When I was in Seatown last year I wrote for the now almost dead music/food/art blog Seattle Scenester where I had two columns. One was about pizza and the other was dedicated to drunken tales around the city that really didn't fit their format. I'm thinking the latter might need to become a blog of its own when I return. Until then we have last night.
Five days without a beer. It's like being shipwrecked or a Iranian embassy hostage. The common crud had crippled my Olympic power drinking in the final week of the year. I felt like Favre on the sidelines unable to get my sweet arse on a stool downtown hating the malt halt at home. Desperate for a cure I hit Kodiak Mongolian BBQ for shrimp noodle soup. I saw this potion as a last resort of sorts. If it didn't turn me around, NYE was toast. 2011 would start on the wrong foot. Sober.
By the third scoop of broth and a couple bites of broccali I could feel the tide starting to turn. El Sandinista De La Rainier was back. But for how long? Was this $8.95 bowl going to get me to my 4am goal?
Sarah Palin's Education Czar LL Cool Principal walks in with a couple of his kids. I invite him to come kick it at Tony's later in the evening and pound the PBR's like his college days. He declines. Like me he has an image to uphold.
Fortune cookie reads: Nothing will get in yer way all week. F-word yeah. Bring it.
At home I'm itching for the sun to go down like a kid on crutches crossing an icy parking lot to the point I'm almost pacing. The plan was to meet up with MegaLiver at 8pm at Hank's Great Alaskan Denny's. At 6:41pm I cracked a Pilsner Urquell that Ace Reporter left on Christmas. Yes, I was so sick that beer made it a whole week in the fridge undisturbed. raely do i use a glass but I poured it into a 14oz Pyrex pint-style container and took a sip. Mmmmmnnnnmmm no. Something isn't right. Tastes more like Piss of Erkel. Maybe it's better from a bottle. Maybe I got an old batch. maybe my illness was effecting my taste buds but whatever it was I don't think I'll be having this eurosud again anytime soon. Ace had got me to tolerate High Life but that's as far as it goes.
Half an hour later I start out the door to walk downtown when dad offers me a ride. Remember: I'm STAYING with my parents not LIVING at home. The night was so dark it was probably suicide trying to get down Mission on foot with all the ice on its sidewalkless sides. Minutes later we pull up to the Elks and I start my evening with a Miller Lite at The Bar That Is Little. Sarah is wearing a sparkling dress for the fake prom thing they are doing at 10pm. Skipping that schmitt for sure. Head Husky is parked across from me and we exchange thoughts on the Holiday Bowl, Clipboard Jesus, draft position, and Jack Locker. To his left is a line-up of THE real mudderphuttin' OG's of Kodiak bar life. One of them shares a joke about the millions the lot of them had spent on drugs over the course of their lives and none had any regrets. Nancy Reagan would have schmitt her scarlett red panties.
Jack walks in just before I depart. Sarah asks if I'll be back later.
"Probably not."
I get to Henry's at the stroke of eight. Miss Carrie takes my order and I change from a Blue Moon to a 22oz Sam Adams before its too late. A couple at a window table leaves so I 180 and nab it. Behind me is what I assume was a coastie couple. Dude looks like Private Goober 1st Class but the woman is absolutely stunning. Long, straight head hair dresses in white. A completely hypnotic creature. The executive decision is made to take the high back seat facing away from them because I know I won't be able to avert my perverted eyes and MegaLiver can have the offensive position at the table. He arrives soon after.
Then a fairly hot blond appears and sits wear I was at the bar. She orders what appears to be a Cosmopolitan. Mega and I are stunned by this unKodiak-like environment. He orders a side of fries and we continue the bs session that we'd had prior to my illness. Goob and Ten leave and we snicker at her 4" heels as she tries to cross the icy parking lot. She's have done better on crutches. Maybe that was his sister. Maybe she's a hired gun. She could even be a crewmember or co-worker but there is no way she's doing that dude. No. Way. Amazingly I forget about them as soon as they left. Well, until now.
Blitzkrieg shows up out of the blue fresh off a squid trip in California. I fill him in on the fantasy league he dropped out of and probe a few basic details of the operation in the Golden State. Kind of sweet the islanders are going Outside and taking their jobs when its usually the other way around. A guy he knows comes over and starts telling stories involving racing hippies and projectile vomit. We fishing our beers and make the 12 steps across the way to Anthony's Bar and No Grill.
