A FIRE SALE OF FUN

Right before I sat down to write this, the above title magically popped into my head. Which is notable because, it's a more than apt definition of the 2 Night Party to Wrap My 20's, and also because I'm surprised I can even string a sentence together after all the brain cells I carelessly expended through a combination of various controlled substances, copious amounts of booze and beer. Oh, and my ears have returned to normal, so there's always that!

First, let's begin with the venue. The entire structure is temporary; the stage, seating, concessions and the even the bathrooms look like they can all be removed in a matter of hours. Or if tornado came through, it would probably deposit the whole fucking place right into Lake Michigan. But the view! Holy Shit it was AWESOME! Here's a crappy cell phone picture taken from the very last row:

Although my buddy that bought the tickets paid more for floor seats (good ones too, near the stage) we/I opted to spend the majority of both nights way the hell in the back (I think he may have been a little pissed about that) but the view was so much better. See the crappy cell phone picture below for proof.

It also sounded better in the back, not too mention there actually more than 5" of space in which to boogie. AND - we had a big group of us all together. Friends old and new, we owned a decent piece of real estate and no one fucked with us (you could also smoke with abandon up there), which was a good thing because...

...both nights I tripped my nuts off. Oh mushrooms, how I love thee. Yes, they taste like shit, because, you know, THEY ARE GROWN IN SHIT. However, dear, sweet Gloria somehow got her hands on Mushroom Chocolates, which masked the shit taste rather well. Thankfully, she stopped me right as I was going to put a way-too-big-piece in my mouth, and she suggested I break it in half. Had I eaten the whole thing, I would probably be in a psych ward.

I guess now is as good as time as any to thank Gloria, not just for the 'Shrooms, but also for the enormous hickey she implemented on my neck. She gave me a mild one on Tuesday, which was sore the next day, but didn't leave a mark.

When I informed her of this on Wednesday night, she was determined to correct that oversight. I should kept my mouth shut. See, she's bigger than me, probably stronger too, and when she wrapped her arms around me and bite into my neck, I couldn't let go. Maybe it's because I struggled a bit, or maybe she's part vampire, but this second hickey BROKE THE SKIN prompting me to bleed on the collar of my mostly white shirt. Thanks babe!

Now let's move onto the GIRL THAT WANTED MY NUTS. Cate is a friend of Gloria. When I arrived on Wednesday, Cate practically jumped into my arms and landed a big wet one, right on the kisser. Mind you, we have never met before this evening. As the night wore on, she kept it up, and at one point said "you're so pretty!" Now, I've been called a lot of things, but never that, so I'm going to chalk it up to the drugs in her system. Don't get me wrong, she was totally adorable and sweet; generous too.

At one point, ate shoves her empty hand in my face and says "take this". Take what? I look closer and she that the first knuckle of her index finger is caked in white powder. "It's good Molly [MDMA]!" So I did as instructed and...yeah...sucked on her finger, thus delivering another substance into my bloodstream. Whew-boy!

Oh, and I have a standing invitation to visit her and her friends in Alabama for more Widespread Panic concerts next month. A weekend in a beach house on the Gulf coast seems super dope and all, but I won't be going. Either she didn't understand me telling her I'm into dudes, or she didn't care. Either way...Cate rawks! As do the other 10 or so people I met and partied with. Gotta love those hippie's!

The music was most excellent as well. The Allman Brothers, while consummate musicians, didn't really light a fire under my ass, at least not like Widespread Panic still can. At some during Panic's set on Tuesday night, I was peaking from the 'Shrooms and it felt like the band was INSIDE my fucking head. I was also told at one point to "let JB (their lead singer) handle the vocal duties". Good. Damn. RAWK.

So - now that I have mostly recovered, and shed the official age of 29 - it's time to ring in YEAR 3-0 with my buddies tonight! Hope you all have a fun, rawkin' and safe Labor Day weekend! Cheers.

MY FAVORITE NYC BAR

When I went to New York City a year and a half ago, it was my first visit as an adult; my buddies there took it upon themselves to take me to a wide variety of bars, from fancy joints in Hell's Kitchen like Vlada, to tiny, odd places like Barracuda in Chelsea, and many others in between. But my favorite bar, by far, is a shit hole in the East Village, appropriately named Nowhere Bar.

Actually, compared to some of the bars I like in Chicago, it's not that much of a dump. Overall, I most enjoy bars that are just that, BARS. Here's my formula for the perfect bar: the room is dark with faint hints of unfocused red lighting, a large, burly and bald bartender, a pool table and a jukebox. That's it. Nothing more (see image below).

Themes/karaoke/a million fucking flat screens do not, a bar make. In fact, I'll argue that they distract from the simplicity of a true bar. I mean, really, all I really want/need out of bar is a stool to park my ass on, super-cold cans of PBR and/or Bud and generous shots of Jameson. Oh, and some man-candy to eye-fuck. And that my friends, is Nowhere Bar in a nutshell.

