Home Of The Hypocrite

The Duke of Perth, #148, is an institution. Well, I don’t really know that. Maybe it’s not an institution. They have all you can eat fish & chips (& PEAS) on both Wednesday and Friday nights. Always. That’s not a seasonal special or a “throw this on the menu so we can get rid of it”-thing, it’s something that is etched into their being.

We chose the busier of those two available nights for dinner and drinks at the DOP, and the 3 of us had to wait about 15 minutes for a table in the crowded bar area. Three of us, as Rick and I are joined by my French-Canadian hockey & music-loving journalist friend Raphael. Raphael claims to be an excellent writer, here’s his webpage. I say “claims” because he writes in French. I have no way of proving if this writing is any good, but he seems to write a lot, and other people seem to write in French on his Facebook page quite a bit too, so we’ll just take his word for it. He’s moving back to Montreal before the end of the month, that’s too bad.

The fish is good -- of course it is! They use PBR for the beer batter. There are no vulgar displays of eating tonight, which is rare when I’m at the table. I don’t think any of us get further than a 4th fish. I don’t have my notebook on me, so I can’t tell you what beers we were drinking. I know mine was dark.

That’s it for bars on 10/23. I then joined Raphael at the Metro to see Airborne Toxic Event. Prior to the show, weeks ago, when I didn’t even know this show was on my calendar, a friend and I discussed this band and decided their material was radio-friendly but incredibly overwrought. Not nearly at Meatloaf levels of overwrought (MY EMOTIONS ARE ALL HYPERBOLE!), but maybe at teenage-first-love I’ve-never-expressed-my-feelings-before and here’s-how-strong-they-are levels. Actually, those two might be reversed in terms of extremes…nevermind. You get what I’m saying, they’re not at either of those heights, but man, when they sing something, THEY MEAN IT.

So anyway. The band plays their intro song, mostly instrumental. Then they play another song I recognize from the album. Then the cover The Drifters' “This Magic Moment”, which is probably one of the 50 greatest songs ever written, and they do a good job. Of course they do a good job, they MEAN IT, and this song is about MEANING IT. I also begin to notice a recurring theme in their music, aside from MEANING IT, is that they write songs about drinking. I’m a fan of those. The show progresses, and eventually after more songs about drinking, covers of Morrisey, Springsteen, and the Jim Carroll Band, I decide these guys are actually pretty good live. So, maybe go see them if you like that kind of thing. They exceeded expectations, especially if your expectation is a 1.6 and you didn’t pay for a ticket. Damn it. I wrote this entire entry before actually reading that 1.6 review for the first time and see that Ian Cohen emphasized how they “mean it” before I thought of it. Guess that’s why he’s a writer and I just recap drinking. I shake my fist in unmasked admiration at you, Ian.

Tuesday, 10/27 – Rick and I meet the recently re-motivated Halljams at The Spread, #149. It’s a pit stop for dinner before our first visit to the recently opened Lincoln Hall down the street. The Spread used to be a classier restaurant, now it’s a standard upscale bar. Apps are ½ off, we order a lot of them -- Veggie Quesadillas, Slidersx2, Chicken Tenders, Fries, and whatever Halljams ordered (Mac Snacks?).

Our conversation topic turns to marathons…specifically Boston and New York. Nearly all of the OMTC has now signed up for Boston in April, so I’m looking forward to finishing EBONY’s 2009 mission and getting some serious winter training going. New York, being only a few weeks away at the time, and this past weekend as of this writing, turned out to be one glorious day for US men’s distance running. Meb Keflezighi takes the title wearing his USA jersey, the first American man to win NYC since 1982. 6 other Americans finish in the top 10. This inspires both Rick and I to sign up for Boston immediately after watching the race on television.
Some idiot writers in the press and online seem to have decided that since Meb wasn’t born in the US, his win doesn’t really count as American Victory. I won’t bother linking to those articles because they already don’t deserve the online traffic spikes they’ve been seeing due to their outrageous claims. Really though, America, Meb’s family moved here when he was 12 years old. He proudly wears his USA jersey in most events. He is a product of American Distance Running. He has represented our country in the Olympics. He trains with American coaches and other American athletes. He’s been an American citizen since 1998. It wouldn’t matter to me if he became an American citizen last week. Seems like some in our society only know how to connect with a person or appreciate a story when they look like you, talk like you, have the same background as you, and meet whatever high standards you require in order for them to represent and stand under the same title and flag you wave – because the standards and regulations upheld by the USCIS apparently aren’t good enough for you. Their views are full of crap. I guess we’ve got fringe everywhere now, and the problem with the internet age is that increasingly the ideas of the fringe are given status larger than that of a soapbox on a street corner. America is...

I digress. Marsden joins us at The Spread as we get our bill, and we move down to Lincoln Hall, #150. It’s a great place for such a nice round number. Fittingly for both Rick and I, the 150th bar we’ve crossed of our list this year is a music hall serving great beer and showcasing excellent music. Tonight’s lineup has friends of the gregarious Halljams, The Prairie Cartel, up first, followed by The Smith Westerns and Neon Indian. Neon Indian's show is billed as “their first in Chicago”, but faithful readers will know that EBONY saw them perform in our fair city just 1.5 months ago. Marsden has a beer with us, so he officially joins the very long list of supporters who have shared a pint and taken part on our journey this year.

