A Drinker's Lament

Those of you who have been reading along this past month know the sadness I have felt over the demise of my favorite bar, The Stoned Crow. As a 20-year patron about to lose his watering hole, I feel the need to share this pain as a means to reaching catharsis.
As one enters the Stoned Crow, on the side street of Washington Place in Greenwich Village, they are immediately greeted by a large, long bar to their right, surrounded by posters and photos from TV and film from the last century. After buying a drink, they move to the back, where up a few steps sits the best bar pool table in New York (Sorry, Barfly denizens) , with more posters lining the tall ceiling and tables and chairs scattered about. A single cushioned chair stands alone by the table, at times filled by the bar's owner, Betty, who at times oversees and directs the flow of pool traffic and the implementation of bar rules. She does this with curmudgeon-y grace, screaming at new drinkers to "Get their beer away from her table!" and "Don't jump the ball!".
I returned to the Stoned Crow last night to say my goodbyes, and for a short while, accompanied by a few friends who feel the same as I do, there was something familiar about the bar; something which many of you feel about different bars which you frequent. We silently, fondly remembered the last 15-20 years where we grew up together, laughed as we injured ourselves physically and emotionally. We played pool and drank shots as if we owned the place, scowling at the loud hippie who accompanied the newer regulars who had replaced us years ago. We counted ourselves lucky for the friends we made and will keep for our waning lives, and those that we had lost, and had a drink in their behest. And then it was all gone; we were slowly being ushered out the door because Betty was tired, Donnie was annoyed that Tom, the shittiest bartender of recorded history, was still working, though his shift had ended 4 hours earlier, and I almost murdered that hippie fuck. What the bar had become was obviously foreign to us now, and we were glad to leave it as a fond memory.
To you drinkers out there, let this be a cautionary tale. If you love your local bar, embrace it fully, drinking its wondrous filth from the floor as if it were your essence. Change will infect it, and bars come and go, so hold onto your friends and memories that you garnered along the way, for they will travel with you until your dying day, keeping the good times alive. But above all, cherish your local until that day comes, for bars like the Stoned Crow are getting rarer. Happy New Year.

Good and Bad Party films just in time for New Year's!

Well, it's almost time for New Year's Eve. For those of us in the service industry, this is a night we dread almost as much as if we were not working and among the throngs of over-intoxicated swarms who spill out of parties in the middle of the night and terrorize our locals. So in  honor of them, here are some party films which are worth watching if you decide to be safe and stay home, only imagining what could have, but most likely, would not have occurred had you ventured out.
Cloverfield: I love this movie. I know, I'm in a minority, but it holds a special place in my heart as it tugged at my post-9/11 stress disorder quite effectively. My buddy Stu and I walked out of the theater with the urge to run through Manhattan's cold, dark streets. And with a mutual hatred of house parties. The characters are perfect as vapid, grating Manhattanites caught trapped between their own vapidness and a giant tentacled monster. Great monster movie. The party scene will remind you why you stay in Brooklyn!
Night of the Demons: I love this terrible 80's film. Six kids get together on Halloween to raid an abandoned mansion, and find it more haunted than their libidos. Watch really bad dance numbers, grisly yet awful death scenes, and a heroine that will bore you into sheer disdain! Watch as the poor man's Richard Grieco (I know, wasn't he the poor man's somebody or other?!?) plods through the film as the worst tough guy in history! You'll love it!
The Vampire Happening: What happens when you cast a Playboy playmate in a madcap 70's comedy about vampires, with Dracula veteran Ferdy Mayne and a really strange over-the-top flamboyant gay man! Nothing good! Goofy sidekicks and horny vampire priests only further harm the viewer as they wait for the next breast flash! Watch if you dare!
Love At First Bite: No one parties like George Fucking Hamilton! This film is funny for those who love campy 70's comedy (e.g.The Vampire Happening, if it were funny ). This is the palest Hamilton ever was in his life, and thought the film doesn't quite hold up so well to modern comedic sensibility, I still love it for its brazen cheesiness, and can watch it over and over again...with the right medication, of course.

