Club Le Conte – Society Only
Downtown Grill & Brewery – The rest of us
Le Parigo - Wonder if the duck was shipped in from Alsace?
Preservation Pub – Tiki party
Valarium & Cider House – VooDoo NY10 with downtown Hilton hotel package
The Old City
Barley’s Taproom – The usual, live music and good beer selection
Patrick Sullivan’s – Live music and the bar is open
The Crown & Goose – The Old City’s fanciest gastropub!
The Melting Pot – Someone tell Tony there’s a reservation on line 2.
BAR Knoxville – Er, maybe not?
Tin Roof – UT Basketball, UT Football. Let’s face it, there’s no way you’re sober at midnight.
Level 10 – Short West
Baker Peters Jazz Club – Damn that chicken entrée sounds delicious
Northshore Brasserie – Everything looks delicious
Paul’s Oasis – WTF
Ray’s ESG – Scarlett O’Harlot, where are you?
Sue Ellen Ewing, Dallas socialite and dysfunctional alkie. Glug-glug.
Strengths: Vengeful bitch, partial owner of Ewing Oil, powerful liver
Weaknesses: Pisses her pants around JR, repeatedly.
During the late 70's and through the decade of excess known as the 80's many viewing starved Americans gathered round the old teevee and vegged out on some quality primetime soap operas. First among equals, Dallas was the place to be for my parents and their age group that didn't roll into the dungheaps of local bars. I don't remember everything about this program, but my mother would whip my ass if I talked outside a commerical break.
Anyhoo, Sue Ellen (as any viewer could tell you) dealt with her abusive and straying bastard of a husband JR by drinking anything shy of paint thinner. Though purists and fans will tell you she only became an dreaded alkie during the show's run, my much more awesome recollection puts her squarely in the back of iconic Southfork:
Soused 24/7 often rolling about in a nightgown-in the grass, falling in the pool, flipping cowshit, etc. That's the gist. Numerous intriques, business fuckery, petrowarfare, and animal husbandry all seemed secondary to Sue Ellen's emotional minefield of suspicion and abuse. Mark well this exchange in the famous who-shot-Jr arc:
Yes, quite the reasonable response indeed. These two have more horns on their heads than irradiated cattle and it makes for great tension. Continuing in this vein, JR uses his parents(who must have sinned terribly in their previous lives) to kick her ass.
Classic. High fucking drama for 1981. Or 1982. Those days tend to blur. JR goes on to tell our stoic and sauced heroine something along the lines of her being a terrible mother and a drunk. Everything else goes nuclear when he further threatens to send her to the booby hatch. If you look closely, JR does this scene with piece of bacon in his hand.
The fact that Sue Ellen was not in fact JR's assailant is a bona fide miracle. We can only point out that her self-destructive boozing prevented a coherent premeditated murder, which in and of itself is pretty odd on this program. Dallas was sorta confusing.
Lt. Rocka is back with Episode XIII, only eight months after episode XII debuted in March. Wow, that’s the kind of productivity we can relate to. Follow the link to download his unique blend of indie music, college radio, mash ups, and occasional words of wisdom. Enjoy this one on us, Merry Christmas!