The Cartel is great, as expected, although the size of the room and the mix of the band leave a little something to be desired. I want the bass and general noise to shake the room and everything in it. It’s just not quite loud enough. Hope they get this figured out for future shows (both the Cartel and Lincoln Hall). I couldn’t begin to describe the Smith Westerns, we spent their set in the front room drinking. Neon Indian was as expected, same show as before in the loft-space, just with more indie-kids and blogosphere readers in attendance this time around. Not a bad set, but as a Prairie Cartel member put it, “You’ll just spend the set trying to figure out if the girl is hot and the 2 guys are brothers.”

Until next time (next time being the post that includes 2 nights of our ridiculous halloween weekend). Would you dance, if I asked you to dance?

You Got The Money. We Got The Soul

Prior to recapping Saturday I need to add a couple of notes from last weekend's Roadhouse 66/Sox game.
Annie, asked by Rick if she prefers watching baseball or track & field (the two sports generally gracing our television), "Track & Field. I didn't even have to think about that."
And one more comment from the bachelorette 3 rows in front of us when ordering her hot dog, "I only want mustard because ketchup is stupid!" Perhaps the only moment when I didn't view her with disdain.

Now on to Saturday's bar crawl, featuring the return of Hall, game 7, game 2, popcorn on the floor and derby hats.
Firkin & Pheasant is a new joint on Diversey just west of Clark, next door to Matisse. It looked fairly impressive from the outside and we were looking forward to going there. This eager anticipation was replaced by unanimous letdown immediately upon entering. Carpet? Fancy booths? Big screen TVs not only playing Access Hollywood but also with the audio turned on...30 minutes before the climactic game in the greatest first round NBA playoff series ever? Did I mention the carpet? Overpriced food, unspectacular beer list, this joint is really more restaurant than watering hole.
Hall arrives and immediately makes the quote book, "This place is like a Ponderosa."
Tim arrives and also expresses his disappointment with the F&P, "This place reminds me of the Winchester from Shawn of the Dead...except for the carpeting, the booths, the lack of a pool table, no jukebox, and no rifle above the bar. Basically except for everything." Eventually they changed the audio to some generic music feed and we end with Third Eye Blind soundtracking our Fish & Chips. Tim orders the giant hotdog. It arrives:
"Oh Jesus Christ."
"That's the gayest food I've ever seen."
"Good Lord, this thing looks like a dick."

We decide Durkin's might be a good place to catch the basketball game. It wasn't a good place to catch the basketball game. Somehow Rick had never been to Durkin's before, which doesn't seem to make sense. A Kentucky Derby bar crawl had been going on earlier in the day and there's a handful of girls still around wearing their giant obnoxious hats. We move to the back room where it's less crowded and end up next to some loud guys at the bar who have probably been drunk since 1998. One of them has been cut off already. The back room TV's also aren't hi-def...whatever it is we're after isn't at Durkin's.

Leaving at halftime we head over to The Hidden Shamrock, the first good decision we made today. We're joined by a member of The Prairie Cartel, we drink some Bell's, and we watch the Bulls fail to knock off the Celtics in a somewhat anticlimactic game 7 that is redeemed by the fact that it is possibly Ben Gordon's last as a Bull. For some reason we discuss parenting skills...namely teaching any future sons to either be left-handed knuckleballers or field goal kickers. Everyone needs a retirement plan, right?

Next stop on the tour after watching the Blackhawks take revenge in game 2 of their second round series? The Burwood Tap. When we used to live at the 907 we had two great neighborhood bars in opposite directions on Wrightwood -- the Burwood Tap and the Wrightwood Tap. The Wrightwood Tap has since been remodeled and lost every ounce of character it once had -- hence we stopped visiting. Burwood, on the other hand, remains intact and has also improved significantly now that it no longer smells of cigarettes. Hall dumps a tray of popcorn on the floor and we are scolded by the back room bouncer protecting whatever super-important private party was going on. Annie joins us to make up for Tim's departure.

Another topic of discussion tonight...if you were independently wealthy would you use your money for evil? Would you use it to exploit your friends? (ala Mr. Burns in the episode where he makes Homer his monkey) If anyone was wondering, Hall definitely would. "I'll pay off your student loans if you xxxxCENSOREDxxxx."

Last stop (for EBONY at least), Tin Lizzy for a post-Wisconsin marathon celebration with some friends. I mostly just sat on the giant Red couch chair in the back waiting for us to head elsewhere. Rick and Hall left for Lincoln Square, which may or may not have been a good decision. I ended up at Baby Atlas and Big City Tap (already breaking my vow never to return there), and somehow I managed to lose one of my shirts before the night ended.

Everyone woke up alive on Sunday, so all is once again right in the world. After a weak April we're starting May off right. Not only is this my birthday month it's also American Craft Beer month at Binny's, which I appreciate and my checking account doesn't. We'll both be out of town next weekend (Mother's Day), but the following weekend will be Kyle's Birthday Bar Crawl on Saturday the 16th. List of destinations to be determined soon and probably posted here. Until then, stay thirsty my friends.