Chinatown is for Lovers

In midst of "bar crawl" home from US Cellular Field

Maybe at some point Kyle will get a write-up of our 12 bar excursion from 10 days ago. With this long of a wait and the fact that Kyle has taken a couple days off work to prep for the piece, I am expecting Gold. The bar has been set.

Outside the Lines

In honor of the federal holiday which was based off the Canadian holiday, we gathered up our Canadian expatriate in Holland, and Chenoweth for good measure, for an afternoon White vs. Red battle amongst of the Sox at the Cell. We knocked off a few bevies at Bridgeport’s new classy (only one?) establishment in Rocky’s. Rocky’s brings a new charm/sophistication to the neighborhood in which will eventually retake the pre/post Sox game revelry void since Jimbo’s was closed down.

The game itself was in typical Mark Buehrle fashion. I’ve been to 15 Sox games this year, and I believe Buehrle has pitched in 7 of them. In the end, the Southsiders took home another W against their Bawstonian opponents in taking three of four in the series. All four of us were definitely good and buzzed after many Miller products, along with some Becks and Heineken in our bellies. The Brooks Boyer promotion this weekend was a Staycation at the Cell, this included $1 hot dogs and pretzels. We each consumed 2 of the chewy $1 hot dogs and have somehow lived to tell about. Holland has his theory why they were selling them for only a buck, but I’d rather not recollect his hypothesis at this moment. Our other source of laughter in this game came from Holland, who may I repeat is from Canada, complaining about our seats being too cold in the shade. We move to the sun and I graciously (this will come back and bite me) offer him some sun tan lotion I brought. The kid looked like an elephant ejaculated on him after he put half the bottle of SPF-50 on his arms and legs as the white goo puddled all over his skin. Being from the North and as pale as I am, I assumed he knew how to apply it. Apparently I should never assume the intellect of an attorney.

After the game we stumbled back to Rocky’s for a beer on their outdoor patio and then over to Ethyl's Party to continue our afternoon buzz. None of us have ever been or heard of this place, and the only reason we decided to go was because Metromix claimed it was in the area. Boy were we not let down. Ethyl’s is a converted funeral home to a bar for the locals (majority Italians) in the neighborhood (Armour Park) to get away from their wives. Describing it in words can’t do its justice; you just need to visit the place. It still looks like they have funeral services here, expect they added a bar on the side wall. The place is dump, but in a good way. There is an odd pungent smell, paint splattered throughout the walls, and a plethora of potted plants throughout the room. Whoever Ethyl was, she knew how to get down. Now if the aesthetics weren’t enough, the clientele definitely put this place on the map. We were the only ones who didn’t know everyone else at the bar, and I’m pretty sure we were in the minority in that we weren’t smoking in the bar. Who needs laws when your bar is run by the mob (this is a pure speculation on EBONY’s part, and has no proven merit behind it)? There are free beef sandwiches were the casket would be, but learning that the kitchen is the old embalming room, we pass. Given the state of the bathroom, I would have guessed the embalming was done there. The waitress was probably more intoxicated than we were. She comes over to our table and immediately locks eyes with Holland. As she gets closer, the pungent smell of the bar is diffused by the lotion smell emitted from Holland’s pores. Of course I get blamed for this, and am immediately thrown under the bus and even implied to be a homosexual because of this. Thanks Derek. After a couple $2 beers we come up with the brilliant idea of making this a pub crawl all the way back to the Northside. Now for those of you who aren’t cartographers at home, the mapping of US Cellular Field to our homes is quite a distance, probably in the 8-10 mile range, yet in our intoxicated state, we are never shy from a challenge.

Next stop on the surly bus express: Chinatown. It’s safe to say that four highly intoxicated Caucasians stood out like a sore thumb in getting to Cermak. Chenoweth is on a mission to find an “authentic Chinese bar”, but in the sake of time we elect for Won Kow for a quick beer. We perch down at the bar (note: there really isn’t a bar here, it’s mostly a family restaurant with a couple bar stools in the corner). The “bartender”/waiter is polite enough to turn the TV to Golf Channel for us as quickly down our Tsingtao. After this we debate on which direction to go, either to the South Loop or Greektown. We decide that Greektown is more on our way and we get in a cab to make time. Yes we went against the general rules associated with a pub crawl, but then again, our terrain in between points A and B are pretty barren. I think we all realized we were a lot drunker than we were upon arrival. I couldn’t even tell you the name of the restaurant we went too, but it has an outdoor patio (The Parthenon, Acropolis, Athenian Room, Gyros Hut, Lambs R Us?). Don’t remember much here, I know we each had a Hillas to drink and Derek ordered 5 appetizers for us to share. Afterwards we caved in to the idea of crawling the 5 or so miles back home and just hopped on the #8 for early to bed evening. We dreamed big, but failed. Maybe we should have followed the words of Aesop, “I’ve never had a dream in my life, because a dream is something you want to do and still never pursued. I did what I wanted, and did it until it was done. And that’s the dream I’ve had since Day 1.”

