Kokomo Nights

Apparently, "Cocktail" was in need of a Bollywood Makeover

For this installment of W.T.S., I would like to talk about a serious issue... bar movies. Every man worth his ..um, boys.. has seen "Roadhouse". It is the single best thing you can hope to find on TBS at one AM. This was actually the only bar themed movie I had been familiar with.. until yesterday. Oh, sure, I had HEARD of "Cocktail".. the soundtrack scarred me for life as a child. There might even be a VHS somewhere where my mother and aunts made my brothers and me sing "Kokomo" (what do you want.. I was ten!). Despite that, or perhaps because of it, it took being alone at the family cabin this week for three days to actually watch it. I had burned through my favorites ("Total Recall", "Life of Brian", etc) and was face to face with the dreaded Bottom of the Camp Movie Box: "S.W.A.T."? bah, "Sister Act"? no thanks, "Divine Secrets of the Ya-Ya Sisterhood" sure, if I start ovulating, "Cocktail"? hmmm.. why not?

Now that I have two contenders for "Best Bar Movie That W.T.S. Has Ever Seen", I feel there is only one way to settle this. Rather than go through the synopsis of both movies and save you four hours of your life, I will be using the sports section cliche of a "head to head" match up. I will be using my seven years of full-time bar experience as my qualification, and will be completely objective despite my obvious bias. Actually, I will put my own life in the match up as well. How about that! RH will stand for "Roadhouse", CT for "Cocktail", and WTS for me. Let the games begin..

Back Story
RH: Dalton (Patrick Swayze), a legendary bouncer or "cooler", is persuaded to leave NYC for EBF (look it up) to work at a rowdy.. you guessed it, roadhouse!
CT: Brian Flanagan (Tom Cruise) leaves the military only to find that his quest to become a millionaire is stymied by a lack of education. He reluctantly becomes a drink jockey to get by.
WTS: WTS, a functional alcoholic, becomes a bartender to avoid responsibility and someday perchance write the Great American Novel.

Edge? Me.
Objectively, whose life would you rather watch? If this was all you had to go on, back story; I honestly think I win. Flanagan sounds like many of my chums already, so he comes in  last. A legendary bouncer, working at a hick bar? I guess, but I only know a couple of interesting bouncers.

Protagonist Best Bar Attribute
RH: Kicking your ass twelve ways until Sunday.
CT: Flipping bottles and picking up bar skanks.
WTS: Making your damn drink.

Edge; Roadhouse
Dalton wins hands down. I come in second, only because I can pour ten drinks in the time Tom Cruise is flipping bottles like an asshole. He's also picking up your girlfriend. Actually, I might be too. Is she hot?

Douchiest Hobby
RH: Meditating in tights.
CT: Composing poetry
WTS: Composing poetry

Edge? Roadhouse
Dalton wins again! Or loses. Whatever. Tie for second biggest douche.

Buddy
RH: Wade Garrett (Sam Elliot), an even bigger badass, just a little past his prime.
CT: Doug Coughlin (Bryan Brown), a charming rascal, just waiting for his ship to come in.
WTS: Magnus Cockburn, a charming rascal, just waiting for his ship to come in.

Edge? Roadhouse
Sam Elliot. This blog just got more badass for simply mentioning him. Another two way tie for second.

Location
RH: The Double Deuce, where Jeff Healey might have lost his eyesight from the broken glass being thrown while he played. Where one attractive woman can precipitate the Battle of Thermopolis, except with pool cues and jagged bottles. This bar really sucks, actually.
CT: One corny late-Eighties Upper East Side bar after another, Jamaica, and back to New York for "Cocktails and Dreams" (gag)
WTS: A rowdy but not too dangerous bar in an Arizona ski town, and an oyster bar with an outdoor cafe in downtown Boston (come find me, if you dare).

Edge? Cocktail
This was close, but bartending in the eighties in Jamaica and New York? Hard to compete with that. I would rather work for the cantina at Mos Eisley than the Double Deuce.

Love Interest
RH: Dr Elizabeth Clay (Kelly Lynch), a small town doc who patches him up after a fight. Chicks dig bad boys.
CT: Jordan Mooney (Elizabeth Shue), an heiress who likes to draw.
WTS: So ronery..oh so ronery...

Edge? Roadhouse
Dalton found himself a doctor! Handy, when your job is "legendary bouncer whom everybody wants a piece of". If he didn't screw it up, Flanagan would have won hands down. A young Liz Shue whose father owns half of Manhattan..yes, please! A pregnant struggling artist who was disowned by her family and is a horrible server, I'll keep looking. Fun fact: Kelly Lynch played Swayze's love interest in Roadhouse and drew the attention of Tom Cruise's character as Bryan Brown's love interest in Cocktail.

