I found this bottle out front of the house today. It inspires lots of threads for me: i'd like to know the narrative that accompanies this bottle from the time it was acquired by its erstwhile owner to when it arrived in my front yard; it makes me ponder the powerful attraction of masculinity--and in particular black masculinity; i think about the idea that if I were gonna drink fortified wine i'd probably just stick with Mogan David; i'm curious about the empty bottle actually having its cap in place; i think about the drinker's bowels this morning; i wonder what other choices there were besides "Bull of the Woods;" and, finally, i find myself automatically thinking "no, i'll bet he didn't get laid."


Carol McCullough said...

Hey Biffle,
What makes you so sure the drinker wasn't a girl. That's pretty unfeminist of you :)

Biffle said...


'cause girls that drink fortified wine and throw the bottle into a stranger's front yard drink Boone's Farm or Wild Irish Rose.

Syd said...

This reminds me of a "did you know" factoid: Bull of the Woods was the 13th Floor Elevators last album on which they worked as a group. Roky Erickson was fairly whacked out on this album, and not because he drank too much Bull of the Woods. At any rate, it is a remarkable album for its moody, dreamy, fuzzed-out psychedelic sound.

In the fortified wine category, there is Night Train Express, reportedly tastes like Manischewitz. I don't think bowels or getting laid were probably given much thought.

Curtis said...

Ewww! Manischevitz! I don't even like to think about my memories of that. However, your Empty Yard Bottle does take me back to my much younger days, living all alone in a train-track-side apartment on the second floor on the outskirts of the 'hood in Memphis. I've probably seen more empty discarded Boone's Farm a d Mad Dog bottles than I have FULL ones. Makes me think of my downstairs neighbor, who once wanted to borrow my electric hand mixer overnight- and wanted to leave his 2 carat diamond ring as "collateral." I actually kind of miss living in the hood. Granted, I don't miss being awakened by gunshots, but I do miss the bizarre sense of community and the (sometimes grudging) acceptance I was given. I was the skinny white kid who kept odd hours and always said hi.

Oh, and I knew women who would drink anything available. ; ) Still do.