Forty Days of BPAL Scents – Day 34 – Escape, Please?

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03/26/2013 by syrbal-labrys


“Holy Week” is playing out. These days I have a hard time keeping track, other than by occasional advertising blitz, of what religious holiday is when. After all, the screaming inhumane rhetoric does not change, does it? Women are still treated like chattel, except by name, in America by hordes of old white guys who really would, if they only could, speak in LOLCat-ese and say “All your lady partses belong to us!”

It doesn’t feel holy to me, unless in the sense of “holy hell”….it makes me want to escape. The weekend joy of a Cirque du Soleil performance of “Amaluna” about a magical island ruled by a female wizard and goddesses was SO nice and escapist. But daily life cannot encompass that, can it? So most of the world resorts to alcohol, and there are some mythic-grade escapes there; one of the legendary ones being absinthe!

We have made absinthe here with wormwood grown in my garden; we sampled and compared it to the costly “real” deal imported from Europe. My home-made was not so minty to cover the wormwood bitterness. It did give a happy euphoric drunk, but I am lazy; I can get the same effect from drinking Jaegermeister. And I consider the fire-melted sugar cube method of absinthe drinking to be a silly affectation.

Drink me!?! photo Drinkme.jpg
All the same BPAL likes to memorialize the Green Fairy with a scent called: L ‘HEURE VERTE -“Recoiling, you back away from the dicing. A large tent striped in many shades of green grabs your attention, and you walk towards it. You peer inside the open tent flap and see a room crowded with people in various stages of profound intoxication. Tables are littered with glasses filled with thick, cloudy emerald liquid, and candlelight glints on discarded silver spoons. The scent of spilled absinthe, opium smoke, lilac blossoms, and rose water permeates the stifling air of the tent. As you close the tent flap and turn to leave, you see a scantily clad server bend close to a rugged laborer that is sitting slumped in a sagging chair. A low velvety voice voice asks, “Another drink for you, Monsieur Lanfray?”

Spilled absinthe, scorched sugar cubes, opium smoke, lilac blossoms, and rose water.”

Wet, it comes across very alcoholic , and the burned sugar smell is dominant. I can’t find the absinthe in this…since a licorice lilt should be there; when it dries the rose is more dominant than it should be. The Green Fairy would not recognize herself here…nice, but not very authentic.

The frosted green bottle in the freezer IS authentic, and though it is but Tuesday…it is calling to me, and it isn’t even my favorite tipple. Oh, what a week this will be!

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Herland

The name of this blog, and my Dreamwidth blog, Herlander Refugee, is taken from a 1915 feminist novel "Herland". It makes my heart sing that modern women are experimenting with creation of a new "Herland"! Yes, comments are closed. Anyone who just MUST reach me can do so at syrbal6 at gmail dot com.

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