I was stuck for an appropriate Halloween post, until I glanced at my bookcase and saw the DVD of Rob Zombie’s House of 1,000 Corpses. I’m not going to post on that movie, exactly, except to say that it’s an okay slasher flick, and features Rainn Wilson, who plays Dwight Schrute on The Office. His character bites it in the movie. I’ll also add that it’s a bit gory and over-the-top.
House of 1,000 Corpses reminded me of the time I tried absinthe, which in turn struck me as a Halloween-type drink. Do a Yahoo! image search for absinthe. You’ll find some wonky shit.
Absinthe is classified as a spirit, since it contains no sugar (at least not at the start, but more on that later). It’s anise-flavored; my mom always pronounces this “anus”, which cracks me up. But it does taste like anus. Or licorice. To me they’re the same flavors. Absinthe contains fennel and wormwood, and was noted for its psychoactive properties, which may or may not be true. For every account I’ve found that claims that yeah, it’ll take you on a trip, there’s another account that says nope, not any more than any other alcoholic beverage.
If you’ve ever seen the Johnny Depp movie From Hell, which was about Jack the Ripper, there’s a scene where Depp’s character drinks absinthe. Marilyn Manson is also a fan of the stuff.
Absinthe was popular in France in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, especially among artists and writers. Then people started getting freaked out about the supposed psychoactive aspect, and yadda yadda yadda, it was banned in several countries, including the United States.
Times changed, and absinthe started making a comeback, although the formula was tweaked a little, which was how my little drinking buddies and I managed to find it on the shelf at Spec’s in Beaumont. Absente is made with southernwood instead of wormwood, but supposedly tastes the same.
Ug. Just looking at that picture turns my stomach. The absinthe spoon is a slotted spoon that is placed over a glass that contains one shot of absinthe. A sugar cube is then placed on top of the spoon, and ice-cold water is slowly poured over the sugar cube. Usually it’s 3 to 5 parts water for one part absinthe.
Absinthe is also referred to as “the green fairy”, which is why so many advertisements for absinthe feature one.
So, that fateful night, a week or so before Halloween, we bought Absente, eager to try at least a facsimile of the infamous absinthe. The four of us mixed it according to the directions provided on the box, and then we settled in with two $5 Little Caesar’s pizzas and a copy of 1,000 Corpses.
We decided to taste it at the same time. We raised our glasses. I caught a whiff of licorice. I ignored it and drank of the fairy.
And nearly projectile vomited all over my husband.
“Holy shit! Oh my god!” I sputtered. “That is . . . oh my god! That sucks! It tastes like Satan’s diarrhea!”
Laughter ensued. No one else liked the taste either, but hey, we’d spent money on it, we had pizzas, we had a movie to watch, and the theory was that if we drank enough of it, we’d eventually be too drunk to care what it tasted like.
This was a stupid theory. I continued to care what it tasted like, and after finishing my first and only glass (I ate pizza and washed the pizza down with it, which turned out to be a mistake), I switched to Jack and Coke (another mistake).
Everyone else partook of the green fairy (yet another mistake). We watched Corpses and ate greasy pizza (mistake number four). I’ll say this about alcohol: it makes Corpses extremely funny.
It was during our second viewing of Corpses that I began to feel . . . extremely friggin’ bad. I’ll spare the gory details.
Suffice it to say I wasn’t the only one who paid homage to the puking scene in The Exorcist that night. Since the rental house we were in had only one bathroom, we had to take it outside, so to speak.
Everyone else blames the pizza, but not me. I blame absinthe.
And no, I didn’t go on any consciousness-awakening, Timothy Leary-type trips. The only trip I went on was outside, to vomit against the pine tree in the back yard.