Overview:
Invented by Bartending God "Duke" Antone, also famous for inventing the Rusty Nail, this drink was seriously hot in the era of Qiana jumpsuits and shag carpeting.  TWA had a promotion in which they featured the cocktail in the upper-deck flight lounge of their 747 airliners.  But for some reason, people don't seem to get down with Harvey these days.  What is up with that?  We decided to find out.

Booze Requirements:

We had to get a bottle of Galliano and a bottle of Russian Standard Vodka, since we only had about half a fifth of Monopolowa left and Lincoln and I both suffer from the totally-rational fear that, while it is possible to make too much of a drink, it is far more horrible to not have enough, especially in a state with such strict BAC levels as Washington.

Mixers:
I ran into the Albertson's next door to the State Liquor Store and picked up some cans of frozen orange juice, which then reduced my forearms to numb masses of useless clublike flesh while I waited for the cretin in front of me to figure out how to buy three carrots at the self-pay register.  I also got some tropical fruit juice, on the theory that, hey, I think we still have some rum.

Preparation:
We came back to the house and turned on the radio to hear that Oscar Peterson had died.  Massive bummer.  Fortunately, Lincoln had an Oscar CD sitting on top of the TV; he didn't even have to look for it.  Ironically, it was titled "Last Call At The Blue Note."  That went in the stereo.
Making a Harvey Wallbanger is so simple that even Australians can do it.  Take six parts OJ and three parts vodka and mix with ice.  Float one part Galliano over the top.  Garnish, or don't (we didn't, and we admit we really need to work on that; having only recently discovered that the Magic Cold Box in the Food Room can refrigerate things other than beer), and drink.
Unfortunately, the only measuring device we happened to have handy was a shot glass, which meant that we wound up with Harvey Wallbangers in pint glasses.  Um, not that we're complaining.

Assessment:
Oh, baby, where have you been all my life?  I must admit to a certain bias against "clever" named drinks.  Anyone asking for "Sex On The Beach" around me had better be a Japanese coed at Omimaiko, and anyone asking for a "One-Balled Dictator" had better be ready for a really painful demonstration of my inability to understand figures of speech.
But this thing is, words fail me, good.  The Galliano floats nicely on the top, ensuring that you can taste it all the way to the bottom, and it smooths out the acidic bite of the orange juice. 

Just remember that a top-shelf vodka is important to avoid that Skin Bracer aftertaste though.