Remember When You Were Young?


Secret Agent Fred and I shared a most amusing afternoon recently with an old friend from mrpeenee’s long gone wasted youth.  We were tucked into tea at Neiman’s; it was, as I pointed out, the very heart of the One Percent Land.  Tea at Neiman’s only made the conversation even odder: surrounded by the most respectable of matrons and the Very Good handbags, we traded preposterous stories about our druggy past.  Preposterous because among other things, he claimed I showed up in Austin on a visit once baring nitrous oxide whippets.  While it’s true there was a time when I found whippets most amusing in a conscious altering sort of way, the idea that I would cater them is not worth considering.  I was poor in those days, sweetie, how on earth could I afford exotica for my friends?

My biggest problem debunking claims like this is my memory of those times is patchy, at best.  Sieve-like is probably a more accurate adjective.  So when these wild tales about long gone shenanigans erupt, my whole defense consists of spluttering “I did no such thing.”  No one at the table even pretended to believe me.

Speaking of drugginess from days gone by, let us consider this newish, bang up version of Pink Floyd’s Shine on You Crazy Diamond.  The song manages to hit both the tune’s motha-o-gawd-I-am-tripping-like-a-thousand-screaming-monkeys effect and also a nod to the very bluesy sound those incredibly white English bands were shooting for in those days.  Pink Floyd, Cream, Traffic, Rolling Stones, everyone wanted to be Blind Willy Lead Foot Pig Meat Johnson.

I like it.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

8 responses »

  1. If you credit my college friends, I was forever flying into rages and tossing drinks en style Alexis Carrington.

    I'm afraid it's something I can't quite entirely deny, but still…


  2. Reading along I was nodding in agreement until I realized that this sort of thing still happens to me ocasionally.

    Tripping on shrooms at a Saints game seems to come up rather often…


  3. Oh dear, I'm afraid I was pathologically shy and bookwormy then.
    So pathetic.

    I have to even google, “whippets”.

    Those are the sort of dogs that aristocrats of the Belle Epoque lead around on walks through the Bois de Boulongne.
    You know, like in books, right?



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