Dog Days

While Boldface Names is expensing shit out in the Hamptons (“‘I tried to make bunny rabbit,’ said ANDREY BARTENEV, an artist, when we asked about his outfit on Saturday night at ROBERT WILSON’s Brazil-themed Watermill Center benefit . . .”) and the New Yorker is writing about god knows what (“Among the passengers the other afternoon on the Ninety-sixth Street crosstown bus was a young black man in bluejeans and a white T-shirt . . . [h]is teeth were slightly bucked”), the Village Voice has nothing better to do than relive the experience of consuming malt liquor in its 40-ounce form, as countless shiftless teenagers are no doubt doing as we speak. No, seriously:

The taste test (complete with a blindfold segment) confirmed some generalizations: 40s are watery and never seem really cold, even just out of the fridge. They have very small bubbles, which makes them easy to chug but also contributes a distinct flatness from the beginning.