I called my local Walmart today, despite warnings from my Duck Dynasty-fearing gayborhood watch. Walmart is not too receptive to speech-based communication, it appears. Someone dropped the phone while I was on hold and I spent a blissful thirty seconds listening to an upside-down, reedy version of the Talking Heads’ ‘The Overload’ before someone got on, breathed heavily, asked me if I spoke Spanish, and then told me to call back later. I’m still not sure if I was crossconnected to an old 1-900 hotline or if someone actually picked up the phone. I was looking for red velvet M&M’s. I didn’t find them. It’s two days after Christmas and they’re already pulling Valentine’s Day candy, but I’m still clinging to the millimeter of filthy snow we have on the ground and the newness of my gifts. I got a haircut, and it rendered me raving glad, as every sweep of the razor made me feel lighter on my feet. My new suits are being tailored. I’m determined to start the new year fairly well, even if I don’t end it with grace. I’m the Nancy Kerrigan of resolutions.
I’m drinking coconut creme-flavored seltzer as we speak, right out of the bottle. Right out of the bottle. Such luxury, such waste. This is another Polar gem, and seems to come less straight from the mouth of the bear than the rear. Coconut creme is not a Limited Edition Winter New England flavor, Polar. It’s…Jesus, it’s something. It’s the stuff of bake sales and failed marriage rekindlings. Someone makes a coconut creme pie, someone else crudely comments on the meringue. It’s all downhill from there, y’know? The seltzer is light, as they all are, but the flavor is thick and obtrusive within the delicacy of the beverage. The coconut errs a few too many SPFs to the side of sunscreen and tastes candied, sugary with each sip. It’s discordant on the palate. Usually, Polar Seltzer makes a decent mixer. But this would only go well in the type of cocktail named ‘Tryst’ or ‘Midnight Vomiting’ that they serve on ‘Ladys’ Nightt’ at a blue and pink-lit bar smack dab in the middle of Elizabeth, New Jersey, with a half-shot of Lixx and a $12 price tag. It’s winsome in its inception- yes, baked goods are delicious, and miserable to drink. Give me back that accent aigu. You don’t deserve it, and it’s not even correct. Whatever. I’m looking forward to 2014’s Limited Edition Winter New England selection, but only if I can cast my vote for peanut butter, Aspirin coating, the last sip of gin (trademark pending) and royal icing. The real reason for the season, natch.