(Thanks to unclewilco on Flickr for the use of the photo and power of suggestion)
When I was a teenager I read Flipside magazine, combing through the ads for pen pals in the back. Those were pre-internet days: heady exchanges of mixed tapes and Xeroxed collages! I met a guy that way who ended up being ten years my senior and actually someone who babysat me when I was tiny, but to continue in this nostagic vein would be OVERSHARING.
None the less, the first time I ever drank was with this person, who I adored. We sat on the rickety balcony of his squat in downtown Chicago drinking fuzzy navels– peach schnapps and orange juice. Sure it was poison, deliberately concocted to appeal to my adolescent femme palate, and I wouldn’t be able to choke one down now but there is something about Golden Glory that reminds me not of the flavor of that cocktail, but that glowing delight of initial intoxication. Of course, it’s the peach.
And maybe even honeysuckle? How did it get in there? Nectar? Fairy dust? Some hyphenated additive? Wait, don’t tell me. Or if you do, it better be buried between tracks on a mixed tape.
Eats: parsnip crisps!
While listening to: Psychic TV– The Orchids.