The vibe is bad. Real bad. It doesn't even feel like my bar. The zombie Mecca band is already playing and one of my last favorite people on this and any other planet is on the dance floor trashing out. Maybe I'll have my own projectile vomit story. Perched around the bar are all these faceless souls who radiate pedophile and angry drunk. MegaLiver wants to go a.s.a.p. Aside from the witch getting her boogie on and the staff I know nobody. In fact, I don't even know one of the staff as they are breaking in the new girl. Usually I'd get a few people to chant NEEEEEWWWW GIIIIIIRRRRRRL NEEEEEEWWWWWW GIIIIIIRRRRRRRRL but that wasn't flying in the no-fun zone that used to be my second home. Ileave about 10% of my PBR undrank and we escape to The Bakery.
I was in El Chi's the night before for ten minutes just to say hi at a wedding reception and before that on Sunday for Home for the Holidays XLV so this felt more natural. Its after 10pm now and it ain't exactly poppin'. Historically The Chi is usually shut down on 1/1 as the ownership takes a vacay so this was new. I'd go so far as to call it progress. I shift gears and go Crown and Coke. The delightful Delia is working our side of the bar sucking on a cancer stick and smiling up a storm. There are a pair of coastie looking ladies getting their slut look in order to our left. I ask Mega which would be his choice between the blond and the brunette. Brunette. As my old P&R mentor back in the day would say....juicy. DJ Marc is playing Mecca anthem after Mecca anthem; Usher, don't know the name, don't know the artist, heard that before but don't know the name or artist, etc. This is the first time I have some doubts about the evening. Then Mega's door prize ticket number gets called and he says go for it so I head to the stage and snag a Crown Royal t-shirt. I now have more boat clothes than clothes clothes.
People start making their way in but our plan was to be in the Villagio Pull Tab Casino for the midnight countdown and suck face with a Rainier from the tap. Just before we get up I feel my phone vibrate and usually I don't answer the phone in bars because I can't hear a damn thing. Someone asks me where I'm and I shout the gameplan and hang up. A minute later I'm looking at the number I realize who it is. JC and a side of rice, that was the only woman who interests me on this whole allahforsaken island. Semi-shocked, completely elated, we exit out into the one star weather and head for Queen Earlene.
11pm-ish and we still score real estate on the arch of the bar. Her majesty is back after a couple weeks unseen and pours a pair of cold ones. Butch from Ninilchik (sp?) is playing guitar. There is balance in the force here. Time starts to accelerate. or I just can't recall as much from here on out. Midnight comes and is uneventful but that's a good thing. In 39 years I don't think I've ever done the midnight kiss thing. Had to save one thing for marriage I guess. It gives New Years a touch of Valentines Day when the rest of the evening feels like Halloween minus the costumes.
We murder a good chunk of clock at The Village before making the move to the MiniMecca: Bernie's Rainbow Room aka the USCG cutter Dickbutter. MegaLiver has a hang up still with the place not being The Breakers anymore, the bar we could escape from everyone at because no one would think of going there. It just isn't the same not stepping over someone passed out in the doorway to get inside.
Bernie's is legitimately packed. And true to it's rep it is coastie deep. The 21-24 year old local boys are out in force as well. Let's get it on. Maybe you've seen the post below this one so I won't repeat history but the use of the word epic is appropriate in this scenario.
As usual it takes longer than most places to get a drink. They even apear to have extra help tonight but still can't keep up with the 20somethings thirst for all things alcohol. Or a pair of 39-year olds. Found Degenerate and her Wasilly friend. Hey, I'm not the oldest f-word here! Saw my former assistant who I swear owns stock in the place. But really nobody there to keep us so after a drink we head back to The Village.
Homeboy #1 and wife show up, a couple 89ers, Grandma T, Biological Clock Ticking Redhead, The Turk Stalker, more core peeps in the house than when we left. Woof down a #4 breakfast and keep downing drinks like my dog died. Some tards decide to brawl over by where the AutoFry machine used to sit and spill a zillions bottles on the floor.
The crowd thins a bit and before I know it SuperDave is standing there gathering us like children at the end of a field trip. Somehow I lose track of MegaLiver and get in the cab without him. You always have fun when you don't realize at the time you are having fun. Or something like that. All and all it was a pretty killer night. Only getting a snapshot of the redhead at Henry's for my readers and a midnight kiss from the caller would have made the night better but following the two rules of Crab Festival will always get you by: 1. stay drunk and 2. low expectations.