1. Animal Collective – Leaf House
2. Medeski Martin and Wood – Let’s Go Everywhere
3. Miike Snow – Animal
4. Noah and the Whale – Blue Skies (Remix)
5. Spoon – Got Nuttin
6. White Denim – Regina Holding Hands
7. Lil Wayne – Banned From TV (Lane Kiffin Puffin Remix)
8. Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeroes – 40 Day Dream
9. Micachu and the Shapes – Golden Phone
10. The Soft Pack – Answer to Yourself
11. E-360 Jackson 5
12. Jackson 5 – Doctor My Eyes
13. Notorious BIG vs Michael Jackson – Rock With You
14. NWA vs The Outfield
15. Oasis – Shock of the Lightning
16. Yeah Yeah Yeahs – Zero
17. Chali 2Na – Comin Thru
18. TV on the Radio – Cryin
19. Phoenix – Listzomania
20. The Knux – Cappucino
21. Super Furry Animals – Inaugural Trams
22. The Strokes – you only live once
We pride ourselves on attaching useless numbers and values to our drinking. For example, we prefer to boat on a craft with a high BPH quotient. What's that? Why Beer-Per-Hour value of course. The performance of the boat itself is meaningless if you can't get drunk in a hurry and remain shitfaced for hours on end. A speedboat that may haul ass is thus useless if it cannot support enough cooler space for the thirsty passengers. Conversely, a lumbering cruiser is useless if it takes too long to get back to dock for more beer** even if it can otherwise maintain a large number of boozers for a set time. A few years back yours truly and venerated compatriot Sweet Tooth tried to knock back the little 8 oz bastards of High Life...thinking that they would get colder faster and not have the lukewarm dregs we all face towards the end of a longneck.
Big. Fucking. Mistake. We went through two full packs of those little bastards before taking the first turn out of the dock. Turn back around, try again. Conversely, drinking tall boys on the lake is also disrecommended. Takes too long, beer gets warm, and the BPH suffers accordingly...to say nothing of how dumb a koozie looks on them.
Back to the last night. We are, of course, mug club members from waaaaaay back. Drinking on Tuesdays at the Brewery is cheap and you get loaded on IPA pints. Add the four ounces extra from the mug and you are getting the best deal in town. That's the truth. You can roll out of there for right at ten bucks(tip them well though) and be quite polluted.
Beerficiency is not a mere matter of ounces though, timing is also key. Every sound drunkard should be aware of specials and where to get soused on the cheap. Turns out that Wednesdays at the Brewery are quite good as well. Two-dollar pints(same as happy hour) for club members. Still the best deal, but the added 50 cents*** reduces the beerficiency accordingly.
Also timing is key. A new club member these days will have to wait for the bartender to fetch their mug...depending on how new you are, that is akin to Herakle's labors. Whereas we old fucks have ours on the low rung and the employee can get it, fill it, and you drink it quick as Pan. Beerficiency is a tricky thing, so I encourage each reader here to ask: "Am I really making the best use of my time and drinking dollar?"
For purposes of this action, I'm not including drinking at home in this formula...sure it's cheap to drink a twelve pack, but that's not entirely the point. Ridicule is also a part of this science. You can tell your dog or cat at home that you are shitfaced on Southpaw and they won't care. Smugly reminding the aging trollop with the nine dollar appletini**** that she's needlessly wasting cash is something else entirely. Mockery and pettiness are driving factors here at DK.
* The ones driving Panzers, not the pussies of today
**Buying boat dock beer is for fucking idiots
***Be certain to point out the outrage of paying the extra 50 cents
****Appletinis suck beyond belief and therefore you for ordering one
Many times I get a feeling of unease as I gape at a rapidly depleted pint. Dear Lord, what if it goes dry soon? Where is the bartender? Am I expected to fill my own mug, thus confronting my worst nightmare? Awful.
When I first came to grips with my illness, I was just out of college. Before seeking gainful employment, I decided that during the interlude I would two-fist frequently. My mind recoiled in horror at the obvious problem belied by this otherwise noble effort. Should I sip both at the same time? Is it cheating to chug one and concentrate on the other? These rotten questions were pushed aside as the bottom came closer and closer...mocking me...blah, blah, blah.
Fortunately, upon the advice of charlatans and witch-doctors I discovered that the best way to end this crippling and debilitating fear by closing ones eyes and then gulp your way to metaphysical bliss. Speak proudly to the barmaid for another. Tell your asshole friend to get his shit to the kegerator. Stroll proudly into the store for more booze early in the morning. Don't judge me, retiree, I've got an illness and I'm out of beer. This is post-modern America after all, everyone's got some baggage like this.
I would propose a therapy group, but honestly I can't help any of you. Recommend instead you go to the Brewery tonight and let those $1.50 pints salve your battered soul. Explore your rich inner landscape and spear your inner demon right in the taint.
