Senior year of college, whenever I was stressed, I liked to take a long, hot shower with an ice-cold beer. Shower beers became a cheap, relaxing vice; it’s how I began to appreciate the swill my roommates kept in our refrigerator. (Taking a wineglass into the bathroom just felt crass.) Soon, just as “being really into beer” became an entire personality for some of our fellow Connecticut-country-club liberal-arts classmates, “ironically being really into cheap beer” became mine. I began going out of my way to request the occasional PBR or Heineken at a party or on a date, just to see the wince that skipped across a person’s face when I dramatically insisted it was “the good stuff.”
A fan of both goading and free merchandise, I was eventually able to integrate this pleasure into my life materially: donning my Natural Light ball cap that proclaimed my “nattitude” on a summer weekend, handing over my Schlitz bottle opener to a houseguest. But I found my favorite item — a fashion staple for the person who drinks beer, but doesn’t like it — at a vintage store in Los Angeles, a thin white sweatshirt with the Bud Light mascot, muscular, in sunglasses, and hanging 10 across the back: Spuds MacKenzie, the original party animal.
Spuds, an anthropomorphized bull terrier, was dreamed up by a 20-something advertising exec in the mid-1980s in an attempt to target beer drinkers between the ages of 21 and 34. He was rich, impossibly cool, unabashedly heterosexual and responsible for increasing Bud Light sales 20 percent between 1987 and 1988. (The campaign was so popular that Miller Lite released a T-shirt that featured a dead dog run over by a Miller Lite truck.) Spuds starred in several commercials, in which he’d inevitably be on a beach or in a pool or in a bar, the object of everyone’s respect and worship — once Spuds arrived, the party could really begin. Print-ad campaigns, which easily translated into dorm posters, showed Spuds being inducted into the “college hall of fame,” or in a Hawaiian shirt and apron, pouring a beer out of a tap as the Dean of Partyology. Over his various spring breaks, Spuds skied, surfed, vacationed in Daytona Beach, visited Boston and was dubbed the “AYATOLLAH OF PARTYOLLAH. ”
During the campaign, Bud Light representatives maintained that Spuds was a human man. At the height of his popularity, publicists would dress him in tuxedos and parade him through airports or book him an interview with David Letterman, to keep up — and poke fun at — the charade. At one point, there were rumors that Spuds died, via hot tub electrocution, surrounded by soaking (human) Spudettes, the babe brigade of actresses and models who never left his side. Spuds was retired in 1989, in part because of complaints that he appealed too much to children; he returned briefly, as a ghost dog, in a 2017 Super Bowl ad.
How much money I spent on that vintage sweatshirt, or when I returned to the store a year later to buy another, isn’t important. What mattered to me, then and now, was the feeling of insouciance that it dislodged. Spuds, much like those Vineyard Vines-wearing boys who competed against me in drinking games, emanated a lightness of being that I neither fully understood nor was able to embody, but at times seemed so close I could feel it. If the beer itself tastes like coming home from my Women in World Politics seminar and contemplating apartheid while I wash my hair, then Spuds MacKenzie feels like later that night, unencumbered and unbothered, at the apex of my semiannual foray into a hallway game of flip cup.
I enjoyed college, but it took me a few years to realize that I wasn’t having that much fun. I graduated from a majority-black high school, then found myself on a campus that prided itself on its lacrosse and sailing teams and steak-and-lobster dinners. Whiteness never appealed to me, but the confident, entitled recklessness it could provide did: I wanted to borrow some of the blitheness that my classmates enjoyed, pour it into a Solo cup and head out into the night, too. Spuds is an extension of my lifelong fascination — envy, even — with the unalloyed levity and audacity found in a certain type of white, straight masculinity: early Beastie Boys, Ferris Bueller, 2011-2013 Justin Bieber. But to revere those figures is too dicey, an endorsement of something I don’t even like; Spuds, on the other hand, inspires guiltless admiration, in part because he transcended the human form. It’s not hard to imagine a man version of Spuds, with the drinking and the girls and the parties, eventually veering into troubling territory, spawning disappointment, outrage and a sea of web reactions. But you can’t cancel a dog.
Spuds’s charm is in his absurdity — it’s fun to participate in a fantasy where the weather is always warm, the parties are always fun and a panting dog is the handsomest man in the room. (In 1987, People revealed that the actor who played Spuds was actually a female dog, resulting in a national mini-outcry.) The whole thing is ridiculous — but not dissimilar to the way that spending on a tattered sweatshirt is ridiculous, or chugging fermented malted barley to impede your ability to throw a Ping-Pong ball into a cup is ridiculous, or whiteness itself is ridiculous. But those are things, I suppose, that all unlock a dose of freedom more intoxicating than any light beer. And, if given the chance, who wouldn’t choose to chug that down? Life’s a party, if you’re lucky.B:
山西快乐十分开奖结果电子屏同步【半】【场】【结】【束】。 【双】【方】【战】【成】【一】【比】【一】【平】。 【这】【个】【结】【果】【让】【圈】【里】【的】【人】【和】【球】【迷】【们】【都】【有】【些】【意】【外】。 【难】【不】【成】【格】【拉】【纳】【达】【队】【真】【的】【能】【狙】【击】【巴】【萨】【成】【功】，【帮】【助】【西】【班】【牙】【人】【队】【登】【顶】？ 【中】【国】【的】【这】【个】【暴】【发】【户】【是】【想】【统】【治】【西】【甲】、【甚】【至】【欧】【洲】【足】【坛】【吗】？ 【下】【半】【场】【开】【始】。 【巴】【萨】【的】【球】【员】【们】【通】【过】【某】【些】【渠】【道】……【有】【可】【能】【是】【对】【方】【的】【故】【意】【透】【露】，【差】【不】【多】【了】【解】【到】【了】【格】【拉】
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