Five days without a beer. It's like being shipwrecked or a Iranian embassy hostage. The common crud had crippled my Olympic power drinking in the final week of the year. I felt like Favre on the sidelines unable to get my sweet arse on a stool downtown hating the malt halt at home. Desperate for a cure I hit Kodiak Mongolian BBQ for shrimp noodle soup. I saw this potion as a last resort of sorts. If it didn't turn me around, NYE was toast. 2011 would start on the wrong foot. Sober.
By the third scoop of broth and a couple bites of broccali I could feel the tide starting to turn. El Sandinista De La Rainier was back. But for how long? Was this $8.95 bowl going to get me to my 4am goal?
Sarah Palin's Education Czar LL Cool Principal walks in with a couple of his kids. I invite him to come kick it at Tony's later in the evening and pound the PBR's like his college days. He declines. Like me he has an image to uphold.
Fortune cookie reads: Nothing will get in yer way all week. F-word yeah. Bring it.
At home I'm itching for the sun to go down like a kid on crutches crossing an icy parking lot to the point I'm almost pacing. The plan was to meet up with MegaLiver at 8pm at Hank's Great Alaskan Denny's. At 6:41pm I cracked a Pilsner Urquell that Ace Reporter left on Christmas. Yes, I was so sick that beer made it a whole week in the fridge undisturbed. raely do i use a glass but I poured it into a 14oz Pyrex pint-style container and took a sip. Mmmmmnnnnmmm no. Something isn't right. Tastes more like Piss of Erkel. Maybe it's better from a bottle. Maybe I got an old batch. maybe my illness was effecting my taste buds but whatever it was I don't think I'll be having this eurosud again anytime soon. Ace had got me to tolerate High Life but that's as far as it goes.
Half an hour later I start out the door to walk downtown when dad offers me a ride. Remember: I'm STAYING with my parents not LIVING at home. The night was so dark it was probably suicide trying to get down Mission on foot with all the ice on its sidewalkless sides. Minutes later we pull up to the Elks and I start my evening with a Miller Lite at The Bar That Is Little. Sarah is wearing a sparkling dress for the fake prom thing they are doing at 10pm. Skipping that schmitt for sure. Head Husky is parked across from me and we exchange thoughts on the Holiday Bowl, Clipboard Jesus, draft position, and Jack Locker. To his left is a line-up of THE real mudderphuttin' OG's of Kodiak bar life. One of them shares a joke about the millions the lot of them had spent on drugs over the course of their lives and none had any regrets. Nancy Reagan would have schmitt her scarlett red panties.
Jack walks in just before I depart. Sarah asks if I'll be back later.
"Probably not."
I get to Henry's at the stroke of eight. Miss Carrie takes my order and I change from a Blue Moon to a 22oz Sam Adams before its too late. A couple at a window table leaves so I 180 and nab it. Behind me is what I assume was a coastie couple. Dude looks like Private Goober 1st Class but the woman is absolutely stunning. Long, straight head hair dresses in white. A completely hypnotic creature. The executive decision is made to take the high back seat facing away from them because I know I won't be able to avert my perverted eyes and MegaLiver can have the offensive position at the table. He arrives soon after.
Then a fairly hot blond appears and sits wear I was at the bar. She orders what appears to be a Cosmopolitan. Mega and I are stunned by this unKodiak-like environment. He orders a side of fries and we continue the bs session that we'd had prior to my illness. Goob and Ten leave and we snicker at her 4" heels as she tries to cross the icy parking lot. She's have done better on crutches. Maybe that was his sister. Maybe she's a hired gun. She could even be a crewmember or co-worker but there is no way she's doing that dude. No. Way. Amazingly I forget about them as soon as they left. Well, until now.
Blitzkrieg shows up out of the blue fresh off a squid trip in California. I fill him in on the fantasy league he dropped out of and probe a few basic details of the operation in the Golden State. Kind of sweet the islanders are going Outside and taking their jobs when its usually the other way around. A guy he knows comes over and starts telling stories involving racing hippies and projectile vomit. We fishing our beers and make the 12 steps across the way to Anthony's Bar and No Grill.