Some Real Gems From Michigan

So, while stranded in Michigan for another day, I can only hope that there are more of these absolute gems from people who shall remain anonymous...you know who you are...
"How OLD is this salt?!?"- after tasting a newly salted treat. Salt doesn't really change much. Or spoil. Let's try this answer! "Ummm...about 6 million YEARS old."
"Was Hitler his first name or his last name?" - a real question about Adolf Hitler. Wow.
"(Anonymous dog name), no dice! I mean bark!"
"I haven't cried in a movie in 20 years, but No End In Sight brought me to my knees!" Yep, it was about as moving as The Bridges of Madison County. Or Madonna's version of Evita. Sigh.
"Thank you for calling American Airlines. Our associates are assisting other customers..." after three hours.
"So, is Palin DONE yet?" Sadly...no. Not as long as there are deer to be murdered for political gain.
Me-"It's my tradition to stay up on Xmas Eve and get hammered. Will you stay up with me?" Wife, who shall remain anonymous-"ZZZZZZZZZZZ" Dog who shall remain anonymous "ZZZZZZZZZZZ" Sigh. Such is life. Merry Xmas.

The Worst Santa Films Ever.

Bah Humbug, bitches! These trying times have reminded me of one Santa film which righteously, outright sucks, and another whose existence confuses the hell out of me. I don't get confused that often.
Santa Claus Conquers the Martians, lampooned by Mystery Science Theater 3000, tells the awful tale of Santa, as he confounds the Martian people! They plan to steal Santa so he can bring cheer to Martian children! Oh, but he's a clever minx, and he runs circles around these technologically advanced fuckers! Droppo, a Martian Jerry Lewis/Victor Borge lovechild (without the piano skills...or acting skills for that matter)  is given the task of comic foil; epic failure. Also, playing a really irritating ten-year-old girl is really irritating 80's D-list performer Pia Zadora in her first role. For added laughs, find and watch the MST3K version. It's one of their landmark episodes, containing the catchy tune, Let's All Have A Patrick Swayze Christmas.
Possibly one of the most confusing holiday films I have ever been blessed with perusing is Santa Claus: The Movie. Warning: most films which include The Movie as part of the title blow (eg. Tales From the Darkside: The Movie or Care Bears: The Movie. If you say Transformers: The Movie, we're no longer friends. Cause it rules.) Santa is played by Dave Huddleston, Mr. Lebowski to some, and isn't bad. John Lithgow is at his wonderfully campy villainous best. However, the issue with this film: Why does it even exist? Between a stunningly large budget for any 80's film, hypothermia death (not really for kids, but it's in there!) , explosive candy canes, overexpressive reindeer and a sober(?) Dudley Moore, this film is a complete shitshow from start to finish; a shitshow worth pounding a bottle of Four Loko and watching! One scene worth noting: a very adult Congressional Committee scene that harkens back to the 60's McCarthy AntiAmerican Committees, with the hilarious Mr. Lithgow, that makes this film slightly bearable, though confusing: this was for KIDS?!? Oh well. Have you NO sense of decency, Mr. Salkind? Have you no sense of DECENCY!

