the songs would melt your face
Mar. 19th, 2007 10:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
phosfateI normally ignore St Patrick's day, since as near as I can tell my ancestors spent several centuries persecuting the Irish, and appropriating their holiday seemed like adding insult to injury. Plus, I hate those fucking hats.
But this year, I thought, Fuck it. Try something new. So I decided I would try to get drunk.
I don't drink much. I'm not fond of booze, except for that red thing Sharon gave me to drink in Downtown Disney, which tasted like heaven, and the name of which she has never been able to remember. Besides, I'm supposed to avoid alcohol with my meds, and I'm usually the one driving. But fuck it. I am edgy and dark, as you know.
So, Saturday. Grocery had Guinness on sale. Beer tastes like horsey pee, but Guinness tastes like dietetic A&W Root Beer, so I can tolerate it. SERVE CHILLED, the bottle says, so I brough it home to put in the fridge, and gave half the six-pack to the neighbors because even in my most grandiose fantasies, drinking a six-pack of anything would make me die. Then I went to run errands and pick up a pizza. So far so good.
Put in Eddie Izzard DVD, ate pizza w/Diet Pepsi, then...showtime. Pause Eddie. Take CHILLED bottle from fridge.
Now, I swear to God, I know there is a bottle opener somewhere in my house. I know it. It's got a turqoise handle, and I absolutely recall seeing it as recently as 1974.
An hour later, I've found a rusty, magnetic Hide-A-Key box, a melon baller, those swell spaghetti tongs Susan gave Mom, lots of string and batteries, a shrimp fork, several nutpicks, a corn-on-the-cob handle, a wheat penny, and 300 wooden clothespins. Also, my sister was right and Grandma's cookbook is black and not blue. "Fuck!"
So, off to Target.
Our Target is remodeling. It is currently a retail Skinner box, with sudden walls of shoes materialising out of nowhere, phantom dairy cases, and sharp turns into vicious racks of bras. It takes half an hour to find the bottle openers, but the one I come away with looks like something James Bond would use to take a villain's eye out. And I got a nice bra for $3.00. On the drive back, I see a man in a kilt playing volleyball.
Back home, poor Eddie is still on pause, and probably in a snit about it. Bottle is no longer CHILLED, so I swap it out for another one. I pop that bad boy open, park in front of the TV, and prepare for an evening of hardcore substance abuse, the likes of which have not been seen since the days of some time when they did that sort of thing a lot.
An hour and a half later, Eddie's done his thing, and I have managed to drain the bottle to approximately an inch below neck level. I know this because I have got bored enough to peel the label off. My head feels like a dull game of Tetris -- the kind where you keep winning and don't want to shut it off, since after all you've spent a whole quarter on it, but at the same time you're kind of bored and wish that maybe Dig-Dug or one of the ships from Galaga would wander over and liven things up a bit. My arms are mildly numb, but otherwise, I feel no desire to wear a lampshade or drive into a shop window.
And the bottle is making a rattly noise. WTF?
There is something inside my bottle of Guinness. Besides the Guinness, I mean. It's white, shaped sort of like a duck call.
So I do what anyone would. I reach for the phone and text people:
My bottle of guinness has a whistle or something floating in it. Have i been poisond? I can't quite get the hang of capital letters on this phone.
Sadly, yes, comes a reply from Gretchen. I assume the rest of you were too debauched to reply. Bastards. You'll be dead by morning unless you get the antidote. Good luck with that!
Well fuck. Now I'm going to die. I'm only mildly inebriated and don't like it much. This is the worst St Patrick's Day ever! I watch a thing on the History Channel about the Spartans and wait for death.
Two hours later, still not dead. Gretchen, apparently, lied to me about the toxicity of the Guinness whistle. I still don't know what it's for. I have learned that the Spartans were fucking insane. They were also my high school mascot, which explains a lot about my high school.
There's probably some sort of moral here, but I'm damned if I know what it is.
Sorry, it's really not much of a story, but life's like that sometimes. Okay, most of the time.
But this year, I thought, Fuck it. Try something new. So I decided I would try to get drunk.
I don't drink much. I'm not fond of booze, except for that red thing Sharon gave me to drink in Downtown Disney, which tasted like heaven, and the name of which she has never been able to remember. Besides, I'm supposed to avoid alcohol with my meds, and I'm usually the one driving. But fuck it. I am edgy and dark, as you know.
So, Saturday. Grocery had Guinness on sale. Beer tastes like horsey pee, but Guinness tastes like dietetic A&W Root Beer, so I can tolerate it. SERVE CHILLED, the bottle says, so I brough it home to put in the fridge, and gave half the six-pack to the neighbors because even in my most grandiose fantasies, drinking a six-pack of anything would make me die. Then I went to run errands and pick up a pizza. So far so good.