When I went last Sunday night, they had $2 cans of PBR, a free pool table, a bartender that force fed me at least 5 shots of Jameson (for free, natch) and an array of entertaining (and attractive) boys and girls with which to chat. It's my favorite spot on that island. And although I'm not into souvenirs, they did still have a fishbowl of NYC condoms* in the bathroom!

Old shit-hole dive bars seem to be a dying breed, a trend that troubles me deeply. I despise bars that have a dress code, or that charge a cover (like the bar I work in) or that have stupid names like G Lounge (oh! I get it! It's a gay bar! HOW FUCKING CLEVER).

Oh, and hot bartenders annoy this shit out of me; I tend to think of them as glorified strippers. I like my bartenders like I like my musicians: ugly, balding and with a husky voice (imagine Tom Waits pouring you shots...[staring into space]...man, that would be fucking sweet).

*I'll stick with my Magnums, thank you very much.

SUCK IT 2008

There is less than 10 hours remaining of 2008, and I cannot wait for it to be over. I was thinking of doing a "best/worst" of 2008, but that strikes me as tedious. I doubt anyone needs me to rehash incidents like losing my job or getting hit by a car. No. Instead, I am looking forward to 2009 RAWKING WITH IT'S FAWCKING CAWK OUT! It's going to be a good year people. But for now, I intend to spend the waning hours of 2008 thoroughly inebriated. Burp.

Happy New Year's people!

[Note: This is a fair approximation of what I will look like around Midnight tonight, minus the fake eyelashes, hair extensions and cocaine. Queue the smoke machine, bitches.]

MY REACTION TO THE CUBS BEING SWEPT

Words alone cannot express my dismay...UGH! What the fuck is wrong with the Cubs? FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. Goddamn fucking Dodgers!

BIG FUN!

After attending 2 BBQ's over the last 2 days I feel like I'm on the Atkin's Diet. Seriously, the last time I consumed this much meat was during the Pride Parade! Ha! OK, totally kidding. No, really. Oh, and my apologizes to Gloria...baby I will so send some money to PETA. Or at least promise to east some Indian food or something.

Anyways, I thought this would be an appropriate time to share a little creation/collage I made many years ago. Back when I was still a picture framer, my colleagues and I would often pass the time by cutting up weird pictures from the newspaper and making bizarre little scenes, with the sole goal of amusing one another. And yes, sometimes, we were high as hell.

HAPPY LABOR DAY !

RAMBLE ON, RAMBLER

Last night I took part in a very minor bit of Wrigley Field history, I attended what is thought to be the very first Single A game of baseball at the Friendly Confines. The Peoria Chiefs played the Kane County Cougars before a crowd of 30,000+ uninterested spectators.

In some ways it was better than being at an actual Cubs game; tickets were only $10, and I didn't have to wait to buy a beer or take a piss. On the other hand, the game was incredibly dull, and the mascots that the Peoria Chiefs brought along we're seriously annoying. Case in point: BirdZerk:

Ugh. I suppose a neon colored, break dancing bird can be amusing to a child, but when I was watching the lame ass mascot dance around Wrigley Field, it kind of pissed me off.

Maybe I'm a bit of a snob when it comes to such things, but I couldn't stop making snarky comments like "fucking hell, if I lived in Peoria I would buy a gun and blow my fucking brains out".

Anyways, I got there late (fucking CTA) but found my buddyies Bear and MarK, along with Ginny, a girl whom I once directed back in high school when I was a part-time theater nerd/acid-enthusiast (my notes tended to be something like "more....intense").

Bear was blasted out of his mind and could barely keep his stoned eyes open, and when he could he was hitting on Ginny in a less than subtle manner ("just let me touch your tits!", etc).

(OK - he wasn't that blasted, but you get the point, haha)

Midway through the 3rd inning I couldn't take the tedium of the game, the stupid mascot antics or the no-smoking thing. Plus, the Cubs where playing the Brewers in all important series.

Bear and I decided to leave during the 4th, and MarK and Ginny left soon after, joining us at a lame ass bar on the corner of Addison and Sheffield called, creatively, The Corner Sports bar (note: just because you are located next to Wrigley Field it doesn't give you the right to charge $6 for a fucking Leinenkugel's).

We didn't stay for long, and although many suggestions where made as to which lame Wrigley-ville bar to go to next, I was empathic in my desire to go to The North End to shoot pool and watch some real baseball.

After I told MarK that it's located "just north of Addison on Halstead" he seemed to get the little in-joke, but he didn't seem to care. Bear was too stoned to realize we were now in Boystown...haha.

Once we got to the bar, he looked around, blinked and asked aloud to no one in particular "is this a gay bar?" Well yes, yes it is. Strong drinks were consumed by yours truly (oh whiskey, how I love thee) while my 3 straight friends sipped beers.

While Bear kept sloppily hitting on Ginny, she turned to me and said "you know, if you weren't gay, I'd be hitting on you right now". Well then...I remarked there was no reason she still couldn't.

Fun night. Oh, I almost forgot to mention that while at Wrigley I ran into an old friend from high school I haven't seen in years that I used to have a crush on. He kinda looks like Pete Wentz, but with stubble and less annoying hair.

Boy looked good!