The History of Gin
or
A Fox's Tail
Is Life Existential? You Decide.
by ' Colorado ' Gumi
...I n s p i r e d By T r u e E v e n t s...
Chapter 11
Of Mice and Gin
Duh Foyst Pahht
Prologue
Ginger Mullins led the life New York City expected of her. The daughter of a mercurial genius well connected in the cabal of Princeton alumni actually in charge of things, she occupied her niche in Manhattan's nobility with panache. No one suspected her secret.
It all started with a party... a small collection of friends gathered to celebrate a holiday. Perhaps a little too much alcohol was imbibed. Maybe a little too much Federally controlled substance was inhaled. Irregardless, that night these ladies decided to walk on the wild side, to pitch themselves head first down the rabbit hole, to cross the road for what's on the other side -- And that road wound its way up to and over a bridge into Jersey.
Episode IV - "A New Hope"
Like the ill-fated World War II assault on Arnhem, the bridge these friends took was "A Bridge Too Far." But Gin didn't find an unexpected, battle-hardened Panzer Division on the other side of this bridge, that would be ridiculous, if not deadly. What she found on stepping through the looking glass was a Wonderland in Meadowlands.
This first time was merely a joyride in a fast car and Ginny was just a passenger peeking out the window at a flying tableau. An auto body shop rushing by initially caught Gin's attention. Three minutes later she was flushed with a ruddy glow and sweating profusely as the car zipped past the ninth body shop and fifteenth junkyard. The heady perfume of New Jersey infused Ginny with something akin to sexual arousal but actually much more; it was rapture. The tank farms passed like rusty clouds. In the street under the moonlight, cracked windshields aside abandoned automobiles shimmered as diamonds. Like mystic cathedrals, shuttered industrial complexes whispered to her soul, enticing her to their sagging chainlink gates. Everywhere were mountainous warehouses, anointed with runic graffiti. When the car stopped for gas, the attendant's voice was a melody sung by a unibrowed angel with a mullet. Gin was stupefied. . .on Manhattan, looking across the river at Jersey she never had imagined Shangra-La was a tollbooth away. Spiritually exhausted, she eventually succumbed to a serene slumber.
Once back home Gin could not be roused from her rapture so her friends, in the true spirit of their friendship, left her slumped unconscious in the backseat of the car. That morning Ginny unfolded from a tight fetal position and exited the car in glory like a Blue Morpho butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. She was reborn -- Enlightenment beamed from her face and danced in the shining silky locks of her chestnut hair. Every fiber of her being throbbed with the conviction that New Jersey was a wondrous, wonderful, wonder filled place.
The first time Ginny shopped at the mall in Paramus she lied to herself. She insisted the trip to Jersey was necessary to find the particular stores she wanted; but of course, Manhattan had Victoria's Secret, Bloomies and all the rest. Anyways, that day when her car crossed the state line, she nearly swooned. The next time ...and all the many other times that followed... delusions weren't even needed -- like a native Jersey female, her heart was captivated by the garish rhinestone gleam of New Jersey retail, especially the neon-lit nail salons found next to plumbing supply stores. Oh Gin kept up the front, pretending for her friends and acquaintances still to shop on the Upper West Side at those trendy designer boutiques, exclusive shops and "name" stores she was expected to frequent -- But it disgusted her.
This first step led to a succession of many others that rapidly carried Gin from her Upper East Side enthrallment. She gladly gave up evenings at five star restaurants and Broadway opening-nights to pass her time at suburban Jersey multiplex cinemas where she dreamily watched the couples -- his teeth clinching a toothpick, her head piled with big hair and both of them chewing gum -- as they waited for "da frikkin moovie" and chatted incessantly about family; Little Joey, Aunt Carmella, Big Pauley, Cousin Pussy... At such times Gin always hoped she could extract herself someday from the clutches of Broker/Traders and "rising star" Lawyers and fall, like the women she saw here, into the arms of a union pipe-fitter with a soft beer gut and wavy black hair.
She bought the entire 5 season DVD collection of "The Sopranos" and watched them in a personal ritual she termed "Special Time." First she would surreptitiously drive into Jersey and take a room in a Newark motel; she chose a different one each time. Inside the room she opened her overnight bag and laid garments out on the bed. Energized by a baptismal shower in refreshingly chlorinated Jersey water, she would spray, tease and traumatize her flowing locks into the glorious cascade of big hair she so admired; then she applied lots and lots and lots of cosmetics. When everything was perfect she would return solemnly to the bed to don her vestments... red thong; white garter belt, black fishnet stockings, black leather micro-skirt, leopard-pattern strapless bra, pea green Lycra decolletage top, open-toe stiletto heels with ankle straps, extra large hoop earrings -- or some similar variation of these ceremonial habiliments; all purchased, as much as possible, at TJ Maxx in Hackensack. Now properly centered in her universe, she would wire the TV to the DVD player she brought and watch an episode of "The Sopranos" while chewing gum and downing Sambuca shots.
Watching the show, Gin clapped with delight and hooted every time the North Jersey mob whacked a New York guy. When Johnny Sack or Carmine appeared, she spat at the screen. She booed the FBI and cried uncontrollably whenever one of Tony's guys caught a cap. When Gin heard Tony Soprano speak -- words like "Muttah", "Fahduh" and "Fukaweyuhz" -- her heavy heart sank low in her chest because she knew English could never dance so melodically on the tongues of pathetic preppies. During the scenes featuring meals and eating (and "The Sopranos" has lots of those) she took detailed notes of exactly what the various foods were so she could cook or order them, too. In this way she watched every episode, one by one, and melded with the culture she craved... (see Part 2)
Ginger Mullins led the life New York City expected of her. The daughter of a mercurial genius well connected in the cabal of Princeton alumni actually in charge of things, she occupied her niche in Manhattan's nobility with panache. No one suspected her secret.
