Clear, mystifying, alcoholic liquid. A beautiful, clear glass bottle that holds it’s contents. I remember going to the wine shop on 67th Street and Columbus and buying Brooklyn Gin for a dear friend. The bottle was wonderfully impressive. That purchase likely occurred around two years ago, but it seems like another lifetime. Hot, summer heat and carefully wrapping the bottle and putting it my bag so I could take it home. These simple memories of my time in New York – It just doesn’t seem real anymore. I’ve been home for so long now. I don’t remember what normal is, so what is there to get back to? Everything is change, everyday is different, everyday is a successful day if I don’t have a panic attack.
Little orphan Annie and Miss Hannigan with her bathtub gin. The 1980s film with Albert Finney and Carol and Tim Curry and Bernadette Peters is my favorite. I remember actually, being very young and going to see Annie Get Your Gun on Broadway (I think?) with my mom and Bernadette Peters was Annie Oakley. Different Annie. But I remember really enjoying it and having a lot of fun. She did such a great job. I should ask my mom today if she remembers going to that. But bathtub gin – What a strange time to be alive now and then. 1930s Prohibition and the ways we needled around it. Was it worth getting drunk? Apparently so.
Gin is normally not my drink of choice, but I’ve had it and do enjoy it occasionally. But because I don’t drink it often, I cannot quite recall the flavor profile other than it is unique to what it is. I don’t think there’s anything else that tastes quite like gin. I remember a few years back, going out to The Rock for my birthday with friends. And I think I drank Angry Orchards all night. Maybe about 3 or 4. And I was good and drunk when my friend ordered a gin and tonic, and in my drunkenness, I decided that I wanted one as well. Well, that was a horrible mistake as confirmed in my hangover the next day. But I remember getting home that night and telling my mom what I drank and she was like, “Oh, why? You’re going to feel terrible tomorrow!” But I felt great in that moment and told her she was wrong and didn’t know what she was talking about. Nope. She was right. The next day was terrible. I woke up hungover and feeling sick and slowly made my way down the stairs. Once I made it down the stairs, my brother (much younger at the time) took one look at me and I think knew something was wrong. I confessed that I was in fact hungover, and could he please get my sunglasses from upstairs? Because the room was too bright. He complied. I then asked him to lower the shade to the bay window, because the room was still too bright. He complied again. I then asked him to put a piece of toast in the oven for me, because I was so nauseous –