Buyer beware: don't mix your drinks

I don't generally partake in the energy-drink fad. It's true that they're as effective at keeping you alert and awake as a brisk pinch to the ol' twig and berries, but the taste -- my God, the taste! Robitussin is too dignified a comparison for the vile concoctions; instead, think of the Safeway brand, sold under the somehow-legal name Tussin. That and lurking fears about turning my body into a sugary petrochemical plant keep me content with caffeine through strong black coffee -- probably not a whole lot better for me, but at least with a larger test base.

But the test base is growing, and this drink fad looks like it will last longer than most. It started with Red Bull in those tiny cans, and a swarm of competitors swooped in to soak up consumer dollars in what would prove to be an obscenely profitable marketplace. With each new addition to that marketplace, the dosage increased, as did the number of chemicals, in what amounts to an arms race. If one beverage supplied ginseng in a half-liter can, the next would be sure to double the ginseng, add Creatine and vitamin B6, and dispense it in 750-milliliter vessels. It was only a matter of time before a company had the epiphany to toss everyone's favorite barbiturate into the mix and really cause some damage: thus was born Sparks, the first alcoholic energy drink, combining all the benefits and vices of a can of Rockstar and a bottle of Steel Reserve.

It looks, except for the inconspicuous label "6.0 % ALC / VOL," like any other energy drink. The packaging is innocuous enough to fool most clerks, which is why many stores have recently begun affixing stickers reading "We ID" to every can, and why until recently I'd never known anyone to get carded when purchasing one (or six).

I tried the drink for the first time a few weeks ago with some friends. They hadn't slept all weekend, and informed me that a strict regimen of Sparks was the only reason they were mobile. We were eating at Than Brothers' Pho, but because of the innocent appearance of the containers, we cracked them open with only a twinge of self-consciousness at the table, where a bottle of the less-alcoholic Henry's Private Reserve would have been wholly inappropriate. Perhaps it was the laughter around the table, the intoxicating aroma of boiled beef or the late hour, but something possessed me to accept an invitation to drink a can. It worked -- a half-hour later I had more energy than a hummingbird on crack and was pleasantly buzzed. The rest of the evening, including a trip to the Ram, flew by like a fast-motion scene in a Guy Ritchie film.

I paid for the energy later. I slept in spurts of an hour and a half at most that night, and my heart pounded erratically the next day. It was as if my heartbeat had been replaced by the bass line to a techno song -- it would chug along evenly for a period, then inexplicably hang for agonizing seconds before starting again at double tempo. It was more than a little disconcerting. I wanted to suspect a hangover, but I've experienced my fair share of those, and these symptoms didn't match the profile.

Later in the week I researched medical articles online to figure out what I'd done to myself. I found a number of dire warnings about mixing alcohol and energy drinks, since the combination of depressants and stimulants can confuse the body and lead to heart palpitations -- exactly what I'd experienced. But Jaeger bombs (Jaegermeister mixed with Red Bull) are popular in bars across the country, so clearly Americans aren't taking the medical community seriously. Eventually, someone will barrage their system with enough alcohol and Taurine that their heart fails, there will be a media circus and a consumer uproar, lawsuits will fly like confetti, and most people will avoid mixing the two from then on. I'm just glad that someone won't be me.