Bent

I have been trying to improve my mood for the past two weeks, but sometimes getting angry is what is both easiest and most immediate. But that is not a sufficient justification for my ill humor; instead I should balance my rage with something positive. Therefore, I offer up this metaphorical scale of something I like and dislike for your consideration.

On the side of extreme dislike, I offer Bryan Fischer. This homophobic, inarticulate, erroneous, and silly excuse for a public figure should make anyone who resides in America and cares about factual statements, accountability, and intelligence pause. Better yet, he ought to be shunned entirely for saying the things he does. If you doubt me then check this clip from The Daily Show: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qTVMKERBeuA
Incidentally, I laud The Daily Show for sending up Fischer so cleverly.

Fischer's side of the scale is balanced by the humorous folk at ChristWire for mocking the ridiculous thinking of the religious right with satire. ChristWire offers its visitors a video containing many evangelically oriented euphemisms for lady parts (http://jezebel.com/5858562/finally-some-christian+friendly-words-for-your-vagina?tag=ladyparts), and below are my euphemisms for the male member with a similar evangelical slant:
The one tined pitchfork
A sin sceptre
The sick muscle
The devil's spyglass
A devil's digit
The rooster pole
The obelisk of temptation
The pillar of persuasion
An unholy clam stick
The unclean fishing rod
A pillow prodder
The serpent's tongue
Beezelbub's broomstick
A passion pillar

The Deluxe Billiards

What was initially planned as a reply to Thesaurus’ ode to the tavern has blossomed into my own youthful ruminations and brief commentary on the current state of the American bar.  I have had a long, romantic relationship with the tavern long before I understood its historical significance here in the U.S. (as an extension of the public square, much of the discussion and planning for revolution took place in the taverns of the colonies, historically a space for fellowship, occasional armchair philosophy, and always good cheer). 

I grew up in a college town, a college town that has to this day the ridiculous yet lucrative policy of allowing patrons entrance into a watering hole at nineteen years of age but of course does not allow these kids to drink (wink wink).  A fiendish sub-industry rose up alongside the nineteen and over policy – regular police visits and the issuance of thousands of dollars of underage drinking tickets annually (excuse the momentary digression).

But, I did not have to wait till I was nineteen.  Thanks to an older brother that looked a lot like me in the photo at least, I was bequeathed his fake id at fifteen.  I only tried this id at a few places around my home town, a liquor store on the poor side of town and the campus town bars Coslow’s, Nature’s Table, and Eddie’s, notorious for its lax policy on drinking.  Eddie’s was actually four bars in an enormous old house: Eddie’s in the basement, Chin’s on the first floor, the Tiki Garden on the second and third floors (restaurant and bar) and up in the attic, Chin’s Wok n Roll (all owned by the notorious yet lovable local character George Chin).  I saw two of the top ten live shows of my lifetime in his attic bar (Cowboy X and Titanic Love Affair).  But back to Eddie’s.  At fifteen, my friend Pearse and I sauntered into Eddie’s looking exactly fifteen years old and got drunk on draft beer (never once having to show id this first time).  Nonetheless, underage drinking in bars became fairly routine for me. 

[It was not until recently that I realized I was allergic to some forms of alcohol, darks beers, most wines, and champagne, breaking out in hives, reacting to the sedative qualities, and having extreme hangovers.  This explains my turn toward alternative substances as my preferred method of teenage escape.  Nevertheless, many friends and I were weekend regulars throughout our high school years.] 

This came to a screeching halt when I moved away for college, a Midwestern city with a keen eye for fakes and no tolerance for those that attempted entrance.  So campus parties and cheep keg beer became the order of the day.  However, the twenty year wait would soon come to pass and the first hometown campus bar I ever had a legal drink in upon a visit home was called the Deluxe.  The quintessential dive bar, really an old pool hall with a long wooden bar, an even longer wooden bench against one wall, a bunch of pool tables, and some of the dingiest bathrooms I have ever stepped foot in.  This place was famous for its fish sandwich, which was quite good, but anything fried with competency tastes pretty damn good.  While they did change the fryer oil, I am convinced the secret ingredient was the layers of gristle and oil that caked the deep-fryer that was never cleaned.  A tin ceiling, a beautiful old wood bar, PBR bottles (long before this became chic), wooden bar stools, a black and white checkered floor, and space, lots of space.  It was comfortable.  And a bar does not have to be a dive to be cool and cozy – just  have its own soul, an identity that makes sense.  The Deluxe was one of several places my friends and I frequented over the years.  And for the eight years I spent as a baker / line cook / station cook, most nights were capped off with the comedown only a beer or cordial and a smoke could provide at such establishments.  Cooks and restaurant folk have no tolerance for bullshit chains and non-descript watering holes, needless-to-say I became a bit of a snob myself when it came to getting a drink.

