dives, pubs, saloons and “secret” speakeasies this little island has to offer. We may even venture across a bridge or two to see what’s shaken in the boroughs. Read more »


An Enthusiast’s guide to cocktails: the Bloody Mary


This is an excerpt from my post “Drinks with Walter,” first published on the blog.

Besides being a socially acceptable way to imbibe in the morning, one of the beauties of the Bloody is that it can be customized easily to fit each drinker’s taste.

Drinkers in the states didn’t fill their glasses with vodka much until after the Cold War. During the late ’50s and ’60s, vodka became popular—mostly because of vodka cocktails. Businessmen, mistresses, and housewives alike sipped sweet Moscow Mules and tart Greyhounds—and calmed their hangovers with Bloody Marys. Read more »


drinkwel field testing: Josey


The never-ending party is the most effective way to ensure no hangover. But once in a while it’s Sunday night and you realize you’re supposed to stagger through the doors of your workplace in mere morning hours, and that you should probably start sobering up. With visions of pounding temples and queasy bellies in our fuzzy brains we futilely chug glass after glass of water, swig Gatorade, and shakily nuke frozen pepperoni pies, praying for salvation in the form of grease, carbs, and electrolytes. Short of a pre-work Bloody Mary that could result in (depending on your job) certain termination should supervisors get wise, what’s a desperate drunk to do?

Mama’s greasy medicine.

Enthusiast HQ learned of drinkwel, a new and supposedly-hangover relieving multivitamin supplement from an UrbanDaddy email. We wrote the company in search of swag, and luckily, our plea resulted in free samples. Was I skeptical? Of course. The placebo effect is powerful. I needed a field test—and, another fantastic excuse to get insanely wasted for 48 hours.
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Do I have a horrifying personal story to share about drunk Facebooking? That’s for me to know, and regrettably blurt out in hour six of next week’s Little Friday festivities. I’m sure if we drink hard enough we’ll be able to squeeze my wasted Facebook confessionals in between my shameful vomiting story (junior year of college edition, version Tuesday, part bushes on the edge of the quad); and your semi-coherent ramblings about your obsession with your co-workers’ significant other (“… and, like, I don’t understand why everyone needs to be so fucking possessive, and fucking … do you think they’d be into, like, a threesome or something? I’m gonnacall right now. I don’t think that’s weird—doyouthinkthat’sweird??”)

But what would an Enthusiast blog be without a comment on the ancient art of drunk Facebooking? Made all the worse by the proliferation of every Enthusiasts’s favorite frenemy—the smart phone—Drunkbook is an integral part of a morning, afternoon, or evening out, as well as the following day’s hungover shamefest.

Unlike the drunk dials of yesteryear, whatever you don’t remember revealing as you stumbled home, barefoot, has been preserved in all it’s cringing detail—and not just in your exes memory or on his or her message machine. And unlike the still-persistent drext (also recorded for your future horrification), it’s not just the two or eight fortunates you made direct contact with that you need to hide from and/or apologize to later—a list of hundreds of former and current friends and lovers, co-workers, classmates, and even family members will wipe the sleep from their eyes on Sunday morning, log on to their respective accounts, and bear witness to your 5:24-6:54 a.m. rampage across their walls, photo albums, and your eighteen status updates, all mis-spelled atrociously, all caps all the way. And exclamation marks—oh, so very many exclamation marks.

It could be worse. At least you didn’t create a fan page devoted to your douchey blog about functional alcoholism as a lifestyle choice and all the perils and pleasures that accompany this—and then ask everyone on your list to join.

Back in the dark ages of Drunkbook, before they made Newsfeed, your mistakes may have been public, but they weren’t shoved so forcefully in everyone’s face(book). Now with Newsfeed + mobile updating capabilities, Facebook seems scarily designed to keep us Enthusiasts in a constant social networking shame spiral.

Also important to remember, fellow Enthusiasts: even if you delete “U LOOOOK SOUPER FUUKING HOTTTT IN THIS PIC!!!!!!!1!!!!!! COME OVER AND LET”S FUCK XXX SSOMETIME HAHAHA!!1!!@!!!!!! LIKE TOONITE????????!!” from the comments of your male and/or female acquaintance from middle school’s “Halloween ’07” album by Bloody Mary time the following day, not only has everyone compulsively checking Facebook on their iPhones at the party and/or bar last night already had seven hours to see your shame in their ‘Feed, but all four utter strangers who soberly and normally commented on said-photo two-and-a-half years prior (“Looking sexy! Epic times at that party. =)”) have notifications of your slurred rant in their email inboxes.

(Side note: worse, perhaps, than the obviously-intoxicated comments are the heavily-cloaked-in-seeming-sobriety ones. The silent storm, the quiet rampage of comments that are well-spelled and punctuated, yet subtly off. Should you really be commenting on the cute-messy-baby picture your friend’s friend posted, obviously for the enjoyment of close friends and family?” [And at 3:32 a.m., no less?] You come across as something of a creep. Not to mention committing the Facebook version of every Enthusiast’s favorite hobby—making set-in-stone social plans while blacked-out.)

Stand proud, fellow Enthusiast. Deleting now is an admission of defeat. Not everyone who saw your: “WAAAAY-STEEEEED!!!!!! CUM TO THE BAR WITH ME I LOVE TAQUILLAAAA!!!1!!!!1 AND I WANT TO MAKE OUR WIYTH YOUUUUUU” and/or “aLL you hot bitches wantto $uck my huge dick” (dramatization; actual drunk statii will vary greatly), will think that was a fucking stupid-ass update. Some of them won’t have slept yet. And, leering at bright screens in their window-blinded apartments, while clutching shakily at, and swigging from, near-empty bottles of Jack—they’ll laugh. These Enthusiasts understand you were only half-serious—and besides, they love tequila and/or making out with everyone and/or your penis and/or their own penis, too.

And then when they awaken with splitting headaches and dry mouths later that night, and, from the comfort of their beds, decide to check Facebook, a shudder of shame will ripple through their aching and hungover bodies, when they see that little thumbs-up with their name, affirmative, beside your stupid-ass status drupdate.