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Amy Winehouse's death has hit me harder than it should have.

Ever since her untimely passing on Sunday, I've noticed that whenever I see a photo of her looking especially zonked out or emaciated (see left), I get a weird churning in my stomach. I finally figured it out; it's because she reminds me so, so much of one of my best friends--a friend whom I fear could die any day.

Like Ms. Winehouse, my friend has/had addiction problems--mostly alcohol but also, in the past, cocaine and possibly prescription meds. Like Amy, my friend also has/had eating disorders, depressive episodes, and dental concerns. Both ladies wear/wore too much makeup, have/had terrible taste in (and luck with) men, and are/were hot messes.

And, from everything I've read about Ms. Winehouse, both were/are interesting, smart, funny, crazy, charismatic, and loyal.

The reason I was freaking out about Ms. Winehouse's death only became clear to me upon reading British comedian/actor Russell Brand's touching words about his friend's death. When I read this passage, my brain buzzed and my heart ached:

"When you love someone who suffers from the disease of addiction you await the phone call. There will be a phone call. The sincere hope is that the call will be from the addict themselves, telling you they’ve had enough, that they’re ready to stop, ready to try something new. Of course though, you fear the other call, the sad nocturnal chime from a friend or relative telling you it’s too late, she’s gone."


I have received this call before--many calls, actually. They've not been of the "I've had enough" variety, nor the "She's gone" sort, but more like: "She hasn't shown up for work in days," "Hi, I'm in the hospital," "I want to die," "I've been throwing up all day," or "I really need a drink."

Years have passed. My friend has been getting help for at least a decade now, yet the self-destructive behavior continues. It's not nearly as bad as when we were young and stupid, but how much more can her weak and broken body take?

I do expect to receive the "She's gone" call one day. I only hope it's not for many, many years to come.

Absolut Crap

While at the liquor store earlier today (replenishing supplies), I saw something Absolut-ly heinous and offensive:

Yes, you are correct: the limited edition Absolut Brooklyn. This offends me on quite a few levels, actually. The first level is the ridiculousness of the vodka's flavor: red apple and ginger. I kinda get the ginger part but my feeling on apple is that, unless you are under the age of ten, you should not be drinking apple-flavored beverages. The very thought of lifting a glass to my lips and getting a strong whiff of red delicious makes me want to barf.

Not that this new flavor combination should surprise me. Gross vodkas have been around for decades, though the first couple Absolut variations--Citron and Kurant--were relatively grown-up, at least. Now however, other wacky flavors are available: Berri Acai (does anyone actually know what acai tastes like?), Wild Tea (are there really people out there who wish their hard liquor tasted more like tea?), and the super-sweet and cloying sounding Absolut Mango.

The second level of offensiveness is, of course, the name.

I have nothing against the regular, old Brooklyn (a sometimes gritty/sometimes lovely place); it's even my second favorite borough. My problem is with the "new" Brooklyn: the one with all the greasy, bearded hipsters, trendy bistros, and just-completed, over-priced condos.

As someone who lived for over a decade in downtown Manhattan back when it was the center of the rock-n-roll universe, I resent Brooklyn for stealing that title from the city I love. Because, despite what it desperately wants to believe, Brooklyn will never be as cool as Manhattan. TRUST ME (because I've been to Brooklyn).

Sure, it's got some cool and funky parts, but they are tiny, hip pockets nestled within a sprawling, usually-dirty, often-dangerous, 99-cent-store borough. Brooklyn as a whole will never have Manhattan's energy. You know how the second you enter the city, its energy zips through you like electricity coursing through your veins? Doesn't happen in Brooklyn.

And the third level of offensiveness is to whom the vodka is marketed. It's certainly not meant to appeal to the bedraggled Brooklyn hipsters (and that's just the chicks), because they can't afford $18 cocktails. And surely Manhattan folks aren't clamoring for hooch named after the borough that stole their precious borough's thunder, right?

Which pretty much leaves Jersey...and/or other areas of the country aspiring to hipster-dom and trendiness.

And I resent any alcoholic beverage that's marketed to Jersey.