It all started with a party... a small collection of friends gathered to celebrate a holiday. Perhaps a little too much alcohol was imbibed. Maybe a little too much Federally controlled substance was inhaled. Irregardless, that night these ladies decided to walk on the wild side, to pitch themselves head first down the rabbit hole, to cross the road for what's on the other side -- And that road wound its way up to and over a bridge into Jersey.
Episode IV - "A New Hope"
Like the ill-fated World War II assault on Arnhem, the bridge these friends took was "A Bridge Too Far." But Gin didn't find an unexpected, battle-hardened Panzer Division on the other side of this bridge, that would be ridiculous, if not deadly. What she found on stepping through the looking glass was a Wonderland in Meadowlands.
This first time was merely a joyride in a fast car and Ginny was just a passenger peeking out the window at a flying tableau. An auto body shop rushing by initially caught Gin's attention. Three minutes later she was flushed with a ruddy glow and sweating profusely as the car zipped past the ninth body shop and fifteenth junkyard. The heady perfume of New Jersey infused Ginny with something akin to sexual arousal but actually much more; it was rapture. The tank farms passed like rusty clouds. In the street under the moonlight, cracked windshields aside abandoned automobiles shimmered as diamonds. Like mystic cathedrals, shuttered industrial complexes whispered to her soul, enticing her to their sagging chainlink gates. Everywhere were mountainous warehouses, anointed with runic graffiti. When the car stopped for gas, the attendant's voice was a melody sung by a unibrowed angel with a mullet. Gin was stupefied. . .on Manhattan, looking across the river at Jersey she never had imagined Shangra-La was a tollbooth away. Spiritually exhausted, she eventually succumbed to a serene slumber.
Once back home Gin could not be roused from her rapture so her friends, in the true spirit of their friendship, left her slumped unconscious in the backseat of the car. That morning Ginny unfolded from a tight fetal position and exited the car in glory like a Blue Morpho butterfly emerging from the chrysalis. She was reborn -- Enlightenment beamed from her face and danced in the shining silky locks of her chestnut hair. Every fiber of her being throbbed with the conviction that New Jersey was a wondrous, wonderful, wonder filled place.
The first time Ginny shopped at the mall in Paramus she lied to herself. She insisted the trip to Jersey was necessary to find the particular stores she wanted; but of course, Manhattan had Victoria's Secret, Bloomies and all the rest. Anyways, that day when her car crossed the state line, she nearly swooned. The next time ...and all the many other times that followed... delusions weren't even needed -- like a native Jersey female, her heart was captivated by the garish rhinestone gleam of New Jersey retail, especially the neon-lit nail salons found next to plumbing supply stores. Oh Gin kept up the front, pretending for her friends and acquaintances still to shop on the Upper West Side at those trendy designer boutiques, exclusive shops and "name" stores she was expected to frequent -- But it disgusted her.
This first step led to a succession of many others that rapidly carried Gin from her Upper East Side enthrallment. She gladly gave up evenings at five star restaurants and Broadway opening-nights to pass her time at suburban Jersey multiplex cinemas where she dreamily watched the couples -- his teeth clinching a toothpick, her head piled with big hair and both of them chewing gum -- as they waited for "da frikkin moovie" and chatted incessantly about family; Little Joey, Aunt Carmella, Big Pauley, Cousin Pussy... At such times Gin always hoped she could extract herself someday from the clutches of Broker/Traders and "rising star" Lawyers and fall, like the women she saw here, into the arms of a union pipe-fitter with a soft beer gut and wavy black hair.
She bought the entire 5 season DVD collection of "The Sopranos" and watched them in a personal ritual she termed "Special Time." First she would surreptitiously drive into Jersey and take a room in a Newark motel; she chose a different one each time. Inside the room she opened her overnight bag and laid garments out on the bed. Energized by a baptismal shower in refreshingly chlorinated Jersey water, she would spray, tease and traumatize her flowing locks into the glorious cascade of big hair she so admired; then she applied lots and lots and lots of cosmetics. When everything was perfect she would return solemnly to the bed to don her vestments... red thong; white garter belt, black fishnet stockings, black leather micro-skirt, leopard-pattern strapless bra, pea green Lycra decolletage top, open-toe stiletto heels with ankle straps, extra large hoop earrings -- or some similar variation of these ceremonial habiliments; all purchased, as much as possible, at TJ Maxx in Hackensack. Now properly centered in her universe, she would wire the TV to the DVD player she brought and watch an episode of "The Sopranos" while chewing gum and downing Sambuca shots.
Watching the show, Gin clapped with delight and hooted every time the North Jersey mob whacked a New York guy. When Johnny Sack or Carmine appeared, she spat at the screen. She booed the FBI and cried uncontrollably whenever one of Tony's guys caught a cap. When Gin heard Tony Soprano speak -- words like "Muttah", "Fahduh" and "Fukaweyuhz" -- her heavy heart sank low in her chest because she knew English could never dance so melodically on the tongues of pathetic preppies. During the scenes featuring meals and eating (and "The Sopranos" has lots of those) she took detailed notes of exactly what the various foods were so she could cook or order them, too. In this way she watched every episode, one by one, and melded with the culture she craved... (see Part 2)
To Be Continued
