“Tequila, the buzzard god who copulates in midair with the ascending souls of dying virgins” –Tom Robbins.
From Ego to Id in Ten Shots
Tuesday night, at Boaters, above the Vic. One Rand a tequila. Not great tequila, more akin to aviation fuel than agave. 21 bucks got us a full tray, seven each for Noah, Jim, and me. A good start to an evening unfettered by the constricts of social mores, and later, non-verbal self-expression.
No Hand Rail
Unlike beer, tequila doesn’t hold your hand in the descent into drunkenness. It’s more an uncovered man-hole plummet down the rabbit hole.
After we lost count of the shots downed, memory loss kicked in; nature’s way of preserving self-respect. The evening was later stitched together by eye-witness accounts.
Mattress Kid
Noah stripped down to his underpants, strapped a mattress to his back and for a few glorious hours became ‘Mattress Kid!” superhero to the tired, sleepy, or those just needing a lie-down. He leapt off the Africa St roof and ended his evening asleep in the bougainvillea.
Jim’s Iwo Jima
Jim was last seen bush-diving off the one-storey parking lot, an empty tequila bottle in each fist, screaming like a hand grenade-toting US marine charging a Japanese machine gun nest.
Get Your Wingwang Out
I was more demure. I merely stripped off all my clothes in the middle of a digs party and ran back home, with Gisele my girlfriend desperately chasing me down the street with a pair of shorts. I crashed through the neighbouring lentilheads’ digs front door, and chased Claire (a dormouse, kumbaya guitar type of a girl) round the lounge, waving my wingwang at her, shouting “Mufasa!” as she cowered behind the chaise longue. The enjoyable boisterousness was bluntly ended when Gisele dive-tackled me.
7 comments:
I'm laughing my head off. Yes, takillya has caused me to behave in ways that I am grateful I cannot remember. Shame, morality and dignity rolled up and cast aside like a soggy pair of broeks.
Ah well.
I have a friend who says 'martinis are like breasts. One is too few, three is too many.' The same goes for those wee shots of gold. Or tankjuice, available at Boaters. Haha. That place!
By the way, I liked your post about Ron Hall and I still keep in mind a little mnemonic he taught us about how to spell "rhythm" - "Ron Hall, your tutor, hates marking". What a sweetie.
tam,
I recently discovered martinis and their lethality. Five and I'm anyones'.
Love that Ron Hall mnemonic.
Urgh, tequila... my personal tequila moment was on a RMR committee weekend, somewhere on the coast (the memory is patchy). We held the inaugural Tequila Olympics on the Saturday night. Deryn dropped out early on with a sprained ankle, Marc eventually had an honourable exit at the last hurdle, but some of us carried on... I was, thankfully, drinking half tots, but still managed 22 of those, and spent the rest of the night in a hallucinatory stupor clutching the big white telephone and periodically hurling my guts out. I cannot bear even a faint whiff of tequila to this day. Shudder.
Jeannie,
22 half tots equals uh... eleven tots! Sjoe! That's not bad.
I drank myself to a similar woebegone state and didn't touch tequila for about a decade.
I'm now back in the saddle, but only if it's chilled Olmeca Black.
Actually, I left out a bit of the story... to tell the honest truth, we ran out of tequila, and the last two half tots were vodka. Oh GOD was I sick!!!!!!!!
Thanks to student excess I can't touch tequila, vodka, sambuca or ouzo. Can only drink red wine if it's the good stuff, and after one beer I've had enough these days. I can drink good single malt whisky... but I can't afford it!
Hey Timmy,
I remember that one well. I wasn't around to watch the Mufasa, but definitely remember waking up at bottoms with two tequila bottles and very torn clothes, not remembering how I got there.
Great Blog.
See you soon.
Jim
'Twas indeed a Golden Age Tim. You'd walk into the union like it was a photoshoot for The Right Stuff, and every man would approach the bar and order, frankly, stupid amounts of Tequila at 1 buck a pop. Everyone felt like a popstar. It was glorious.
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