The Debbie Gibson

Or: Shake Your Love is Love

I never do much for Pride weekend. In fact, I typically go into hiding when the parade comes here to San Francisco, which makes it pretty much the same as every other weekend of the year for me.

I don't go to parades for fear of raining on them. I avoid crowds, because I've never cared for large masses of drunk people of any persuasion. And I prefer to do my drinking in intimate settings, with as few people as possible.

Like my apartment, for example.

I can't wear pink, since it brings out the veins in my eyes, I prefer my rainbows in the sky, and I never seem to get my money's worth at a beer bust, because I get a terrible case of hiccups if I drink upside down from a keg too quickly.

In many ways, I am a terrible homosexual.

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Of course, I’m happy that Pride exists. I enjoy the idea of the parties, the celebrations, the parade, and all joy and tackiness and support and inclusion they are intended to engender. I’m grateful for Pride because I grew up in a world without enough of it.

But I prefer to celebrate in my own way: quiet-like. During Pride month, you’ll most likely find me on my couch watching old movies featuring my favorite gay (or gay presenting) actors, like Franklin Pangborn, Judith Anderson, and Eric Blore, while having a drink or two in private.

And, just like every other Pride month over the past few years, I'll be drinking something I've created by myself and for myself. Something pink and strong and wrapped in an out-of-date pop culture reference.

I call it The Debbie Gibson.

The making and consuming of a Debbie Gibson satisfies five important, personal needs:

1. Nostalgia: Ms. Gibson experienced a brief vogue at the precise moment I started sneaking into West Hollywood clubs with a terrible fake ID.

2. History: It gives a subtle nod to the 1930s, when pink gin was all the rage among the lavender set.

3. Strength: Drinking more than two of them will knock you silly.

4. Duty: Its very pinkness makes me feel I'm doing my part, Pride-wise.

5. Pleasure: I just really like drinking Gibsons.

The Debbie Gibson

Named in honor of the Queen of 1980s Bubblegum Pop, consumption of this cocktail might help you to forget whatever you might need forgetting, including the career of Ms. Gibson herself*. It may be bubblegum in color, but it’s the opposite of bubblegum in flavor— dry as the great Edward Everett Horton himself.

And if you don’t know who Edward Everett Horton is, I suggest you look him up if we are to remain friends.

Makes: One Stiff, Pink Drink.

Ingredients:

• 2 ½ ounces dry gin
• ½ ounce dry vermouth
• A generous of amount of Peychaud’s bitters
• Cocktail onions
• Ice cubes

Preparation:

1. Place as many cocktail onions as you think you might need for the time being into a ramekin or other small container. Shake your bitters into the vessel until the onions are submerged. Cover and let sit for at least two hours, unmolested. While you’re waiting, you might wish to contact the fine people who make Peychaud’s, and share this clever way to get customers to use a tremendous amount of their product at one time.

2. Fill a small cocktail shaker with ice. Pour your gin and vermouth over the ice. Shake your drink to the synthesizer beat of La Gibson’s greatest hit or, if you lack the energy/courage, stir until extremely well chilled. Strain the liquid contents into a clean coupe glass.

3. With precision, impale one or two now-pink cocktail onions with a metal pick. A wooden toothpick will do almost as well.

4. Gently place the skewered onion(s) into your gin mixture and retire to a comfortable chair or fainting couch.

5. Slowly swirl the onion(s) around your drink until it's as pink as you please, while you listen to one of Debbie Gibson's greatest hits, like "Electric Youth" or "I Think We're Alone Now", which was actually a hit for Tiffany, but after a couple of drinks, nobody’s going to notice. Or care.

6. Drink your Debbie Gibson(s) like no one is watching.

*This can also be done sober.

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