The Holidays Strike Back: Part IX and X (a.k.a. Dork Squad Rock Part Two, OR This is The End)

Alas, my friends, we have reached the end of this year's rope. Thanks for coming along on our colorful, gut-wrenching journey. It's almost done.

Okay, you might notice that though we're still going to ten here tonight, there will be here a distinct lack of Cherry Pie and Apple Pie. It was starting to get pretty late over at Chez Julie, and Sean was supposed to be heading back to Arizona that night. Realizing this, we had to prioritize. See, last time I went to Target I saw that they had these new CHRISTMAS 2006 packs. Why do you do this to me, Jones Soda?! Why do you make me have to choose, when you know I'll choose to buy more every time? Thankfully for my pocketbook, they were already sold out of Sugarplum by the time I got to them, but unfortunately for my palate they had Eggnog and Candy Cane to spare.




So I had these two leftover sodas from the Holiday Dessert Pack in flavors that couldn't be that bad anyway (I mean come on, I've had cherry soda before), and then I had two four-packs of peculiar Christmas Delicacies. Four of each, and there were four of us. The choice was clear.

STAGE NINE: EGGNOG

Eggnog isn't the sort of thing I drink for the taste. In fact, I'll come right out and say that if it doesn't have a healthy dose of rum in it, I'd be hard pressed to drink eggnog at all. Come Christmas, I'll be the one over here pouring Irish Cream into my hot chocolate and using my eggs for something more worthwhile, like French Toast. Actually, you know what? I know very few people who really enjoy eggnog. Why is it even a tradition?! Seriously, eggnog can go to hell.

I digress.

We each grabbed a bottle from the eggnog carrier case and marvelled at the miasmic yellow color. It actually bore a strong resemblence to the Buttered Dinner Roll soda, which terrified me. It also smelled like being drunk around small sticky children, which (while not entirely unlike Christmas itself) is probably not a particularly good sign...



I love the simultaneous wave of malaise there. It's so right.

The worst thing about real eggnog is the taste after you swallow it. There's always this split second right after I sip a cup of eggnog, where I think to myself, "Hey, maybe today is the day. Maybe this is the year I'll finally graduate from childish hot chocolate and learn to love the nog." Then that weird bite hits, egg and nutmeg and cinnamon not cut by sugar, and it kind of catches in the back of my throat and I think "Goddamnit! This is not the year."



This soda captures that aftertaste perfectly, without any of the fuss of that moment of futile hope. I think that lack of hope lands it squarely in the realm of despair, don't you?

DESPAIR:

One more.

STAGE TEN: CANDY CANE

Unlike eggnog, who doesn't like candy canes? Festive colors, myriad flavors, and you can hook them behind your ear for safe-keeping. Anyone wants to hate on candy canes, you can turn one sideways and drag them off like it was Amateur Hour on Showtime at the Apollo.

The classic taste of candy cane is, of course, peppermint, and the logical train of thought is that peppermint is a hard taste to screw up. Gum companies have been getting the taste down pat for decades, along with ice creams and hard candies and soft candies and tea and toothpaste and mouthwash. Mint is a no-brainer. It seems like we should have had it easy in for the home stretch.



It just doesn't make sense. Couldn't they have asked someone? How hard could it have been to not make a mint that tastes like the gel orthodontists use to make jaw molds? Julie hadn't ever had braces before, so she couldn't quite understand the distinctive horror like Leslie and I did. We know what it's like, and it isn't good. Personally, I like to equate candy canes to fond childhood memories of Christmas mornings and new rollerblades and bikes and whatever. When I say "fond childhood memories," I do NOT mean to refer to long hours in the motorized chair, staring at the ceiling with drool trickling out the corner of my mouth as I tried not to choke on the garishly pink and somewhat-mintiful plastic dental mold setting that was taking stock of the exact position and severity of an overbite so big I could stick my thumb up in the gap between my top and bottom teeth, dooming me to a middle school career full of rubber bands and headgear and embarassing lisps and absolutely no carbonated beverages whatsoever!



But. Um. I digress. Again.

DESPAIR:

So as I said, it was getting late and we had to be leaving. We bid dear Julie adieu, piled back into the car, hung another couple terrifying death-defying u-turns, and made it back to Sean's house alive. Then we hit the freeway east, and freeway south, and freeway south, and freeway south one more time to get back to the San Diego we call our home. (Well, technically. 'Cause Leslie is back in Oregon by now, and I'm more from LA than anything despite the current living situation. You know how it is.)

But before we go, I'll leave you with this. Terrifying chemistry-set-worthy stunts, dangerous double-fisting, and a SHOCKING confession from the illustrious Sean-o-Tronic.



And there you have it. Once again, thank you all for reading! (And an extra-special thanks to any of you who contributed to my ZOMG Help Me Pay For All This Soda Fund!) It all means the world to me.