A big word of thanks to Preservation Pub, Back Room BBQ, and Urban Bar. You saved our asses on Thanksgiving proper simply by opening your doors. My sour ass found refuge in your Lowenbraus, Newcastles, and Yuenglings. Mackey and the Royalty put on a clinic in Jager and Jamesons.
Most places close down so that their weary employees can enjoy the holiday with family and loved ones. These few joints buck the establishment and provide a necessary outlet for those of us that desperately need a ennui-killing mini pub crawl. Thanks folks, you came through in a pinch. So with that, let DfV begin...
It's not limited to my religious friends either. Oh no, my atheist compadres also will bore me with a litany of shit. I'm sure God enjoys the irony of both groups being quite like the other in this regard.
I'm quite aware that being a 30-something means I still don't know shit. I'm dumb like an extinct species. What I can tell you is that I learned from a precious few good people what to be thankful for. Surviving Normandy or Hue. Pulling through a nasty life-threatening illness. Eating some meat when you've had more than a year or two of beans and garden grown potatoes. Having a roof over your head that's not a canvas or built to house hundreds. Nearly all of these things I learned from my paternal grandfather, a man in every sense of the word...a man whose shoes I wasn't fit to shine(largely because I've always had shoes). The economy may suck ass, but pick up a history book and look back a few decades if you want to see real Goddamn monetary distress in the world.
I'm thankful on Turkey Day for the things I'm thankful for 24/7/365. I encourage everyone to go into a private room and recount what makes you feel grateful. It's just as valid in the dark as when you drop leaflets from your warplanes.
I'll buy a beer for someone who just tells me, flat out, that this Thanksgiving they are thankful for beer, bird, and football*. This is one American who won't find you a shallow prick. You're being more honest than most. I refer to this holiday and the days around it as Drinksgiving, but I'm not going to tell every asshole I see about it in obnoxious detail and for that good readers-- give earnest thanks. Because, I really don't know shit.
* in fucking hi-def of course
The second annual drunk breakfast is in the books. We drank a lot of Irish coffees, a significant number of bloody Marys, vodka/juices, good beer and later just straight whiskey. We also had plenty to eat - biscuits and gravy, sausage links, eggs, hash browns to begin, and then a robust round of pancakes before decadent eggs Benedict completed breakfast. Overall things went a little too close to plan, not something we normally expect when we put together these types of gatherings. Next up: Deep Fried Feast.
It's not unusual for a bar to hold a card for the tab, I grant that. Even fine with it, although my regular bars would get crucified if they asked me for a card. The truth is that some places get ripped off on a frequent basis and creativity with opening and closing a tab can keep the place in the black and won't make the employees unhappy. We as patrons deserve some of the blame for running out on tabs, miserly tipping, drawing arrogant birds on the receipt, etc. However, if I give a card and then opt to pay cash when leaving-that should be the end of it. Instead I've got an uncomfortable hand in my wallet for a few days even after I should be in the clear. Two places that I visit on a semi-regular basis have this misguided policy.
What relevance does the photo have with the post? Absolutely none, but I've wanted to use it for some time and have zero idea how to work it in to a usual topic. Maybe some loose connection to the Governor of Colliefornia and their credit/cash woes? Whatever.
I thought about whether or not to post this...complaint is the term, since the offenders are two bars that we have reviewed positively. I'll not identify them since I really enjoy both establishments and realize I am coming off as a nitpicky bastard. Just airing a grievance in advance of Festivus. Looks like I'll be taking a Adam Jones-ish wad of cash* and make it rain after each beer.
*No more than 20 US dollars
Happy Birthday to a great drunkard. The foggy memories of when you trashed this town in a constant debauch remain firmly entrenched in downtown Knoxville lore. Your trail of tears will not be forgotten.
Jesus Christ. Bad, bad idea. Some older women had gathered around these abandoned flops and prevented any attempt to break them loose. They may have been shit-faced. I certainly was.
