That Time When, Zima. — The Shoperones

In the beginning, there was...whatever there was.

One of the many benefits of decades of drinking with a Shoperone is that there’s absolutely no judgement. Way, way back in college, Laura and I were content with drinking just about anything we could get our hands on, as long as it was cheap. As one would hope, getting people to buy us alcohol took some finagling, but eventually we’d score. In the beginning, we’d usually wind up with varietals of Boone’s Farm wine, selecting only the highest alcohol volume. In my recollection, these included, in order of flavor preference: Strawberry Hill, Apple Blossom and the long-retired Country Kwencher.

Off the rails on the Crazy Horse.

It wasn’t long before we’d found the holy grail of college libation: Crazy Horse, the 40 oz. malt liquor that cost about $2.50 at the time. It was like eating a loaf of bread and taking several shots. Laura taunted others to join us with her ever-persuasive hook, “It will make you go blind!” The benefits seemed self-evident.

Actual Photo

Circa 1992. Who's crazy now?

Until “Zomething Different” comes along.

By graduation our palate had matured. We’d found the fruity malt beverage Zima. With all the sickly sweetness of Boone’s combined with the malty fillingness of the Horse, it packed just the right fruity punch in our bloated guts. Marketed as “Zomething Different,” when introduced in 1993, it became our go-to swill for obvious reasons. But we suffered when distribution became limited and eventually, to our peril, Coors ceased production by 2008. It was probably for the best, we were getting terribly padded by all that malt-liquor. Last summer, The Washington Post wrote about it, jibing Zima as, "the clear beverage of youthful regret." Something about the phrasing makes me wistful.

Zima Commercial, 1994

Float on, sister.

Two decades (and five children) later, not much had changed in our pursuits. On one family trip to Miami in 2011, we found ourselves poolside at the Fontainebleau, sipping coladas whipped to perfection. There, amongst celebrity ball players and their paparazzi (as well as our own children and husbands), we shamelessly goaded the bartender, shoving $20s at him to hit our glasses with an extra ‘floater’ of rum around the rim. It’s a good thing we don’t judge each other, because probably just about anyone else would have in that scenario.

Just having ‘zome fun.

Given this abridged run-down, anyone might imagine my unbridled delight when in Tokyo, after an insane evening of unbridled meat-grilling (Yakiniku), my little family found ourselves in a Karaoke bar with Zima on the menu. It was kismet. We were in Tokyo for one week and by the third day, I’d learned Zima had been in distribution in Japan all along. What great good fortune! I was positively giddy with excitement to share with real Laura back home, who was just waking up and only responded, “Doooonnnnnttt!” But Shoperone warning notwithstanding, Zima was just what I needed to show my ten-year-old how Karaoke is done, like a Boss. Cue, “Your Love” by ‘80s band, The Outfield. I did. And I was amazing.

We'll drink to that.

Whether self-medicating or Carpe Diem-ing, who can say for sure, and why would it matter? Laura suggests, “only our children’s therapists will know one day,” which seems suitable. Until then, I don’t think I’m out of line in suggesting a moderate, yet life-long relationship with, and enjoyment of, spirits is fair and natural response to a world of routine and sometimes bad vibes. I mean, the Shoperones truly believe the right combo in your red Solo cup can turn a regular celebration into “Zomething Different” entirely. And who doesn’t want that from time to time?