Regrettably, like many areas of our country, the Deluxe lost out to the suburbanization of most of the campus town night life in my home town in the late 90s and 00s (hence faux urbanization).  Eddie’s, Chins, Nature’s Table, Coslow’s and countless other locally-owned, singular entities were swallowed whole by upscale, big-city rip-offs [A cool, somewhat electric bar scene has emerged in areas outside the campus though].  I swore I would never go into the new place that took over the Deluxe (the new place shuttering the old for nearly a year of renovation).  But one day I was convinced to pop in for an afternoon beer.  I was chilled by the experience.  No doubt nostalgia and disgust colored my impressions, but this new place looked like a thousand other places found in hundreds of different towns.  It was cold, bland, uninteresting, the wood appeared to be a veneer, and schlock covered the walls with no clear plan or aesthetic.  Quite uncharacteristically, I asked the folks if we could go somewhere else, and we did.

Unlike Thesaurus, I am fortunate, there are three bars within walking distance that I quite enjoy and while my bar hops are now infrequent, I have a few places nearby that are their own (and two take the menu seriously, offering fare that is not expected and/or good bar food).  And Thesaurus is right, what the fuck is up with the televisions in every possible open space.  I visited a brand new Asian restaurant located in a brand new commercial development recently, and while a bit cliché, the décor demonstrated some thought and care (it had really strong design lines that flowed throughout the restaurant and the color palette worked for me), but all of this was interrupted by this enormous flat screen hanging over the bar that distracted all those patrons not with backs turned.  We can be unplugged for a meal, no?  R.I.P. Deluxe.    

A (Drinking) Place of One’s Own

I will not make apologies; I like taking the occasional drink in public. However, what passes for a good bar in my neighborhood these days appalls me. Gone is the sense of locality and owner’s identity from the décor. Instead I see cost cutting, bland kitsch, and some imitation of style selected from focus groups by corporate decorators. I hate the coldness, the haughtiness, and the overwhelming lack of personality of these places. Within close walking distance—and proximity matters if one wants to be local, inebriated, and responsible—are three bars. Two of them are so soulless as to be sure favorites of the Banana Republic crowd, while the third once felt local and now is just on the make to be corporate. That third bar considers decoration a spate of neon beer signs, cheap tables and barstools, and the acoustics of an airstrip. And while I am at it, can someone please remove the televisions from the bar? I understand their place at a sports bar, but when I want a cocktail or a draft beer I need not consume it in the company of the Sports Center or ESPN.

My preference is for a place with its own style, where the staff takes pride in their establishment because, despite the vicissitudes of capitalism and fickle patronage, it has ridden out the swells of trend and time, manages to entice regulars and new members due to its ability to provide tasty libations and conversation with ease, and can be aged without looking shabby. The ideal bar I have in mind is no Cheers knockoff, but a bar that knows its geography and caters to it. Take my former home of Los Angeles and the Dresden Lounge. Say what you will about L.A., but the Dresden stopped following fads years ago, and now it stands above them. Even the folks behind Swingers knew this; the Dresden makes a cameo in this movie because it gives a glimpse of the “cool” of Old Hollywood that the new kids always hope to find.

When, upon walking in the door of a new bar, you sense that the establishment is attempting to be the next hot spot of a city’s nightlife then I recommend leaving. I do not care what drink is in fashion this week/month/quarter, and I should not have to dress to impress the “Style” section of the New York Times just to have my schnapps. My style is my own creation and my ideal bar should feel likewise. I am not saying that my ideas of décor, attire, and attitude must prevail, but I want to respect my bar for having its own unique take on those three essentials.

I will continue to walk the streets of my neighborhood hoping that one day someone will see bar design my way. And yes, I will drop in the local places for a drink now and then, but I am unlikely to become a regular. At least I can find a small sense of solace in the money I am saving from not drinking more frequently at these establishments. Until something that suits me arrives, I will use those funds on the restaurants in my neighborhood, and some of them have lounges. I think more exploration is in order. Would you care to come along with me?