No, not entries in ‘Catholic Heroes and Martyrs’, but sweet delicious imbibibles.
If you’ve ever gone into a fancy liquor store, the kind that carries no Alizé and prominently displays wines from a specific town in Spain, chances are you’ve seen the beauty that is St. Germain glowing on the shelf. It’s the prettiest of booze bottles, an elegant Deco column capped with a touch of burnished silver and filled with the lightest of chartreuse elixers. What heavenly flavors fill this delightsome vessel? According to my roommate, who took a swig straight from the bottle, burning sugar with a heavy dose of cough syrup. Such is the unrefined palette, though in his defense St. Germain’s not intended to be drunk straight or at room temperature.
Indeed, St. Germain works best as a mixer, adding a hint of sweetness and refreshing floral background to any favorite cocktail. It’s an Elderflower liqueur, a beverage which itself has a long and dainty history (particularly amongst the Victorians, who loved them some sweet cordials). I tried it out in a personal favorite of mine, the Margarita (a true Margarita, not the bastard sugar-slush that passes for such), replacing the triple-sec with St. Germain.
This changes it to a St. Rita, an appropriate namesake given the sweet gentleness of St. Germain tempering bold tequila and its reputation as a liquid episode of ‘COPS’. Following the recipe above, imbibing more than one might also result in permanent forehead stigmata.
This delicious liqueur is in good namesake company as well; according to these fellows St. Germain was reincarnated as no less than Francis Bacon, Christopher Columbus, and Merlin! The Count of St. Germain, while an actual historical figure, was no less mysterious or magical – alternately portrayed as a high occultist or blatant fraud, he was a well-liked composer and friend of the court with a sense of humor about himself.
Something about the kid’s expression…I can’t quite place it. It wouldn’t be out of place on a DEVO album, especially with the plate of giant sausages floating next to him.
These bright, saturated orange and yellows popped cheerily on the shelf and drew me right in. Then again that could be due to placement next to a refrigerated case full of de-fleshed cow legs. Whole cow legs, hoof and all. Mmmmm boy.
I am not a dancer. Not formally, not casually. I have never felt compelled to move to any particular rhythm, don’t want to try, and experience mild terror just walking near a dance floor to get a drink for fear some well-meaning person will drag me in. I should say, try to drag me in, as standard reaction to past attempts has been to twist my arm Judo style and bolt to the nearest exit.
Dancing made me feel awkward and gangly and extremely stupid, like I had no idea how to operate the various limbs attached to me outside of walking and occasionally running. It followed that I saw no point in dancing, as from a nonparticipant’s standpoint it resembled ritualized exercise in the service of mating ritual at best and more active standing around the rest of the time. I went to exactly one dance in elementary school and was shockingly disappointed to realize the only things to do there were a) stand around and b) dance. I assumed they’d have carnival games in the hallway or activities, you know, something to actually DO while you were there. For some reason this lesson didn’t stick as I assumed the EXACT SAME THING when going to prom. And again I was shocked to find no mini-haunted house, no apple-bobbing, just a big ol’ dance with fancier dresses.
The rest of my family, however, had no problem with this strange coordinating of limbs and in fact quite enjoyed it. My mom was a disco diva through and through, with her only prom disappointment being three ‘Stairway to Heaven’ themes in a row, thanks to the stoners running prom committee. My sisters took several years of dance classes- jazz, modern, no ballet though; those kids looked like fierce automotons. I have hazy memories of attending a recital, mostly because my parents bought a video camera to tape the occasion and I was fascinated by the device. The girls grew into champions of the dance floor, absorbing new moves with ease. One sister in all seriousness wanted to be a Fly Girl when she grew up and I thought this a perfectly appropriate and possible job opportunity for her.
I, on the other hand, still flounder. While having vastly improved my Robot skills, the flailing of limbs to rhythmic beats still leaves me slightly panicky and extraordinarily self-conscious. Therefore I was shocked to discover how much I enjoy ‘Just Dance’, a Wii game, over this winter break. My mom, still loving dancing, had purchased the game as an extension of her ‘Zumba’ classes. To this day I am still unsure what Zumba is/means but was nearly driven insane listening to her class remix:
(Skip straight to 1:19 for the majority of what I was hearing. Please imagine your mother driving around shouting these lyrics at the top of her lungs while fistpumping violently).
The game is simple as its title: move along with the dancers on screen while holding a wiimote, and try not to punch your fellow gameplayers out while doing so. Through the same magic that convinced thousands playing Rock Band they were musicians, for the first time in my life I thought, huh! I can dance! And thanks to Mom’s overexuberant buying sprees, I had at my disposal Just Dance, Just Dance 2, Just Dance 3, and Just Dance: Michael Jackson Edition.