Throughout our pub crawl Kyle was texting me quotes from the afternoon since we didn’t have our trusty notebook with us. Given I have little recollection to the later afternoon hours and don’t necessarily know the context behind it; I’ll just paste them here.
“I am the Cherry master.” – I think from the video poker machine at Ethyl’s
“I can swim from Brazil to Africa. Yeah, and Sarah Palin can see from Alaska to Russia.”
“Rick doesn’t like the beer. No, I do like it, I’m just drunk.”
“I say we get a mojito.”

Our count of bars we’ve both visited together outside the mile radius is now at 29. I’m not sure if I’m proud or disgusted. Also don’t forget to follow us on Twitter @EmptyBlog. Peace.

Google map of our route

taste's like beer and grape juice

April has been quite foolish to us as we've been slacking a bit. We tackled our tenth bar (well tenth inside the radius, we've been to at least an additional 7 outside) of the month which brings us well below the 15 per month quota we set for ourselves. Fortunately we started at a blistering pace that Jim Akita couldn't even hang with and so far have 76 crossed off the list. Once again the link to the right has the full list and now includes all the bars we've visited outside the mile radius as well - this total is approaching the 200 mark.

Saturday marked the only bar we tackled when Annie and us met up at Roadhouse 66 before the White Sox game. The Roadhouse is basically a Texas saloon on the tip of Wrigelyville. We were the only patrons in the bar and huddled in the corner watching the Penn Relays on ESPN. After a few minutes the bartender was nice enough to put the Penn Relays on all the TV's and have the sound for the meet going for us. I think he was quite puzzled as we were immersed watching each event and spouting names that unless you ran 4 years in college or are a complete running geek, you would be left completely clueless and puzzled. The highlight of the meet was the 75+ year old 100m. dash. Those old dudes could roll. The peak of this amazement was the old man in the full sweat suit and gloves in the 80 degree heat in lane 1. The greatest part of the Penn Relays every year is in the Steeplechase. The whole crowd gets in a chant of "Fall, Fall, Fall" at the water pit and somehow every year someone bites the dust, see the video below for this years fatality. After a couple Red Hook IPAs we headed down to Bridgeport for the Sox game.



We nearly froze our ass at Comiskey but were ultimately warmed in the later innings when Cuban nailed his 5th Grandslam of his short career which will hopefully propel him out of his sophomore slump. In his career he is 9 for 18 with bases loaded, and 5 HRs, those numbers are damn intimidating. Outside of the game itself we were ultimately entertained by the bachelorette party of 15 hammered girls sitting 3 rows in front of us. There were plenty of penis trinkets and obscenities to go around. I think they single handily kept the Jermaine Dye look-a-like Margarita vendor in business on the 35 degree evening. Also worth noting was the mother of the bride who was flat out passed out in her seat 75% of the game. Congratulations bride-to-be, you took 3 years off your mothers life. Speaking of margaritas, a dad with his family ordered one and immediately handed it his daughter. Kyle and I both think she looked 13, maybe 14 years old, but definitely under 16. She took one sip and replied "eww, it tastes like beer and grape juice." But 30 minutes later the cup was empty and she was dancing like a maniac between innings. EBONY is proud of you girl, you get to be the honorary member of the month.

Side note, as I'm watching The Hills (as we do every Monday night) my new favorite character is Sleazy T - nice name fool

Saturate, fill me up; Liquidate, empty my cup

Just a few notes from our brief Saturday mid-afternoon 2-bar-crawl before I take off for 4 days in Boston.
Our discussion at Clark Street Bar involved some mathematical heavy lifting. We wondered if after the shared numbers of 2, 3 & 5 would the Prime Numbers ever again pass the Fibonacci Sequence? My guess is no...just through 9 digits Prime Numbers are only up to 23, while Fibonacci has already reached 89. The 1,000th Prime Number is something like 7,179, and at this point Fibonacci has reached a number with more digits than my excel spreadsheet at work was willing to display, no matter how wide I stretched the column and how small of a font I used. So theoretically I suppose it's possible that Prime's could eventually catch up, but it'd be pretty difficult and I'm sure the Prime Numbers that reach that far haven't yet been discovered.

