Dry Spell

Those of you who have been following the ol’ raincoaster blog for some time will know that I’ve been on a largely raw vegan die(t) for three months now, with the result that I’ve gone from an XL to an L and no, it was NOT worth it.

It was most particularly not worth it because I had to give up my beloved cocktails; in fact, I believe I only consumed alcohol one day in the month of July and that was my birthday. In August I gave myself a few more “days off” and enjoyed some wine, but it must be said that in this, as in most things in life, Dean Martin had it right.

Dino is my hero

Listen to Dino; he KNOWS!

“I’d hate to be a teetotaler. Imagine getting up in the morning and knowing that’s as good as you’re going to feel all day.”

Well, exactly.

So, how does it feel to be a neo-teetotaler in Lotus Land, when one knows all the best bartenders and they all know it’s a Negroni, up, when you walk in the door unless it’s cold outside and then it’s probably Jack Daniels or if it’s been a very bad day, Champagne? Well, it doesn’t feel good. Have you ever been the only sober person at a blowout? That’s right: it feels like a bad dream. It feels, in fact, just as depicted in this incredible documentary, 28 Drinks Later.

And, lest we forget, here are some words of wisdom from Diogenes:

“What I like to drink most is wine that belongs to others.”

Economic Theory 101: the raincoaster index

If only I could afford the barrel

If you’re an economist, you’ve probably heard about all kinds of bizarre and no doubt three-letter-acronymed thingies that measure vitality of the economy. If you’re not an economist (demographically speaking, it is indeed likely that people reading my blog are not economists, as surprising as that may seem) you may have heard of things like the GDP, SET index, and similiar TLA‘s, but have you heard of:

The Hotness Index

The hotter the waitresses, the weaker the economy. In flush times, there is a robust market for hotness. Selling everything from condos to premium vodka is enhanced by proximity to pretty young people (of both sexes) who get paid for providing this service. That leaves more-punishing work, like waiting tables, to those with less striking genetic gifts. But not anymore.

A waitress at one Lower East Side club described to me what happened there: “They slowly let the boys go, then the less attractive girls, and then these hot girls appeared out of nowhere. All in the hope of bringing in more business. The managers even admitted it. These hot girls that once thrived on the generosity of their friends in the scene for hookups—hosting events, marketing brands, modeling—are now hunting for work.” A Soho restaurateur I know recently received applications from “a couple of classic Eastern European fembots. Once upon a time, these ladies must’ve made $1,500 a night lap dancing. At my place, they’re not going to make that in a week.”

In the same vein, and somewhat more directly relevant, at least to MY life and probably to yours, too, since who can afford to eat out anymore, I’d like to present:

The raincoaster Index

Image of raincoaster raincoaster

I was invited to fourteen corporate holiday parties last year, all within walking distance of one another, all with open bars. This year, NONE! And I didn’t suddenly become more obnoxious, companies have really cut back.

Okay, gripe over. Fucking cheapskates.

@raincoaster: I’m convinced that your drinking binges are a better measure of the economy than the number of advance durable goods shipments.

Questions? Challenges? Drink offers?

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pic o’ the day: The Bishop

bishop polaroid by squidfingers

Not just because it’s a Polaroid (which I love, and which are always bouncing onto and off of the endangered list) and it’s beautiful, but also because the photographer is using the nom de shutter of Squidfingers. And you know how we love our tentacles and our squid. In fact, in our experience, only good things come of making the acquaintance of people with the word “squid” in their names. Why, it was HappySquid who invited us to the Bombay in Vangroover event, and when you combine squid with gin, you make raincoaster very, very happy.

Shaken AND stirred.

This is a Blogathon post. Don’t just sit there, SPONSOR ME!

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Bombay in Vangroover

The famous profile of raincoaster

Yes, another Partying With Raincoaster post. I tell ya, there’s nothing I love so much as an email flattering me about my mad Twitter skillz and inviting me to a free party featuring one of my favorite boozes. Except maybe an email flattering me about my mad Twitter skillz and inviting me to a free party featuring one of my favorite boozes where there will be a charming and decorative bartender with whom one can carry on a civilized conversation about Ken Livingstone‘s enlightened public space policy and which ends with the distribution of gift bags containing bottles of said favorite booze, Bombay Sapphire.

Gus and Raul are enthusiastic fans. But they can stop any time, its not a problem

The impeccable (hell, nobody could even attempt to pec it) quality of said Bombay Sapphire and the gift bag mentioned above must be blamed for any groveling note of suckupiness which may creep into the following post. Because that’s so not me. Bitches.

Where was I?

Bombay Sapphires Merlin the mixologist

Right. I was standing on the 58th floor of Shangri-La, the poshest new skyscraper in Vangroover, surrounded by friends and attractive strangers, watching Merlin Griffiths demonstrate masterful mixology in preparing the Sapphire Collins, Cosmo(I know, sooooo five years ago but still damn tasty), and Sapphire 75 as well as the classic Martini (yes, capitalized. Duh. This is a cocktail you take seriously and dress for, not some freaking Jaegerbomb; we’re fucking grownups, we are).

There was also food there, very nice food by Murray Bancroft, most of which I missed by being (as always) late, but I did get two crackers with crab vinaigrette on them although I missed the Parma Ham Crostini and the Gorgonzola Dolce with fresh BC Honeycomb entirely and vowed to be less than an hour late for the next event…as if it were humanly possible for me to be on time.

But then I’d have to be human, wouldn’t I? That’s the very definition of Not Worth It.

Who was partying with raincoaster? All the usual suspects: Colleen Coplick from Wantsa, Raul Pacheco from Hummingbird604, special guest photographer Emme Rogers, her friend Richard Gustin all the way from exotic Saskatchewan, Tanya DaviesRaj Taneja from UrbanMixer, and raincoaster blog favorites Gus and Russ whom you’ll recognize from the last party post.

And many I’m forgetting, but what do you expect? The cocktails were free!

Also, Note To Potential Social Media Drama Queens: first to complain about their place in the order gets deleted, unfollowed, unfriended, uncetera.


Russ raises a toast

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