Zima is no more

MillerCoors (I didn't know that was the corporate name) has ended production of Zima, the Sprite of malt beverages. When it first came out nationwide in the summer of 1993, my high school friends who went to Pitt introduced me to it. I wasn't a hard-core beer drinker at the time, and here was this vaguely fruity-tasting thing that was just as cool as beer to drink at a party. Cooler, even. So I became something of a Zima fan. I would seek it out at parties, ask my friends to get it for me, and told everyone I knew to try it. It was a wild ride.

Soon, the wheels came off my Zima party bus. I had a small party for my friends in the Georgetown orchestra in the spring of 1994 and got a six-pack of Zima along with beer and hard liquor. Liz drank a couple of bottles of Zima, then switched to the crappy vodka I had on hand. Her evening ended with her getting sick all over my apartment, then looking like death for a few hours before she pulled back from the abyss. A few months later we had a party to celebrate the end of the semester, and I had five beers and one Zima. But that one Zima got me drunker than anything else I had that night, and I think I made a fool of myself that evening but I can't remember the details. I'm sure there were other instances like these; Zima was a fixture at most parties that year.

It wasn't long before we realized that a) we got too drunk too fast on Zima and b) it tasted like lime juice spiked with urine. Also, everyone we knew thought Zima was for girls. We moved on to beer and bourbon, Zima tried to re-brand itself as a drink for men, and then Smirnoff Ice came along and put Zima out of its misery.

I salute you, Zima. By being so awful, you taught me what good alcohol should taste like.

Newark Pants Party report and photos

I went out to Newark on Saturday night for another Deadspin reader meet-up. The event was a Seton Hall-Louisville college basketball game at the brand-new Prudential Center. I took the PATH train over there, which was my first time on that train. If you like seeing the ass end of New Jersey, it's the train for you. We stopped at The Arena Bar, the only bar near the arena, and met up with the rest of the group. There were little kids in the bar, which reminded me of the 12-year-old coal miners on "30 Rock" a few weeks ago. I think one of these kids was playing poker at a table in the back.

We got to the game right around tipoff. We were sitting behind the Seton Hall band, and I noted that one of their game songs was the theme from Pirates of the Caribbean. At first the game was lopsided in Louisville's favor but Seton Hall closed the gap by halftime and in the second half they got out in front for good. As a Georgetown fan I didn't want to cheer for "The Hall" but the atmosphere was infectious and soon all of us were screaming and high-fiving over SHU baskets. I forgot how much fun college basketball games can be.

After the game we took the PATH train back to Manhattan and took the subway to the Village. On the E train we ran into a group of girls dressed like flappers. So one of us asked them "are you going to a flapper party?" They said "no, we're going to a '20s party." OK then. They challenged my friend Jeff to a dance-off, and I think it's safe to say they got served.

We ended our night at Kettle of Fish in Greenwich Village, where I discovered the joy that is Six Point beer. I don't remember which beer I had, but I had a lot of them, and a shot of Wild Turkey. It was a great night.

Photos are in the usual place. I haven't tagged them with commenter names, but I will on request.

Saturday's beer tasting/cookout

I went to another beer tasting party at a friend's house in Queens this past Saturday. I went to one last September, and this one was the same format, but with different beers and food. This time I stayed until we ran out of beer, which happened around 10 PM, so I got to try 19 different beers. I don't remember most of the beers, though there was a double IPA that was extremely bitter and a sour, fruity beer that stands out in my memory. I took photos of each bottle as we drank it, and after a few shots I figured out that it made more sense to photograph the beer bottle next to my glass of beer. I also got to meet my friends' six-month-old son, who was adorably cute even when he was drooling (which was most of the time, as he's teething). For the food, the hosts went with a French theme, though I don't remember now what that had to do with chicken and beef kabobs, grilled shrimp, corn on the cob, fresh vegetables, and homemade ice cream. The food and liberal doses of water kept me from getting beyond a mild buzz, which was the idea. As with a wine tasting, you don't want to get drunk on beer that you're drinking for the purpose of tasting the nuances of flavor. One of my friends hadn't been to a beer tasting before, and he didn't listen when we told him to take it easy. He e-mailed us on Sunday morning with the message "Worst. Hangover. Ever."