Our other discussion while at Clark St? On the Sox broadcast they mentioned Bartolo Colon was the 7th winningest active pitcher in the bigs. So who were the top six? Thanks to a text from Trivia Wunderkind, Vh1 World Series of Pop Culture Champion, and pop culture blog Intensities in Ten Suburbs author Andrew we now know.
#1 - Tom Glavine (although he has since hinted at retirement)
#2 - The Big Unit
#3 - Jamie Moyer
#4 - Andy Petite
#5 - John Smoltz
#6 - Tim Wakefield
#7 - Bartolo the fat toad
Pedro, when he eventually signs, will enter the list behind Petite.

While watching the Duke-UV Lacrosse game at Kirkwood we noted their field could use the assistance of The Sodfather Roger Bossard.

Adam texts us (from 10 feet away), "There's A Dream And I Live It". Rick and I both shake our heads in disagreement.

During one of the televised horse races Rick goes with Poltergeist and I choose Danger2Society. Winner gets $1. After running in 3rd most of the race, D2S drops to last and Rick pockets a buck.

Adam, before we left: "If the Pickup Artist were here right now would he be disappointed in us?" Only with you, Adam. Only with you.

As mentioned up-post and in Rick's most recent writings, we're headed to Boston for 4 days to cheer on a few of our friends in the Boston Marathon and to generally cause trouble. A full report will follow.

Recent audio addictions:
We Were Promised Jetpacks - "Quiet Little Voices" (Thanks Bill)
The new Thermals Album - Now We Can See (they're playing The Bottom Lounge on 4/29.

Like a kitten versus rain.

We Were Born to Sin

The prior weekend was a quiet one for us, but we did tackle 2 more bars in the neighborhood. Saturday started off at Clark Street Bar where we enjoyed our overpriced hot dog and fries, and extremely cheap pitcher of 312 while watching our White Sox take on the Twinkies. I guess you can consider this a dive bar/dive eatery all in one. It’s no Hoagie Hut though, which we were truly spoiled by when we resided at the 907. The Hoagie Hut was pretty much our go to hangover joint. We have yet to find one of these places in our new neighborhood; The Bagel had a good run, but ever since Intelligentsia increased the price of their coffee by 50%, my rendezvous down to Broadway has been limited.

After watching a couple innings of the game, we headed down Wellington to meet up with Adam, Sonny and Jorge (amongst many others in their posse) at Kirkwood. They claimed they were there to watch the Masters, but it seemed to us they were more preoccupied with the surroundings of the bar (especially Adam who was trying his hardest to bring out his ‘A’ game). We stayed through the end of the Sox game and progressed our beer intake by enjoying a couple Fat Tires and then finally a Delerium Nocturnum. I am pretty sure this is the earliest in the day I have ever had a Delerium – needless to say, I had a solid buzz going for a couple hours even though I was sans drinking. There were also a handful of idiots within Kirkwood, which I guess is expected on a Saturday afternoon. One especially that sticks out was sitting at the table with Adam. He got to be known as “Sunglass Dude” since he kept his shades on while he was INSIDE the bar the whole time. Seriously why do people do this, I don’t get it? What is even worse are visors, do dudes still wear those? If they do, they should be stoned (like in Biblical times, not with a joint). Anyway, Sunglass Dude is the epitome of Wrigleyville/LP d-bag. I hope he’s reading this (as we gave him a business card) so he can straighten his life together, you can thank us later SD. Adam claimed he wasn’t his friend, but a friend-of-a-friend. Okay Adam, okay. The biggest chuckle of my day came when Jorge was looking at the beer menu and told me how much he enjoyed Kalibur. I debated if I should tell him or not that a Kalibur is a N/A beer. He’ll learn someday.

Kyle and I split ways after this, I met with Annie and we dominated some damn good BBQ at Smoque. Kyle went to a beer tasting and eventually down to Guthrie’s to play some Battleship and Connect Four. We planned on meeting them at Guthries, but it took us a good 2 hours to get home from Smoque because the Addison bus apparently doesn’t run after 8 and there no cabs in sight. So we relied on the CTA and ended up taking 3 buses to get back to her place (Pulaski to Belmont to Halsted). At this point we were beat and bailed on Kyle. I do look forward to Guthries in the near future and taking down my opponent in Scrabble.

On Sunday we headed down to Bridgeport for the White Sox game. So far we’ve been to 2 of the 6 games and my goal is to go to 1 game of every home series. We’re well on pace. We’ll be MIA next weekend as EBONY is heading out to Boston to cheer on our peeps in the Boston Marathon (and celebrate afterwards). Keep your eyes pealed though as we’ll keep the blog rolling with our exploits in Beantown. Peace.