Not a drunkard was sad, not even a frown
The tickets were purchased in advance and with care
There would be no tickets had next day at the fair
The brewers had arrived and checked in their rooms
Staying downtown they’d soon party like loons
The hosts were preparing for guests far and near
A welcoming dinner of good food and beer
This day had been rainy, cloudy, grey and plain dreary
But none of this mattered, brewers always seem cheery
“To hell with the weather”, you’d imagine they’d say
Neither hell nor high water will ruin this day
Be it blizzard, tornado, or 100 degrees
The party would go on with relative ease
When what to my parched mouth and achy liver should appear
A friend with a growler of hand crafted beer!
I grinned wide, shouted “hey”, then quicker than Pan
A fresh, delicious beer was thrust in my hand
I thanked my good pal for offering the favor
Then put drink to mouth and cherished the flavor
A pale ale, a brown ale, a bock and a stout
How many more until we run out?
More brewers arrived with tales of tall measure
Things were just getting started on this evening of pleasure
More pilsner, alt, porter – we appear to be fine
And last it arrived, the famous barley wine
I’d had it before and I must confess
The results of imbibing were not much success
Don’t drink it too fast, don’t be in a rush
Your body will warm and cheeks will soon blush
A wonderful sensation as it flows with each taste
Careful not to spill - too precious to waste!
My eyes turned to slits, my vision was hazy
For some damn reason my legs became lazy
The room was swimming ‘round and my body was reeling
This is how I remember the barley wine feeling
But this could not end, the night was still early
I had to find relief and so I did hurry
A good meal of food, now that will do the trick
I filled up a plate and ate it down quick
Regaining a feeling of sensible content
Back to the tap for more beer I went
Easy this time, I didn’t over-do it
If you believe that, then you’re a half-wit
The brewers’ gathering became a comfortable uproar
Beer, friends and family, who could want more
The hosts had provided another hell of a party
Enough that a few, tomorrow, would be tardy
But this night was only for the selected few
Who make it their job and passion to brew
If you weren’t invited there’s no reason for sorrow
There’s plenty of beer to be had tomorrow
So get there on time, bring a chair and your liver
It’s a charity fund raiser, so you’ll be a giver
No need to practice by drinking urine of a ram
See you Saturday at the Brewers Jam
Note with the genteel black and white advertisement and overall folksy kitsch one could almost think that the 60's were a fine time to be alive. Let's all drink some Schlitz and the one, solitary beer that Anheuser Busch produces-Budweiser.
With the modern marvels of a greedy NFL and HDTV we actually see what we young turks were missing:
Oof. This? Look I realize that TV coverage in those days was still in black and white...but my God, did the teams of yesteryear just assume that the actual spectators were blind as well? A pox on the Broncos. Give me standard definition and a small screen, please.
Friday’s whiskey consumption was nothing compared to that on Saturday at OCI on the strip. I met the group for an “entertaining” affair of food, drink and belated birthday celebration that wound up as it usually does – drunken, obnoxious public behavior. Very surprisingly we toned down the profanity and f-bombs when some families with minors showed up, but not completely of course. I don’t blame the $3 big gulps of beer as much as I do the countless shots of Jameson’s, Maker’s and other various shots. Plus no group outing would be complete without pointless arguing, drama and dangerous face plants (not me this time!). I hope everyone has recovered adequately enough to return to work this week.
Sunday was a day of recovery as it often is. Football and couches go together so well. I managed to keep my beer intake under 5-6 pints and ended a very tranquil day with a fine pork sandwich with slaw from Dead End BBQ (updated website). This is the first time I’ve had their sandwich and the slaw contains bleu cheese that sends the taste off the charts, at least IMHO. It was exquisite!
Oh, did you think I’d forget to add these?
Yeah, it's droat season.
I've already noticed several out and about with the cool weather today and suppose they're here for oh, another 4-6 months. Guess we all know what else is on the way.
(to be continued)