Taste of the 70's
You know what sucks? Stooping. A lot of job requirements list "bending and stooping" or "frequent bending or stooping." What the hell is wrong with these employers? No one wants to stoop! Who the hell wants to stoop?
Be glad you're not named Brangien.
Yesterday I joined my angsty cohorts, Ryan and Goathead, and my intermittently sick-to-her-stomach cohort, Bunny, for dinner at Java Joe's. After, Andy wanted to find this bar:
The Miller High Life Lounge.
You say that name and you immediately feel your gut paunch out a couple inches. You get a hankerin to climb behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler. You go to a place like the Miller High Life Lounge and you know you're going home with a 35 year-old divorcee.
Because it wasn't listed in the phone book, we had to wander around downtown. Our plan of heading for the scuzziest neighborhoods worked, because eventually we saw the plywood-colored building with a Miller sign in the window. And if that weren't enough, a middle-aged man in a dayglo green roadworker vest stumbled out, walked in a circle, sat on the curb, head in hands, and then got up and stumbled across the parking lot. It was five in the afternoon, and we were baking in the sun.
"Wow," we said, and I knew that Bunny would probably be groped by a convoy of truckers as soon as we stepped inside. But inside the place was clean, and big, and had a hell of a curving bar. The theme, though: wow. Wood panelling, old bowling photos, antique beer signs for beers that no longer even exist. Rotary dial TVs. This place was pure 70s. If you're like me, your grandma used to live in a place like this (unless you're Amish, and your grandma lives wherever her paying customers take her for the night).
I ordered water at first but sampled Andy's Old Style. "Tastes like the 70s," he said, and it was true. It tasted like the 70s.
EPILOGUE:
I hate the 70s. Hate them. Ryan advanced the theory that in the 50's women were much easier. Aside from Ryan, there was mutual disdain for the Godforsaken neon 80s. I really don't like anything between 1929 and 1998. Opinions?
URGENT BULLETIN:
Dove candies has just informed me that "Sometimes one smile can mean more than a dozen roses."
Be glad you're not named Brangien.
Yesterday I joined my angsty cohorts, Ryan and Goathead, and my intermittently sick-to-her-stomach cohort, Bunny, for dinner at Java Joe's. After, Andy wanted to find this bar:
The Miller High Life Lounge.
You say that name and you immediately feel your gut paunch out a couple inches. You get a hankerin to climb behind the wheel of an 18-wheeler. You go to a place like the Miller High Life Lounge and you know you're going home with a 35 year-old divorcee.
Because it wasn't listed in the phone book, we had to wander around downtown. Our plan of heading for the scuzziest neighborhoods worked, because eventually we saw the plywood-colored building with a Miller sign in the window. And if that weren't enough, a middle-aged man in a dayglo green roadworker vest stumbled out, walked in a circle, sat on the curb, head in hands, and then got up and stumbled across the parking lot. It was five in the afternoon, and we were baking in the sun.
"Wow," we said, and I knew that Bunny would probably be groped by a convoy of truckers as soon as we stepped inside. But inside the place was clean, and big, and had a hell of a curving bar. The theme, though: wow. Wood panelling, old bowling photos, antique beer signs for beers that no longer even exist. Rotary dial TVs. This place was pure 70s. If you're like me, your grandma used to live in a place like this (unless you're Amish, and your grandma lives wherever her paying customers take her for the night).
I ordered water at first but sampled Andy's Old Style. "Tastes like the 70s," he said, and it was true. It tasted like the 70s.
EPILOGUE:
I hate the 70s. Hate them. Ryan advanced the theory that in the 50's women were much easier. Aside from Ryan, there was mutual disdain for the Godforsaken neon 80s. I really don't like anything between 1929 and 1998. Opinions?
URGENT BULLETIN:
Dove candies has just informed me that "Sometimes one smile can mean more than a dozen roses."
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