Put in Eddie Izzard DVD, ate pizza w/Diet Pepsi, then...showtime. Pause Eddie. Take CHILLED bottle from fridge.
Now, I swear to God, I know there is a bottle opener somewhere in my house. I know it. It's got a turqoise handle, and I absolutely recall seeing it as recently as 1974.
An hour later, I've found a rusty, magnetic Hide-A-Key box, a melon baller, those swell spaghetti tongs Susan gave Mom, lots of string and batteries, a shrimp fork, several nutpicks, a corn-on-the-cob handle, a wheat penny, and 300 wooden clothespins. Also, my sister was right and Grandma's cookbook is black and not blue. "Fuck!"
So, off to Target.
Our Target is remodeling. It is currently a retail Skinner box, with sudden walls of shoes materialising out of nowhere, phantom dairy cases, and sharp turns into vicious racks of bras. It takes half an hour to find the bottle openers, but the one I come away with looks like something James Bond would use to take a villain's eye out. And I got a nice bra for $3.00. On the drive back, I see a man in a kilt playing volleyball.
Back home, poor Eddie is still on pause, and probably in a snit about it. Bottle is no longer CHILLED, so I swap it out for another one. I pop that bad boy open, park in front of the TV, and prepare for an evening of hardcore substance abuse, the likes of which have not been seen since the days of some time when they did that sort of thing a lot.
An hour and a half later, Eddie's done his thing, and I have managed to drain the bottle to approximately an inch below neck level. I know this because I have got bored enough to peel the label off. My head feels like a dull game of Tetris -- the kind where you keep winning and don't want to shut it off, since after all you've spent a whole quarter on it, but at the same time you're kind of bored and wish that maybe Dig-Dug or one of the ships from Galaga would wander over and liven things up a bit. My arms are mildly numb, but otherwise, I feel no desire to wear a lampshade or drive into a shop window.
And the bottle is making a rattly noise. WTF?
There is something inside my bottle of Guinness. Besides the Guinness, I mean. It's white, shaped sort of like a duck call.
So I do what anyone would. I reach for the phone and text people:
My bottle of guinness has a whistle or something floating in it. Have i been poisond? I can't quite get the hang of capital letters on this phone.
Sadly, yes, comes a reply from Gretchen. I assume the rest of you were too debauched to reply. Bastards. You'll be dead by morning unless you get the antidote. Good luck with that!
Well fuck. Now I'm going to die. I'm only mildly inebriated and don't like it much. This is the worst St Patrick's Day ever! I watch a thing on the History Channel about the Spartans and wait for death.
Two hours later, still not dead. Gretchen, apparently, lied to me about the toxicity of the Guinness whistle. I still don't know what it's for. I have learned that the Spartans were fucking insane. They were also my high school mascot, which explains a lot about my high school.
There's probably some sort of moral here, but I'm damned if I know what it is.
Sorry, it's really not much of a story, but life's like that sometimes. Okay, most of the time.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 04:02 pm (UTC)Guinness Whistle
Date: 2007-03-19 04:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 04:11 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 04:14 pm (UTC)it comes in pints?
Date: 2007-03-19 04:22 pm (UTC)But...then why does it very explicity instruct us to DRINK FROM THE BOTTLE on the label?
Re: it comes in pints?
Date: 2007-03-19 04:27 pm (UTC)Personally, I don't drink much beer but when I do, I avoid the bottled stuff like the plague. Draft on tap all the way!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 04:27 pm (UTC)GO SPARTANS. We are Spartans here at Moo-U.
(no subject)
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 05:00 pm (UTC)Moose Drool--now, THERE's a beer. Mmmmm.....
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 05:10 pm (UTC)To me, all beer tastes the way that bridge smells.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 05:13 pm (UTC)'Course, I stopped drinking under Bush I, so my memory may be...
damagedfaulty.(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 05:35 pm (UTC)"And regardless of what label or slogan you choose, it all tastes as if the secret brewing process involves running it through a horse."
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 06:22 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 06:27 pm (UTC)Getting your buzz on under sun-faded pictures of celebrities you've seen naked is fun.
I can't leave you alone for a minute
Date: 2007-03-19 06:55 pm (UTC)Secondly, the widget (as someone already said) is a small piece of plastic with a teeny tiny hole in it that is placed in the can during the beginning of the packing process. Once the beer is in there, the pressure causes a small amount of Guinness into the widget. When the can is opened, the attempt to equalize the pressure causes the beer in the widget to come out into the beer in the can in teeny tiny bubbles so you get the lovely, creamy head on the beer like you do when you get a Guinness on tap. Guinness spent a small fortune developing the widget for the canned and bottled beer.
Thirdly, beer should always be consumed at the appropriate temperature, from a glass (not ice cold). You probably don't want me to get into the whole "glass with a handle vs. glass with no handle" debate.