Holiday Travel

Before three years ago, I had never travelled during the holidays. I had always stayed in New York in order to visit my mother, as well as pick up any work I could. Times have changed; I now share the holidays with my wife, flinging myself across this vast land to Michigan. I now get to experience the wonders of holiday travel that I had only heard of in legend.
Travel Bathrooms:  One similarity I've noticed between airport and rest stop mens' rooms that perplexes me: why are all the handicapped stalls so fucked up?!? I don't get it. Are these malformed individuals slobs, or is it the mass of upright vagabonds that forget that there is a hole exposing a basin of disposable water for their dumping convenience? Gross. It was like walking into a Hubbel museum. Seriously. And why the multiple defecation rooms? It's not The Price Is Right! (I'll take door #2! Damn it, a wok!) I had more trouble getting out of the tiled maze than droppin' a deuce.
Architecture: I was amazed, as we passed through Ohio searching for a rest stop, at the intricate details of the mini-mall we now call rest stops. There was a fucking GAME ROOM under a rotunda and a food court. Granted, I haven't played Hydro Thunder in a while, but I wasn't planning on staying. You see, we were going somewhere. No need for the 5 fast food joints and a gift shop. Really? A gift shop? I feel like I'm taking crazy pills! I will get my mom a souvenir from scenic Akron if it kills me!!!
Travellers: Why, whether I've gone by air or land, am I exposed to the most inane dress code imaginable? Why dress your five-year-old like the groundskeeper from Caddyshack? Why wear fatigues and hunter orange? It's not even hunting season! What about the fleece jammie bottoms? You're still in wildly unsanitary public. Also, is it a requirement to wear the touristy Ohio sweatshirts as a team? It was like a hick Sparkle Motion! Even if you're from Ohio, guys? What happened to dressing either nice or comfy...or both? OMFG! Oh well, if you see something, say something!

Time to wrap shit for people. Tomorrow...Midwest shopping!!! Also, thanks for the 1000 hits in three weeks! I'm flattered. Spread the words...

What comes out during the holidays...

During holidays seasons, sinister human/drinker subspecies make their ways to their neighborhood bars. Having consumed 17 shots of Goldschlager at their office parties, they are ready to spew forth flecks of ignorance and dance jigs of inanity...
The Weekend Warriors: These drinking folk normally spend two full days and nights pounding tequila, whiskey and white russians in that order with the fervor of a thirsty feral badger, from Friday happy hour to Sunday's last football games. During the holidays, these shitheads infect the bars you call home to copulate in your photo booth and vomit in your computer bag. Joy to the World!!!
The Ne'er Do Bads: These good honest people wait until the season of good timings to listen to the tiny demon inside them, waiting until large public gatherings to do their first (and last) buttery nipples, soon nose-diving into full night-makeout sessions with an octagenarian named Maude. They are the stuff of hilarious, water cooler gossip. Unless you're poor Maude, of course.
The Classic Douchebag Who Nobody Likes: He's the guy that walks up to the bar and drops a $20 tip, as if to say to the bartender, "This is my asshole fee. You're about to have a long night". Soon, Mr. Dickless is skipping names on the pool table, hitting on the bar owner's wife, and screaming that someone stole his ascot! It's not that this douchebag doesn't drink. It's that he drinks tawny port while cavorting with his douche-in-arms, chuckling about stocks and funny adultery stories. He's at your bar by unhappy accident.
The Always Do Bads: You know these guys because of that one time last year when they sucker-punched that hipster kid and ran. They are legends in their neighborhood, usually with nicknames like "Guitar ___" or "Loose Cannon". They are the tough talkers who disappear for months at at time, only to reappear when your bar is at its most motley. You can feel them enter, like Dracula when he passes a rose bush. And they never leave easily.

Beware, my dear well-schooled imbibers! These holiday bugaboos will disappear with the last and worst holiday, the drinkers' nightmare, New Year's! Hide if you can, but don't engage them. Just observe from a  safe distance.

Epic failure

After a weekend of innumerable holiday parties and binging, I can now agree on a few characteristics of what can only be described as EPIC FAILURE:
1- You drink and eat non-stop for 24 hours, then throw up AFTER you wake up the next day. At the scent of a chicken wing. Epic fail.
2- You break an entire bottle of Jameson and splash it all over your legs. Soberly. Before you go out. Epic fail.
3- You try to show how durable your phone is by biting it. Then you break it. By biting it. Epic fail. 
4- In a fit of loneliness, your dog tears through your trash, full of toxic grapes. In your frenzied discovery, you fail to pick up all grapes, and slip on one, doing a split in your kitchen. You try to avoid the split by turning your leg, tearing your knee. Epic fail.
5- You fall asleep with your drink-induced takeout food on your lap. You wake up with the food eaten by your dog, its remnants smeared on your crotch. Epic fail.
Feel free to share your own!