As someone with exposure to every iteration of this game in a short span, I noticed an evolution – the first ‘Just Dance’ is merely a ‘Now That’s What I call Music’ compilation brought to choreographized, rotoscoped life, aimed squarely at those who enjoy and enjoy consuming disposable pop culture, ie tween/teen girls and teen girls at heart. ‘Just Dance 2′ takes into consideration the other members of the family with songs by The Jackson 5 and The Rolling Stones for mom and dad, some Beastie Boys and Wham! for older siblings and relatives, Harry Belafonte and Quincy Jones for Nana, and…Boney M, for the historian with an appreciation for rhythm.
‘Just Dance 3′, the one I purchased, is insidious in how it considers those who would normally just sit and watch and LURES THEM IN. What be this madness where a Madness song, not even a radio hit, makes it on?! And there’s an interpretive dance thing to ‘This is Halloween’, yes, from ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’- WHAT?! Even Brahms is represented (well, as ‘played’ by the ‘Just Dance Classical Orchestra’). Well, now I’m hooked. I still don’t want to get on the dance floor, but should I have to I’m less inclined to run as I’ve become acclimated to this strange jiggling of body parts called ‘dancing’ through this silly game. Below is a breakdown of the standout hits (for me) of the game:
Madness – Night Boat To Cairo: The theme’s a little on-the-nose with mummies and a camel. Bonus points for including actual Madness dance moves including the Group Stop & Swoop and Everyone Step Together.
(For your dancing consideration.)
Donna Summer – I Feel Love: This one’s extra sneaky. You think you’re getting a straight disco song only to find they’ve crossed Klaus Nomi with Kate Bush for choreography! Plus a very Björk hairdo! Sooo fun.
Chemical Brothers – Hey Boy, Hey Girl: This is the closest I ever hope to come to a rave. Still, points for letting me dance inside the head of the glowstick set while being an extra in ‘Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Could See’.
A-Ha! – Take On Me: So…so much twirling.
The Sugarhill Gang – Apache (Jump On It): Thanks to a generation’s exposure to this song through ‘Fresh Prince’, they took the delightful lazy route and went with similar choreography. Best done in groups and surreptitiously filmed.
African Ladies – Pata Pata: Whee! You and a pal get to coordinate easy moves and learn the basics of body rolling!
Scissor Sisters – I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’: for when you DO feel like being sassy.
KISS – I Was Made For Lovin’ You: This song is proof positive KISS sucked at being a rock band (but excelled in self-promotion). The choreography acknowledges this and takes it to another level with line-skipping and coordinated fist-pumpery.
Robin Sparkles – Let’s Go To The Mall: A friend had to explain to me this isn’t a ‘real’ song, but a character from the TV show ‘How I Met Your Mother’s Canadian 80′s pop hit. The strangeness of a fictional character’s actual song appearing in a dance game outside its fictional reality aside, the song is indeed infectious and Canadian. Man, I hope other countries make fun of us with as few tropes as we use to mock Canadians. ‘Eh’, ‘aboot’, hockey, politeness, maybe a mullet. That’s it, that completely covers mocking Canada for the United States.
I recently learned of the existence of ‘Just Dance: ABBA’ and will be purchasing it as soon as a used copy turns up at the Bushwick Game Stop (this may be a while).
Alternate titles: Confessions of a Wii Addict, Apache: Jump On It, Dance Dance (Secret) Revolution, Indoor Jazz Hands, Strange Love or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Just Dance
Part of the annual Christmas haul in my family is a stocking full of wee edible goodies. Among this year’s treats was a bag of gummi bears (gummy bears? I’ve no idea). Two weeks later, after housing half the bag, I noticed they were comprised solely of the best colors (color and flavor being interchangeable here) – cherry and lime. Further inspection revealed these were no ordinary gummies, but Christmas Bears!
As I continued to stuff my face I noticed an additional detail- just as their illustrated counterparts were drawn, the gummies themselves had little Santa hats in red or green. Charming! And also delicious.
Marge Simpson told Bart (who told Krusty) God never closes a door without opening a window. Long-running Ohio roadside attraction Prehistoric Forest and Mystery Hill Family Fun Center has closed, but their gloriously awkward website lives on to let you know YOU CAN BUY THEIR DINOSAURS. That’s right, you, right there reading this (unless you’re a bot) can purchase the remaining dinosaurs and full-family cabins once dotting the park.
They have an Apatosaurus:
…a Stegosaurus:
…a Pleisiosaurus WITH FLIPPER ACTION!:
…and the result of a Pteranodon/tiger mating:
…all with the promise of more to come. It’s sad seeing pictures of families enjoying a stroll through the Prehistoric Forest on the site interspersed with giant red text saying ‘NOW CLOSED’. America’s highways are becoming one long, monotonous strip periodically dotted with a clump of chain restaurants identical to the clump before and the one to come after. Roadside attractions are fewer and far between as the families running them grow older or can no longer afford to keep operating. It’s a shame that this is how I’ll come to own an eight-foot Stegosaurus lawn ornament, but at least I’ll keep one small flame going for American weirdness.
I’ve posted random stuff online for several years and am happy to provide a pleasant visual forum for visitors to oggle. I hope this site offers tidbits of interest to the curious reader, and useful information for the crafty.
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