He talks like he's some kind of analyst in the Sigmund Freud vein, lie down and let me look inside your underwear. For that's the drive for everything, he claims, talking to his pal fondling the mouth on a bottle of Corona.
When people ask where I hail from, sometimes I tell them I'm Vulcan, as a joke, and they ask, where is that? Geography is not their strong point. Communication is lost when you speak in an accent designed to burr and brogue.
Take me far from the madding crowd. Business is very, very slow. No flocks on the pasture. Is there such a thing as a beer shepherd? A romantic figure wandering the streets with a crook, herding drinkers into the bar. I must be to blame for this barren scene.
Talking Heads is on the jukebox. All the hits. Around closing time, the bug man comes in, his poisons in hand. He crawls under the bar like an explorer venturing into the darkness of the insect world. Nothing there.
Who needs to brace the crowds to ascend the Empire State Building and Top of the Rock to get a view of New York? Do what locals do and hit a rooftop bar. Here are some of the best, many of which happen to crown hotels.
Someone came in barking about Yelp! Apparently, it's some kind of site on the Internet. He said I was mentioned on it, rude, grumpy, miserable bastard bartender with a fixed scowl on his face and that is his good points. Something along those lines, so he says.
Turn away now if you are disgusted by the description of a bar's grim lavatory. This is not for you. Come back next time to Notes when the talk will be of love and cocktails garnished with fresh fruit. Sadly, this grim description has to be done.
Years ago, at night's end, I locked a drunk French tourist in the bar, by mistake. He awakened under a table on the balcony, perfumed with vomit, a fragrance found in bars. Only the bar's ghosts were with him.
Right after I poured her a gin and tonic, and squeezed extra limes in the bubbles, she asked, why are you so miserable? She was training to be a therapist. But I wasn't bitter. I told her I owned a less than stellar I.Q and she was mistaking misery for a lack of brains.
The first tiki bar, Don the Beachcomber, opened in Los Angeles in 1933; it started a sensation as celebrities were regularly spotted sipping mai tais, eating pu pu platters, and listening to ukulele tunes.
While Chicago might have the most famous bars of any other town in Illinois, other cities around the state have their fair share of watering holes, neighborhood joints and dive spots. Here are six great Illinois bars outside of Chicago, as compiled by Thrillist and accompanied by reviews from Yelp.
It's tough to select one drink to be stuck with on a proverbial desert island. To find out which drinks truly have the most staying power, we polled a group of esteemed cocktail experts to name the one drink they'd marry until death do them part.