We all make choices — and sacrifices — in this economy. But, as Sadie previously wrote, some things are sacrosanct — and things you put into your body tend to be. With the exception of Jess, every one of your editors was refusing to cut back on some luxurious edible, from coffee (Anna) to fancy yogurt (Sadie) to booze (Dodai and I).

The thing about booze is that you really can't go back to those halcyon days when vodka came in plastic jugs and wine from Boone's after you've grown a taste (or a nose) for the good stuff. Scott says:

...nothing is not really an option. And neither, frankly, is a blended jug with a bagpipe player on the cover. I want a single malt with a name I can’t pronounce and a creamy, austere label that tells a complicated story about ancient sherry casks and peat and heather and weird little islands full of taciturn Presbyterians. I want what is perhaps the only luxury product manufactured in a place notorious for thrift.

But, as he notes, it's about the taste and the nuances that are lacking in the cheaper substitutes. What goes for Scotch goes for wine (and even vodka, the plastic-bottle variety of which smells more like rubbing alcohol to me with each passing year). It's not a luxury item if the less expensive variety is so dissimilar from the good stuff.

So, to justify my continued consumption of (relatively) expensive red wine, I'll try to keep up with Scott's lyrical defense of his Scotch habit. Red wine is not meant to taste like grape juice, nor is the alcohol in it intended to overwhelm your palate or nose at the first sip, as a cheap one will. You shouldn't pucker with the sharpness or taste it more on the middle of your tongue than anywhere else. The alcohol should creep up on your palate, not your nose; it should slide smoothly across your tongue and toward the back of your throat leaving little bursts of scent and flavor in its wake that contribute to — not distract from — the whole. The warmth of it should creep up on you like a lover carrying a soft blanket to place around your shoulders on a cold night, rather than burn in your stomach or your throat. Intoxication should creep across your consciousness the way that fog does to the hillsides where good wine is grown — quietly and gently, lulling you into the sense that you can still see clearly.

Alcoholic grape juice isn't red wine anymore than blended malts can be considered "Scotch," and its effects on the psyche and the body cannot be replicated with a cheap pretender to the name. Boone's might be a cheap alcoholic beverage of a similar alcohol content and color, but it's not a substitute for that which will see me through this economic crisis. Now if only I could convince my parents of that when it comes time for Christmas dinner.

Cutbacks? Yes. Cheap Scotch? No Thanks. [New York Times]

Earlier: What's Your "Necessary Luxury?"
Red Wine Mouth: When Your Lips Get As Ugly As Your Issues With Alcohol

It's really not shocking that since all other modes of self-expression — clothes, food, closet organizing, home decor — have been farmed out, music, the most judgey of all media, should follow. We've all known the anxiety of seeing some judgmental hipster ass reach for our CD book or the shallow elation of having the same person ask casually what it is you're playing. Music conveys taste, sophistication, irony, confidence — this is not news. What shocks me is not that people would want to leave this task in professional hands — but, rather, that they're not embarrassed to admit publicly that they don't have individual tastes and opinions.

Of course, I'm sure they don't admit the music has been curated. (Do they study up, so they can casually drop the names of obscure artists if people ask?) That would defeat the whole purpose. And this sort of casual domestic treachery is the name of the game nowadays — think about the spate of weird commercials in which people try to pass off supermarket desserts as homemade and cheap candles as boutique! But doesn't something in them rebel at relinquishing this most personal of synecdoches? More to the point, as anyone who's logged any time in retail can tell you, being at the mercy of even the most tasteful other's musical whims can be the cruelest kind of torture.

"Hiring someone to make those decisions for you suggests that you simply don't know who you are," says Gary Susma in EW. Well, maybe, but that strikes me as a bit harsh: the truth is, I'm always delighted to get a recommendation or a mix from a friend whose musical tastes I respect — and I'm flattered when people like the bizarre mixes I dish out with regularity (and yes, a part of me is kind of wondering how you get into this racket!) Nowadays, the music you play is judged harshly and often unfairly and I think it's a natural defense to slough off one superficial burden in a superficial world, where we're judged on enough things we can't control. But most of us have the break in place that knows not only that we'd be embarrassing ourselves with our naked insecurity, but that we'd be buying into a culture that fosters it. Is lack of embarrassment a privilege of the new wealth? Makes poverty feel bearable!

Does This Song Match My Sofa? [NY Times]
Do We Really Need To Hire Personal Playlist Consultants? [EW]