Great Drunks of the Silver Screen

Ladies and Gentlemen I give you Arthur, handsomely portrayed by the late great Dudley Moore.


Superpowers: Drinks served on platters, naming daughters Vladimir, wealth beyond the dreams of avarice

Arguably the most recognizable of movie drunks in the postmodern era. Would that my drunken cabal possess a manservant of Sir John Gielgud's wisdom...

Arthur: Hobson, do you know what the worst thing is about being me?

Hobson: I should imagine your breath.

An Open Letter-

to the wretched androgyne wading amongst us last night at the pub. Oh, is it a boy or a girl? How clever. How very 1990's Imperial Drag.

Look, you would repulse me enough based upon your mannish attire, worn in such a way to obscure any potential mammaroid sightings. Your walk is indicative of the chain-wallet crowd, and your fake tan is baffling given it is summer and you could obtain some shade via natural means. Most stunning at all is your choice of hairstyle, known to all as the Horn of Aggression. Get a load of these examples:
















Sweet merciful Jesus. Death take me quickly. You realize, sexless man-woman, that this particular abortion of style has unsophisticated roots long documented in cave drawings?
Get the message? No? I will elaborate further, you shame yourself and worse yet everyone around you as every bar patron is forced to contend with your personal choice. The beer tastes flatter, and no one knows which bathroom you are going to use. It's extremely poor form.

If being compared to a Cro-Magnon, Neatherthal, or Australopithecines doesn't motivate you to change, allow me to also point out you resemble the douchebags of Jersey or Long Island. I mean, we've all seen these cliched pics circulating around Al Gore's internet for years now, but since you didn't get the memo:


I weep for the future. Until nuclear artillery is an option, please stay the F out of my bar.

Tuesday Night Drinks

This Tuesday promises to be another great installment of TND. Not only will there be drinks aplenty (no kidding), but tonight we have a special out of town guest visiting all the way from Philly, PA - Lt. Rocka! I should say passing through because he is on a long-ass road trip - driving from Philly to Los Angeles to live in paradise. Not knowing when he'll be passing this way again we need to show him a good time and make this visit to K-town one to remember.

Now Rocka is a UT alum and knows this town from top to bottom. Or at least he used to before "the Strip" was converted to a sandwich/chicken finger concession stand and West Knoxville stretched to Turkey Creek. Nonetheless his ample skills will be enough to get him through 1 night in our little ol' town. I'm sure we'll start by front loading at my place awaiting his arrival. After that is an open slate. Lt. Rocka is all about the music scene so I may scour the local listings to see if anything decent is happening. In the mean time I've included a link to his music downloads if you're up for some mixed music, spoken word and other crazy shit. Check it out, have some fun, you know the drill.

Bar Review: Sidestreet Tavern

Oddly, the blur in the photo closely mirrors my drunk ass vision at the time.

Today we review another of the 'short west' bars, this one firmly lodged in the quaint little mess...er maze of Homberg Place. Sidestreet Tavern looks to be a converted dentist or doctor's office from the 1970's, that is to say a weird layout and floorplan. For example, there are two bars of modest size on opposite ends of the place. To be fair, both bars are suitably equipped and comfortable...well placed televisions and perhaps the rarest of all bar gems--a damn jukebox with a proper artist list and volume keyed at just the right level. Bonus: Cute girl at the bar with musical taste at said jukebox. So far so good.

One of the weirder aspects of this place is the upstairs area. It's basically an open area that reeks of a converted bedroom or office. Cozy couches and some bar games give it the appearance of someone's living room. Seems a pretty cool place to loiter, but you will have to navigate stairs to get a refill. As we all know, stairs/steps are the bane of the besotted drunkard so tread with care.

Sidestreet offers a standard pub fare on the menu...nothing outrageous to be found there, and they have a liberal happy hour policy from 3-8 everyday. Not bad at all, although that information would have been more helpful to me with more than six minutes remaining. Shit.

This is one of the dwindling number of bars in Knoxville that still permits smoking, so leave your kids at home(where they should be anyway, you jackasses) and prepare to launder your garments afterward.

Oh, and for the love of God, don't park in the kitschy antique store parking lot. Sumbitches will tow your ass, as the ubiquitous signs proclaim quite loudly.

So, if you are in this part of town and want to drink a few in a place other than the Toddy's consortium...you're in luck, Sidestreet will take good care of you. The service is impeccable and friendly.

Monday Hangover

Goddammit I’m kicking mad!! Today was supposed to get off to a great start. Monday hangover was going to cover all the fun I had getting pissed drunk all weekend. All the beer I drank Friday starting at lunch. The beautiful new keg of IPA I have in my kick-ass kegerator. The 2nd drunk Friday evening going into the early hours of the morning. The cookout/bonfire Saturday night complete with whiskey drinking. And even further drinking Sunday afternoon at Sidestreet Tavern.

But no. No. Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooo. My laptop has crashed. Again.

Computers crash and burn all the time, but mine was just fresh from the repair shop for less than two weeks and it apparently has the exact same problem as before. So instead of typing my worthless, drunken account of the weekend on my private laptop I’m limited to my work PC. I’m so pissed off about it that I could really use a drink….

Haiku

Work ends on Friday
Weekend drinks for happiness
Monday sucks anew

Review: Slivovitz

And I looked, and behold a pale horse: and his name that sat on him was Death, and Hell followed with him. Revelation of St. John 6:8

With apologies to Mr. Blake, with whom I doubt very seriously ever expected his famed rendering of Death on horseback to grace a booze blog. Then again he probably never tasted the brutal horror that is slivovitz, aka Hellhooch.

This review is a curious one. To wit, the authors of this blog will each shudder and squirm when remembering trips to Restaurant Linderhoff in Farragut. Though we do not consume this murderous plum brandy often, we do feel a sense of shame and terror at the very mention of the liquor. Twice in recent memory we've journeyed deep to the west of Knox County for authentic German cuisine and atmosphere. Twice we've acted like boors, cads, rakes, and in one nasty case--the accused. However, that's a story for a different post. Lets stick to the topic and review at hand:

Fucking plum brandy from the Goddamn Balkans. This shit tastes literally like fire...I've often spoke of it in hushed whispers "like tequila made in a coal mine" and that's being generous. It defies taste. In fact, I'm not going to take this much further. This shit will kill you. Need concrete proof? Then consider our clinical case of young college student Slobodan Tyrone Washington Jefferson Radesvic Milosevic(no relation) aged 22 years:

Get the idea? Stay the fuck away from this shit. Your criminal record, your relationships, your family, et all will thank you. I am firmly convinced the Black Hand organization was on this tripe when Archduke Ferdinand was assassinated and thus triggered World War One. If you've ever seen our group at Linderhoff, you'll wonder why more global wars haven't erupted. Fuck the former Yugoslavian states with a board wrapped in concertina wire.