I am back from Florida and alive, but my phone is dead. Your St. Patrick's Day was actually more interesting than mine.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 09:06 pm (UTC)b) If in doubt, go for a "foreign export" (aka "ludicrously high alcohol percentage") bottle. I like Nigerian Guinness, my husband likes Belgian.
c) Hell, I married an Englishman. He alternates between apolgising for 800 years of oppression and prodding me with his finger, while saying "I'm oppressing you!" As you can no doubt appreciate, there are an infinite number of reasons why I love this man.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 09:52 pm (UTC)Sorry, but:
Date: 2007-03-19 10:00 pm (UTC)I still like their TV ads though
Date: 2007-03-19 10:20 pm (UTC)I'm surprised that you went for Guinness if you weren't much of a beer and booze drinker to begin with. Maybe something like a Mike's Hard Lemonade would have been more to your taste, since it's very yummy and doesn't have much of an alcohol taste to it at all, or perhaps some form of a sweet cocktail. They put the widget in the cans too. I swear I've seen them in other brands of beer before, but after skimming through the wiki entry on it, it sounds like Guinness has a patent on it, so I must have been mistaken.
Also worth knowing: American Guinness is actually brewed by Coors. Yup. Which is what I drank for St. Patrick's day. Yeah. The only one of us in the apartment who can actually buy booze has terrible taste, so right now there is a bunch of cans of Coors and bottles of Corona taking up space in our 'fridge. :\ Come next January I am going to lay down some serious cash on some quality booze, I swear.
But I only had one this year, because 1)I'm not much into celebrating St. P's day, what with being Scottish and all and 2)it was pisswater and I don't have the "anything is good as long as it gets you hammered" mindset some of my peers have.
Re: I still like their TV ads though
Date: 2007-03-19 10:33 pm (UTC)Sadly I didn't really go to any pubs when I stayed with my other uncle outside of Inverness, but he's a really nice man who kept offering to bring me another Stella Artois* as soon as my glass had emptied, so it worked out okay.
*Aside: you gotta love a beer company that creates it's own fake wikipedia article as part of a marketing campaign.
Re: Sorry, but:
Date: 2007-03-19 10:39 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-19 10:49 pm (UTC)Hey, it's something to aspire to.
Re: I can't leave you alone for a minute
Date: 2007-03-20 01:07 am (UTC)Sure we do!
icon girl is soo "Boo" from "Monsters Inc." on a bender
Date: 2007-03-20 04:06 am (UTC)My Day-After-St.-Patty's found me co-hosting a Drag Show called "Erin Go Braless." I was not in drag. BUT $3 green & yellow bras were featured as throw toys as I 'sang' "
JuneGreen is Bustin' Out All Over." They deigned to tip, yeah. No- No, really, Annie, you're not still plastered, honest...Good thing that great idea is over.
I made "Lucky Charms Treats" for da boyz. Drag queens gotta eat too, ya know.
Rules
Date: 2007-03-20 05:06 am (UTC)2. Ann + beer = no. I like Guinness on tap while in the UK or on tap in the Rose and Crown in Disney World (where I've been told it is almost as good as the UK). I can also manage Caffrey's in that fashion for a lighter choice. However, being that my choice of beer runs toward Barley wine (like Thomas Hardy ale, which my brother has declared is the foulest substance on the face of the earth, or Sam Adams Triple Bock), I have not the beer genes to make a good beer choice. But Ann normally does not like that kind of taste.
3. I would suggest a cider. Something not too bitter and not too sweet.
4. Ann does well with cocoa based drinks, like brandy in cocoa. That limits to winter drinking, but she does live in nebraska.
5. Ann does not appear to like girly mixed drinks. I don't know how she'd do with a real Irish coffee or Irish tea (note - do NOT try to order an Irish tea from room service in a non-Disney hotel in Florida).
6. Ann should not drink with only Tommy to look after her because after Ann has three sips, Tommy is out the door with Ann's ATM card and Bob's your Uncle Ann starts receiving massive numbers of packages containing sexy doll underwear and plastic molding forges so that Tommy can reproduce herself and create an army of Tommettes to take over Nebraska.
7. God only knows what the Izzard would think of the whole debacle. I suspect he would assist Tommy in her overthrow of Nebraska through the use of a plastic army of sexily attired dolls. And he was a perfectly lovely Chaplin. Charles, not collar gone backwards.
I have said my piece.
Re: Rules
Date: 2007-03-20 01:45 pm (UTC)The Worldcon thing doesn't count. I asked for half the alcohol, and those dimwits gave me double. I wasn't drunk -- I was poisoned. Also, I saw someone wearing one of those fucking CHEERS sweatshirts yesterday, and had a bad flashback. Boston was our 'Nam, man.
Irish coffee is fucking awesome.
Re: I can't leave you alone for a minute
Date: 2007-03-20 01:51 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-03-20 05:21 pm (UTC)