Wednesday, July 06, 2005
"Whores Don’t Get a Second Chance"
First of all, the photographs. It seems that taking seven cameras to cover our trip to Atlanta is akin to ordering the First Airborne to take down a preschool full of French children. Yes, yes, I did take some pictures. Nothing quite worthy of a Flickr account launch, although I’m still pondering. I guess I was hoping for a more impressive start. (Michelle’s few pictures were much more interesting and artsy.)
Now to the matter at hand. I’d mentioned doing a Skippies taste test (see previous post). The concept was simple: Give Ms. Brown’s version of the drink a test drive (and repeat as necessary). According to the Flickr post, the recipe was one part vodka, one part beer, and a part and a half of lemonade. Yum, you say. The proposed recipe hyped “cheap” beer and vodka and lemonade from concentrate (Country Time); we strayed from the path going with Hawaiian Punch lemonade, Smirnoff vodka, and Kirin Ichiban (in a can). Really, I don’t think this made a difference. (We were probably cursed anyway with Michelle’s sentiment that, “Beer and vodka just isn’t right.”)
I took photos of the ingredients, but it’s not much more interesting than reading the above, and the picture of the resulting drinks looks like three glasses of frothy piss. So, y’know. Anyway, I did document the conversation that took place during Round One. It was tape-recorded (and is transcribed) for your “enjoyment.” Er, enjoy:
(Scene: 10:14 on a Saturday night, apartment, child asleep in adjoining room, dimly lit, air thick with anticipation of scary drink and the impending Identity-viewing.)
Michelle is staring at the three glasses, as Ms. JAB takes hers (having already “called dibs” on it).
Scott: There shouldn’t be any difference.
Michelle (laughing): There shouldn’t be any difference.
Scott picks up one of the remaining glasses.
Michelle: You seem to want that one.
Scott (referring to the glass): Okay. Well, it’s square.
There is a clink of glasses.
Scott: Best of luck. (Long pause for drinking first gulps.) Wow.
Ms. JAB: It’s like you don’t taste the beer until the end, like the aftertaste is the beer.
Michelle: It tastes . . .
Scott (laughing): Yeah, I don’t think we’re gonna be able to drink very much of this.
Michelle: This is what I would imagine nail-polish remover . . .
Ms. JAB: Yes! That’s it. Nail-polish remover. It tastes like how it smells.
Michelle: It probably has nothing to do with the fact that I just painted my toenails, but . . .
Scott: It doesn’t smell like nail-polish remover. I don’t know what it smells like. But there’s, like, that much vodka. (Holds up a vodka shot glass indicating about 2 ounces.)
Ms. JAB (perhaps to Michelle, who put down her glass on the bar): You’re not gonna try to finish the first drink?
Scott: Um . . . we can.
Michelle: Ya’ll have fun with that.
There was no Round Two. Ms. JAB and I finished our drinks, and then I started in on Michelle’s while finishing of the huge-ass can of Kirin.
None of this made Identity any more interesting, though. Which is sad. Very.