Happy Trails to you on the Holiday Pack front until next year!

Same time, same station.

The Holidays Strike Back: Part VI, VII, and VIII (a.k.a. Dork Squad Rock Part One)

When the waiter at El Cholo Mexican restaurant set down on the table before me a stack of enchiladas with a fried fucking egg on top, I knew December 27th was going to be one hell of a day.



Well, I should back up a bit. Earlier that day, I picked up one dear friend Miss Leslie a block away from my house, in order to man the mighty shotgun seat of Brunhilde Cherry Bomb. From there we sped up from freeway to freeway, through Lake Elsinore, all up in San Dimas, past the Miller Draft packaging plant and finally into Pasadena to pick up Señor Sean. After milling around his house a while and scaring his dog, we went to El Cholo to consume nachos and margaritas and argue over the merits of sour cream. Miss Julie called as we were splitting the check, so I took down her address and we careened on down the 101 into Hollywood, and after getting all turned around and a couple of harrowing left turns across traffic, I pseudo-parallel-swung into a space on the street and parked with satisfaction. At last, our intrepid team was assembled.



I believe it's time to get down to business: the business of getting down. Beyonce, can you handle this? 'Cause I don't know if you can handle this. Whoo!

STAGE SIX: SWEET POTATOES

I won't lie: we stalled a little. By stalling, I mean we went to the gelato shop for double scoops of strawberry-chocolate deliciousness, and the comic book store to gawk at the newest offering from the Hernandez Brothers. Then we cracked open our beer and compared Skelator to Dethklok. Sooner or later, however, there was no getting around it, so we began.



Julie was the first to open the bottle. She smelled it so innocently, and immediately recoiled in horror. It was on, and with a vengeance.



When one says that a drink tastes like "summer ass," what one means in this case is that it leaves an aftertaste like dripping sticky sweat. It's almost-sweet like lazy melted sugar candy on the couch, and thick like mashed potatoes with the sickly disgust that sluggishness preceeds. On a scale of one to ten, I give this one a seven. Just because something is sweet, we learned, doesn't mean it's good.

DESPAIR:

Every time you drink a sweet potato soda, a Julie cries.



Please, won't somebody think of the Julies? :(

One down, too many to go. We decided to take her advice and space the horrors out a bit with something that might stand a chance of good.

STAGE SEVEN: KEY LIME PIE

I love pie. Everyone who knows me knows that I consider pie one of the pinnacles of sweetie dessert foods. Chocolate satin, French apple, cherry sour cream: all are delicious and delectable and smooth. Key lime, on the other hand -- a step below lemon meringue (which I like only for the meringue), I hardly consider it a pie at all.

Naturally, in the bizarro food world Sean lives in, key lime is the one pie he actually doesn't abhor. With that in mind, he was welcome to jump in first.



The general consensus seemed to be that of "Meh." Not terrible. but not our favorite Haribo gummy snack either. I guess it could have been worse, as far as pie sodas were concerned, but it certainly could have been better. It's pretty much neutral. I position it as squarely as possible between despair and delight as I can for a pie. I guess it has to tip in one or the other's favor, if even slightly.

DELIGHT:

What does Sean have to say about key lime pie soda?



Absolutely nothing whatsoever.

However, for some reason we found him suddenly emboldened, and in a glorious moment of bravado he went where no one has gone before. Oh man, I can't even describe it to you. It's just too wonderful. Watch.



The amazing Sean, ladies and gentlemen!!! Give 'im a hand!

...and if that magnificent parlor trick isn't an excellent segue into our next battle, I don't know what is.

STAGE EIGHT: ANTACID

Weeks ago, when Julie first asked if I'd come visit with the sodas, she said she was willing to try anything but the antacid flavor. ANYTHING but the antacid. Yet, here we were, all of us, faced with it nonetheless. It was agreed, however, that no one needed antacid more than Sean. Poor boy, I think he ended up trying almost everything first.



A most unexpected turn of events, to be sure! I still think it tasted horrible, though admittedly not as bad as... well, practically anything else on the Jones dinner menu. That said, I wouldn't drink the whole bottle. Not even close. I'm not down with the taste of chalk, and that goes for everything from Pepto-Bismol to Tums to Necco Wafer Conversation Hearts.

DESPAIR:

Julie, on the other hand, practically wants to marry the stuff.



So be it! She can have it. They seem to be very happy together; I'll let you know when she sets a date. <3

Is there more? Of course there's more. But for that, you will have to wait until tomorrow night. There's just too much rock, and anyway, it's December Thirty-first. You should be out getting drunk or making out or something instead of reading this tonight! (At least that's what my co-worker Mary Ellen told me anyway, when I said I'd be spending tonight writing in my web log and watching Chronicles of Narnia.) So have a splendid New Year's Eve, and I'll join you all tomorrow for this edition's THRILLING CONCLUSION.

