The Taste of Dirty Water
September 1, 2009 2 Comments
Ever wondered what the flavor of Boston would be?
I’m guessing two parts swamp water from the old Mill Pond, ample splash of Old Mr. Boston Colonialist Oppressor Gin, heaping spoonful of bitters and season to taste with Mayor Tom Menino flop sweat.
Well, Absolut Vodka begs to differ…
This past Wednesday, Absolut Vodka unveiled its newest flavor- Absolut Boston. That’s right, folks, we have our very own vodka flavor, and before you ask, no it doesn’t taste like the Charles. Absolut has decided that black tea and elderflower are the essence of Boston infused in vodka…
Mmkay…black tea and elderflower, eh? I guess it’s a shoutout to the good old Tea Party, but it just seems a little too joyous a blend to represent.
Cool bottle, though:
There should at least be a little bit of Boston Harbor detritus floating around in there, for realism’s sake. Am I right??
Turns out this is the third of a series:
Two years ago Absolut launched a “Cities” campaign with flavored vodka meant to evoke the Big Easy of New Orleans. Last year, the taste turned to Los Angeles.
Last week, Absolut Boston made its limited-edition launch. The vodka is flavored with black tea and elderflower. You can be amused by the ironic flavor (tea-Boston Tea Party); but more interesting is the bottle design which incorporates Fenway Park’s Green Monster, the left field wall…
As part of the charitable side, Absolut created a Wall of Pride, a free-standing wall that honors the spirit of Bostonians and their city. It stands by the Prudential Center around 800 Boylston St. Musings from Jim Rice, Carlton Fisk, the Drop Kick Murphys, Amy Poehler, Johnny Pesky, Doug Flutie, Steve Nelson, Troy Brown, Gino Cappelletti, Cam Neely and others recollect their favorite Boston moment in their own handwriting on individual green walls. Sports championships are the most mentioned ones.
SHOCKAH! I doubt anyone is surprised that this is the case in a city for which fanatical sports devotion has eclipsed all other cultural pursuits.
Jesus, what a sorry crew the Absolut folks has assembled to represent the Hub of the Universe. Hell, half these folks aren’t even from around here, they just played for our sports teams.
Nevertheless, you can bid on these plaques at auction…
Oh boy, the chance to own a piece of crap signed by our very own shite Olympian, Alycia Sacramone?!! I’m overjoyed.
Yo Winchester, you left the part out about how you bit it multiple times in the Olympics and cost America’s sweethearts Shawn John and Nastia the team gold medal!!
That was memorable as hell, in fact that’s what I will think of every time your name is mentioned. Forever.
That’s my unforgettable Boston memory, you as a weight around the neck of America’s finest flowering of feminine athletic grace, dragging them down to “first loser.”
Appalling. Who’s next?
UGH. Do I hate anyone more than this Ben Mezrich guy right now? Probably not.
Hey everybody, I’m Ben Mezrich here on the right,
I’m a huge tool and I like to make up fictional stories and call them non-fiction…
then when called on it, I compare myself to Michael Lewis.
Of course, his unforgettable memory is all about HIM and the lame-ass movie based on one of his stupid-ass books. Die, Mezrich.
It actually gets worse.
Here’s the plaque that almost sent me into the streets in a blind, homicidal rage.
It has always annoyed the shit out of me that the cheese-bro G. Love and Special Sauce has so loudly and repeatedly announced that THEY’RE FROM PHILLY.
Although it really chaps my ass to fight over the regional identity of a crap band, I am nothing if not endlessly dedicated to the pursuit of factual truth. As the plaque above makes clear, this band actually formed in the Boston area and honed its chops in Cambridge.
Last time I checked, that’s a long goddamned way from Philly.
So after WFNX played their (interesting and decent) first album, they decided to fly the Philly flag and eventually found themselves opening for Jack Johnson, a bullet train to lame town.
So it’s bad enough that THIS is what we are left with to represent our city’s musical culture — not the late brilliant genius Mark Sandman of Morphine, but a bunch of his cheesy coattail riders, who pretend they didn’t even form here, then reverse themselves while fiendishly name-dropping the great man for some jollies and a case of elderberry vodka?
Fuck you, G. Love! And you too, Special Sauce!! I have half a mind to buy your plaque just to take a dump on it.
THANK GOD Amy Poehler participated in this project, so it wasn’t a complete and total infuriation.
This is what Boston is really all about…not some cliched paean to athletic glory penned by a dude from California or Florida, not a whimsy from the mind of a crap pop author, or worse, lame giggin’ tales from a horrendous musician.
It’s a provincial tidbit fermented in years of banality, delivered with ironic wit. Either you get this, or you don’t.
That’s Boston, my friends.