Information is Beautiful put up a page subtitled 77 drinks every bar person and party monster should know.
To my surprise just ten drinks down is Harvey Wallbanger, and boy, that took me back zoink out of body experience right there. In a flash I am taken back forty years.
That's what we drank when I was nineteen and twenty. Don't tell my parents or they'll be retroactively cross with me. Plus they're both dead so it'll hardly do any good. Then we suddenly stopped drinking them. That's still my type of drink. If only they were still in fashion. Mostly orange juice. And I think the reason we liked them was the bottles that syrupy Galliano comes in are outrageously tall.
"Where'd you get those alcohol bottles?"
"Nowhere."
"I asked you a question."
"A friend gave them to me."
The friend being the adult who bought them for me, and by "gave" I mean brokered.
What a silly drink. We were silly.
At twenty-one I ordered drinks for my deaf friends all the time. "Order me a 7 and 7"
"What's that?"
"Seagrams 7 Crown and 7-up."
"What's Seagrams 7 Crown?"
"Whiskey."
"Oh."
In sign language a "7" is your hand held up to show your thumb touched to the tip of your ring finger bent down to meet it. So "7 and 7" is that hand configuration going boink boink.
I saw that boink boink 7 sign over and over and over and over, for I was the guy tasked to use my vocalizing skill to talk to the bartender which was ridiculous because all the bartenders at all the places we went knew that boink boink 7 thing too. They too had seen it a million times. They know your drink. I had to say with my mouth "Har-vey-wall-bang-er" and instantly self-identify as a silly little dope. "Oh, aren't you precious."
"What?"
I could go for one of those Harvey Wallbangers right now.
Vodka? This whole time I thought it was tequila.
The recipe for Margarita is gross. I'd make it 1/2 simple syrup at least. Or shaved ice. I only like drinks with a lot of mix in them. Mostly mix and 1/4 to 1/2 the usual amount of alcohol. Sweet juice is excellent, alcohol is horrible. In my world, alcohol ruins everything. Best used as flavoring.
So hangovers never happen.
But if they did happen then here are the cures from around the world.
3 comments:
Unlike Alan Bourdillion Trahearne, Bull Harris had a simple hangover recipe, "Buncha howlin' Injuns out fer ha'r".
Troop, hopefully in good spirits and health, will smile.
Trooper is fine - on Instagram he keeps posting pictures of the mounds of disgusting crap that he ingests. That boy eats like a pig, a P I G, I'm tellin' ya. Makes me sick just looking at that garbage, but that is due to my own delicacy and refinement and basic repulsion towards Eye-tie foodstuffs. It looks like glop covered with more glop served on mounds of other glop. Yuck.
In my last ASL class I was bemoaning the fact that I have no chance, outside of class, to work on reading or signing ASL. Then I got to thinkin' about how you, Chip Ahoy, became so familiar with it. This post indicates that at a young age you were hangin' with the deafies, so that helps explain it. Even though I used to live in the town that housed the state school for the deef, I never hung with them, as I didn't dig their lingo. Couldn't pick up what they were puttin' down. I get a bit of it now, but that is a missed opportunity that will not be repeated.
Speaking of repeat, one of the first signs I learned was "I am hard of hearing" - point to my chest, then two "h's" boink boink - moving to the right. That and "not deaf". Also "hearing".
I did encounter one woman last year who was signing but I was too new to the deal to engage with her. Maybe I will see her again - she is local, but I have no idea where she hangs out.
Thanks.
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