Good night!

Monday Mixtapes II: Decembers in Detroit, Santa Fe, or San Diego

(Editor's Note: I don't mean to keep you in suspense about the Jones Soda! It's just that I promised a friend I'd take some up to Los Angeles to try, and I won't have had a chance until tomorrow or so. I should have the thrilling conclusion just in time for the New Year.)

This particular Monday is December 25th, and personally I'm listening to nothing but A Christmas Gift for You From Phil Spector. However, recently I dug out this tape that my friend Ami made for me a couple years ago for an online mixtape trade thing. She actually made me a two-volume set, her interpretation of Summer and Winter in Michigan. It's the latter I've been really into lately, because even though I'm halfway across the country I don't think my winter's been very different.

The songs on the mix are soft and cold, and feel like falling in snow. (Or quiet rain, I guess, for purposes of California winters.) The longing and a slight isolated sadness run constant, no matter whether you live next to the ocean or a lake. Seriously, I'm a little jealous of my friends' mixtape-making skills. This one's pretty brilliant.

Winter in Michigan: Even Detroit Has a Skyline

1. Death Cab For Cutie ~ Title Track
2. Blonde Redhead ~ Elephant Woman
3. Modest Mouse ~ Out of Gas
4. Longwave ~ Tidal Wave
5. Pixies ~ Where is my Mind
6. Sufjan Stevens ~ For the Widows in Paradise; For the Fatherless in Ypsilanti
7. Beulah ~ I'll Be Your Lampshade
8. Nico ~ These Days
9. Jawbreaker ~ Ache
10. Tracy + The Plastics ~ Spine Eater
11. Le Tigre ~ Eau d'Bedroom Dancing
12. The Postal Service ~ Against All Odds
13. Jets to Brazil ~ Sea Anemone
14. The Unicorns ~ 52 Favorite Things
15. Lucero ~ Kiss the Bottle
16. Hayden ~ Bad as They Seem
17. Superchunk ~ Detroit Has a Skyline
18. Two Lone Swordsmen ~ It's Not the Worst I've Looked, Just The Most I've Ever Cared

Some of the songs I knew well, and some I heard from the first time on the tape, but they all fit together so seamlessly that it almost made me feel bad for not having heard of everyone already. Even some songs I thought I'd hate–I'm not a big every day Le Tigre fan, for instance–are strikingly perfect in context.

If books could have soundtracks, in the future I'd want this to be on one of mine. I haven't talked to Ami in a while, and I feel now like I really should. Internet friends are a tough thing to keep, even when they have impeccable enough taste to send you Rap Snacks. Even if they come completely crushed and busted in the mail parcel post, it still doesn't get much more brilliant.

The Holidays Strike Back: Part IV and V (a.k.a. Everything Small and Round)

Hey, would you believe that I had so much fun last night that I forgot to take pictures? What an unorganized dork I am.

ANYWAY.

So after I got out of my internship yesterday, I rushed down to Kearny Mesa at top speed to meet Carrie and Richard. They were waiting for me at the coffee shop, and I burst comically through the door with a bottle of Pea soda in one hand and a bottle of Blueberry Pie in the other. (Okay, no I didn't, but I wish I had. That would have been awesome.)

We were planning on eating ramen at Mitsuwa, but tragically they are a cash only establishment and Carrie and Richard lacked the skrilla so we traipsed across the street to Tajima. The Power Couple aren't big drinkers, but I ordered some Calpico soju in the name of fortification...

Now, because of my ridiculous lack of photographic evidence, and the mass of actual conversation on tape, I'm just going to give you seven golden minutes of beautiful bean footage. Though Tajima was egregiously poorly lit, the dialogue isn't bad. Carrie and Richard get really into it, bless their hearts, and Richard brings on the bad future-math-teacher puns like woah. (Just one reason among many why I love them so.) I'm mostly just mad about the lighting. I have a portable adjustable-timer strobe light (bought with leftover meal points during my dormatory year: it makes everywhere a party!), and if I'd known we were going to go somewhere with "atmosphere," I'd have brought it along. We probably would have been kicked out, but isn't it worth it? At any rate, it gets better. Seven minutes of information! That's practically a full-length movie!!!



I'm rating the Pea Soda on a scale of Delirium, because I can't for the life of me figure it out. It wasn't half bad, but it wasn't half good. It wasn't peas, but it wasn't [i]not[/i] peas. It's the gastronomic equivalent of a gigantic animated question mark above your head. All you can do is blink and sit slack-jawed while you try to figure out what the heck just happened.

Delirium:

The Blueberry Pie falls squarely into Delight. Who doesn't love Nerds candy? Even if you hate pie, you MUST love Nerds candy. It's like Welch's Grape Soda for grown-ups, and I felt like that scrunchy-faced blonde girl from the commercials when I drank it. Yum!

Delight:

The 16th?!