Dear New York Times,

If there are two things I love in this world they’re the New York Times and a good strong drink. A Sunday without the Times and a Bloody Mary!? Oxymoron. A workday without the Times and whatever can be hidden under my desk!? Oxymoron. Yet somehow the conflation of my favorite paper and my favorite emotional/mental/caloric sustenance has left me a bit queasy, and it’s not just the relics of last night.

Yesterday Dean Haspiel contributed to the NYT booze blog Proof a litany of beverages and places and inebriated encounters. Sure he’s probably adept at writing comic books, but all I could think while reading Proof was: someone teach the man to drink! He’s running around Manhattan mixing margaritas and bourbon one night, then on to Jager and bourbon the next. Can we say nausea? No, because we’re too busy vomiting from the inappropriate assortment of alcohol sloshing around in our stomachs. In all seriousness though, Dean’s got to remember that drinking is like genetic engineering, and you don’t want to be making an octopus-egglant mashup. Unless you’re twisted.

Best of luck to Mr. Haspiel and you, my darling New York Times, on your boozing and writing endeavors. Please avoid the impulse to write about spiked eggnog as the holidays approach—that’s another sickening travesty.

Happy holidays XOXO,
Tracy