Assistant Editor Toni Judnitch: We here at The Cincinnati Review are excited to showcase an exciting new collaboration with Reading and Drinking: A Cocktail Blog, created and curated by the very talented Brandon Timm. Each Friday, Timm picks a contemporary piece of prose or poetry and crafts a cocktail to go along with his analysis. His blog has featured fiction and poetry by Laura van den Berg, K-Ming Chang, Alison C. Rollins, and others. This week, he has crafted a cocktail for “Reality TV” by Michael Kardos, which can be found in Issue 17.2 of The Cincinnati Review, which is being mailed out to subscribers and contributors this week.
A Cocktail Blog: “Reality TV”
In the year 2019, the world economy has collapsed. The great freedoms of the United States are no longer, as the once great nation has sealed off its borders and become a militarized police state, censoring all film, art, literature, and communications. —IMDB on The Running Man
Brandon Timm: Dystopia, in Michael Kardos’ “Reality TV”, feels like Supermarket Sweep and Survivor were cross-bred with 1987’s The Running Man, which is to say, it feels too real. In 1987, when Arnold Schwarzenegger was wrongly sentenced to death and given the opportunity to participate in a reality show for a chance at freedom, it read as satirical absurdism. Social commentary, for sure, but blown so wildly out of proportion that it was well within the sci-fi realm, and the stuff of Hollywood. Now, in the twilight of 2020, during the ascension of COVID-19 and the descent of political decorum in America, Kardos’s “Reality TV” is entertainingly chilling:
“So, people really got eaten on live TV?” she asked.
“It was taped, not live,” I told her. “And it was all tastefully edited. They knew where to draw the line, editing-wise.”
“But people got eaten?”
“Honey, these were hungry tigers in a mall.”
In less than a thousand words, “Reality TV” reveals everything multilegged and crawling beneath the rock of America. The swelling economic disparity and voyeuristic entertainment-fed society all set within the crumbling temples of capitalism—the mall. I don’t want to reveal too much, but perhaps you’re thinking as you read the story, Okay, this is just silly. Tigers? Malls? Psh. And then familiar details crash inside of you. The careful selection of competitors who are needy and large in personality; the unnecessary but entertaining rules of televised competition; and that reality TV funk that America is addicted to, the schadenfreude we feel watching others struggle, and the rags-to-riches narrative we love to see when a contestant, finally, rises above.
But it’s not all doom and gloom. There’s levity in the narrator’s tone, plenty of heart, and the familiar glow of nostalgia that, even now, during the worst of 2020, we share with each other through our phones and computer screens. That desire to connect—reconnect—crackles beneath the surface of “Reality TV.”
The narrator wants to comfort his wife, to share something with her that will simultaneously distract her from the world and bring them closer together, and that’s what makes this story such a heart-breakingly enjoyable read: its all too recognizably human core. The Running Man and “Reality TV” both have something to say about the trajectory of America, perhaps the world, but whereas The Running Man falls into the familiar heroic tropes that America has grown fat on, “Reality TV” holds something richer beneath its surface: the need to be heard and feel connected to others, and the hope that, despite the hungry tigers out there and the heavily edited televised decline of the world, there’s still a chance to win in the end.
Back when there were shopping malls. Back when there were tigers. Back when Christmas was celebrated on December 25. Back when you could find a microwave oven. Before the Ten-Thousand-Year Flood and the Accident and the invention of the quickbullet. Before the Freedom Rampage.
Cocktail: “Freedom Rampage”
Back when cocktails were drank in public with friends. Back when handshakes and high fives were legal. Before Quarantine, and before Quaran-Tinis. Before Elections. Back when Bourbon. Back when Bitters. Back when juice.
The Freedom Rampage has two builds, one for the postapocalypse and one for the preapocalypse. Sorry, Rampagers, there’s no cocktail for the midapocalypse, only CrowdScatter and universal bar codes.
Postapocalypse Freedom Rampage
2 oz Bourbon or Whiskey, whatever you can get!
1 oz Bottled Lime Juice, because it’ll last through anything.
0.5 oz Crème Soda Syrup*, or whatever soda the caravan has to trade.
0.25 oz Orange Juice Concentrate, unirradiated if possible.
5 dashes Angostura Bitters—don’t worry, they don’t go bad!
- Add all ingredients to a shaker tin with your allotment of commonwealth ice.
- Shake, and pour all contents into a clean tin can and garnish with desiccated remnants. After all, wasting commonwealth ice is a Grave Transgression.
- Return to your screens and enjoy your ration of relaxation.
Preapocalypse Freedom Rampage
1.5 oz Bourbon, 100 proof
1 oz Fresh Orange Juice
0.5 oz Lemon Juice
0.5 oz Crème Soda Syrup*
2 dashes Angostura Bitters
- Add all ingredients to a shaker with ice and shake for ten seconds.
- Strain into a coupe or glass and garnish with pineapple fronds (before they’re extinct after the Green Crash).
- Hold someone’s hand, even if it’s illegal.
Notes: To make the Crème Soda Syrup, pick your favorite 16 oz bottle of Crème Soda and bring to a boil, then reduce to a simmer for about twenty minutes. You want to reduce the soda to one-fourth its volume, about 4 oz.
Brandon Timm received his BA in English from The Ohio State University and an MFA in Creative Writing from Southern Illinois University. His writing has appeared in Zone 3, Carolina Quarterly, Cleaver Magazine, and others. In 2016 he was a finalist for the Yemassee Writing Prize judged by Claire Vaye Watkins. His work has been nominated for New Stories from the Midwest and has twice been featured as honorable mentions for Glimmer Train contests. He currently lives in Columbus, Ohio, with his wife and a robust spirit collection, enjoys building theme-based cocktails, and works for the nation’s largest alcohol broker as a key account specialist. You can follow him @Btimm_Writing.