The vibe is bad. Real bad. It doesn't even feel like my bar. The zombie Mecca band is already playing and one of my last favorite people on this and any other planet is on the dance floor trashing out. Maybe I'll have my own projectile vomit story. Perched around the bar are all these faceless souls who radiate pedophile and angry drunk. MegaLiver wants to go a.s.a.p. Aside from the witch getting her boogie on and the staff I know nobody. In fact, I don't even know one of the staff as they are breaking in the new girl. Usually I'd get a few people to chant NEEEEEWWWW GIIIIIIRRRRRRL NEEEEEEWWWWWW GIIIIIIRRRRRRRRL but that wasn't flying in the no-fun zone that used to be my second home. Ileave about 10% of my PBR undrank and we escape to The Bakery.
I was in El Chi's the night before for ten minutes just to say hi at a wedding reception and before that on Sunday for Home for the Holidays XLV so this felt more natural. Its after 10pm now and it ain't exactly poppin'. Historically The Chi is usually shut down on 1/1 as the ownership takes a vacay so this was new. I'd go so far as to call it progress. I shift gears and go Crown and Coke. The delightful Delia is working our side of the bar sucking on a cancer stick and smiling up a storm. There are a pair of coastie looking ladies getting their slut look in order to our left. I ask Mega which would be his choice between the blond and the brunette. Brunette. As my old P&R mentor back in the day would say....juicy. DJ Marc is playing Mecca anthem after Mecca anthem; Usher, don't know the name, don't know the artist, heard that before but don't know the name or artist, etc. This is the first time I have some doubts about the evening. Then Mega's door prize ticket number gets called and he says go for it so I head to the stage and snag a Crown Royal t-shirt. I now have more boat clothes than clothes clothes.
People start making their way in but our plan was to be in the Villagio Pull Tab Casino for the midnight countdown and suck face with a Rainier from the tap. Just before we get up I feel my phone vibrate and usually I don't answer the phone in bars because I can't hear a damn thing. Someone asks me where I'm and I shout the gameplan and hang up. A minute later I'm looking at the number I realize who it is. JC and a side of rice, that was the only woman who interests me on this whole allahforsaken island. Semi-shocked, completely elated, we exit out into the one star weather and head for Queen Earlene.
11pm-ish and we still score real estate on the arch of the bar. Her majesty is back after a couple weeks unseen and pours a pair of cold ones. Butch from Ninilchik (sp?) is playing guitar. There is balance in the force here. Time starts to accelerate. or I just can't recall as much from here on out. Midnight comes and is uneventful but that's a good thing. In 39 years I don't think I've ever done the midnight kiss thing. Had to save one thing for marriage I guess. It gives New Years a touch of Valentines Day when the rest of the evening feels like Halloween minus the costumes.
We murder a good chunk of clock at The Village before making the move to the MiniMecca: Bernie's Rainbow Room aka the USCG cutter Dickbutter. MegaLiver has a hang up still with the place not being The Breakers anymore, the bar we could escape from everyone at because no one would think of going there. It just isn't the same not stepping over someone passed out in the doorway to get inside.
Bernie's is legitimately packed. And true to it's rep it is coastie deep. The 21-24 year old local boys are out in force as well. Let's get it on. Maybe you've seen the post below this one so I won't repeat history but the use of the word epic is appropriate in this scenario.
As usual it takes longer than most places to get a drink. They even apear to have extra help tonight but still can't keep up with the 20somethings thirst for all things alcohol. Or a pair of 39-year olds. Found Degenerate and her Wasilly friend. Hey, I'm not the oldest f-word here! Saw my former assistant who I swear owns stock in the place. But really nobody there to keep us so after a drink we head back to The Village.
Homeboy #1 and wife show up, a couple 89ers, Grandma T, Biological Clock Ticking Redhead, The Turk Stalker, more core peeps in the house than when we left. Woof down a #4 breakfast and keep downing drinks like my dog died. Some tards decide to brawl over by where the AutoFry machine used to sit and spill a zillions bottles on the floor.
The crowd thins a bit and before I know it SuperDave is standing there gathering us like children at the end of a field trip. Somehow I lose track of MegaLiver and get in the cab without him. You always have fun when you don't realize at the time you are having fun. Or something like that. All and all it was a pretty killer night. Only getting a snapshot of the redhead at Henry's for my readers and a midnight kiss from the caller would have made the night better but following the two rules of Crab Festival will always get you by: 1. stay drunk and 2. low expectations.
Boycott The Mecca.
