Recently, The Imbiber attended a rave. I don’t know why they’re called raves because from what I witnessed, nobody seemed to be doing anything with any enthusiasm. If you ask me, instead of raves, they ought to call ‘em “E&Es — Ecstasy & Evians,” since that’s what every pimply-faced 20-something I encountered seemed to be on.
I was there because my ex-girlfriend Jen had decided to “reunite” me with my former best friend Donnie, her current fiancé, and thought it would be a “super cool and relaxing” place for us to hash out our differences — first and foremost being that I want, more than anything, for Donnie to be dead.
“Isn’t this great?” Jen yelled. Or maybe she said “I’m finally graduating eighth grade.” The DJ — who called himself Logic Bomb — had the music amped-up to such earsplitting levels that he made the sound man for The Who look like a freakin’ wussy.
“Maybe you should go talk to Donnie. He looks upset,” she hollered, gesturing to Donnie, who was bobbing his head numbly, utterly rapt by the condensation on his Evian bottle.
“He’s not upset,” I howled above the din, “he’s on E!” “Ornery? What makes you think he’s ornery?” she shrieked.
“He’s not ornery … he’s on E!’” “Well, of course he’s lonely. You’re ignoring him!” It was like being a bad version of that cell phone commercial.
On the way to the bar I passed a wild-eyed Donnie rolling around on the floor, wrestling with what appeared to be a large glow stick. That sealed the deal: It would be my last rave. One good thing came of it, though. I fell in love with a dynamite fru-fru cocktail called a Yellow Cab. Made with Navan (vanilla-infused cognac), the YC has all the exoticism of Madagascan tribal music … which, come to think of it, is what Logic Bomb was spinning that night.
YELLOW CAB ■ 4 oz. fresh pineapple puree ■ 2.5 oz. Navan ■ 1 oz. fresh lime juice ■ 1 oz. simple syrup ■ Splash of coconut milk Combine all ingredients in a shaker. Shake well over ice and strain into chilled martini glass. Garnish with pineapple leaf.
Originally published in the Santa Monica Daily Press print edition on October 7, 2005. Read the original PDF.