Worst Line
RH: "I used to fuck guys like you back in prison!"
CT: "Cocktails and dreams.. you know that would be a good name for a place!"
WTS: "I'm out of booze. Want to come over for some.. water?"

Edge? Roadhouse
"Cocktails and Dreams" is a horrible name for a bar. It's a name for a template on "Tumblr" at best, not a bar. Still, the line from roadhouse is bad in an awesome way. Dalton gets the points, even though he didn't deliver the line. I get second because she said yes, much to my surprise.

Best Line
RH: "Be nice.. be nice.. until it it's time to NOT be nice."
CT: "It always ends badly. Or else it would never end."
WTS: "Now get back in there and arm-wrestle your dead mother!"

Edge? Cocktail
It wins for general quotability. I'm giving Roadhouse second for the same reason. As for mine, you had to be there. But if I were a movie, you WOULD have. You will just have to trust me on this one.

Soundtrack
RH: A bunch of blues songs covered by (mostly) Jeff Healey, plus a couple of tracks by 'The Swayz'.
CT: Oh God! Make it stop! Phew.. Okay, with a recurring Jimmy Cliff 'love-theme', a Beach Boys redux, and a list of artists both classic and unknown this soundtrack won numerous awards.
WTS: Hmmm. Tom Waits, "16 Shells From a Thirty Aught Six" and "Cold Water"; Talking Heads, "Slippery People" and "Swamp"; NEU!, "Hallogallo", Electric Six, "Future is in the Future"; Steely Dan, "Show Biz Kids" and "King of the World"; Cameo, "Candy"; The Clash, "Mustapha Dance"; Rick James, "Give it to me Baby"; just of the top of my head.

Edge? Me
Of course I am going to pick a soundtrack I put together to accompany my adventures over some tired, dated music from that culturally bankrupt period before the nineties.

And Finally, Cultural Impact
RH: Bouncers with Philosophy degrees
CT: Douchey bartenders who think they are poets and jugglers
WTS: Not sure yet

Edge? Me
First.. Do No Harm. I win, they tie for second. Of course someone may want to retally this after I get famous.

Added on 12/4
Last night I was visited by the ghost of Patrick Swayze, who reads this blog on the regs and was very disappointed in my arbitrary result. After a long night of shirtless pottery making, while listening to the Righteous Brothers, he convinced me that ties were unAmerican. He pointed out that the quote from Cocktail was the best, while mine was nearly unquotable. I agreed, and changed it as you may have noticed. This gave him the win. He also pointed out that I had neglected to mention villains. duh. So here we go..

Villains
RH: Brad Wesley, a local town rich guy that has people murdered and drives monster trucks over car dealerships. He also has henchmen, mostly bumbling of course.
CT: I don't know if there is one. Nothing bad really happens to him. Lame
WTS: WTS
Edge? Roadhouse
In my defense, at least Dalton could kill his villain. I'm stuck with the SOB my whole life.

Fight Scene
RH: At least a third of the movie. Roundhouse kicks and all.
CT: Tom Cruise punches three guys.
WTS: Most of my early twenties, I'll tell you about it sometime. Only a couple of roundhouse kicks, though. One beer bottle to the head.

Edge? Roadhouse
You, win. Swayze.

There you have it, people. The universe has been set right. Roadhouse wins by, I don't know.. 12. Well, it's ending badly for Cocktail. But it always ends badly, or else it would never end. What's that, Swayze? Did you just say.. "ditto"???

Is there gas in the caaaarrr?

The Dan, relaxing after a long tour.

Yes, there's gas in the caaaarrrrr!
Hello from the Abyss!
Welp, Summer is over, and with it the tremendous tequila soaked orgy that is my life May through September. I would first like to say to those whom I promised a new entry during that time, don't trust any thing I say at Zuma after six shots and eight tacos.

So what's new in my life? Let me tell you!

1. I finally got to see Donald Fagan and Walter Becker (aka STEELY F'N DAN!!!) play live for the first time. It was a "fan request night" to boot. With most bands, takeforinstanceidontknow.. Journey, that would be awesome. Nobody wants to hear new stuff with the little Malay guy singing in that eerie Steve Perry impersonation. They want to close their eyes and hear that diminutive leather-panted vocal doppelganger blast out, in  reverse order, Journey's Greatest Hits. (Reverse order because they can't make Don't Stop Believin' the second song. In reverse order it's the last song, with Only the Young as an encore, but I digress) Steely Dan fans are several, more varied types:

• The Casual Fan; This is your mom and dad, or whoever, who listens to WZLX or WROR and might have owned Aja but more likely Can't Buy a Thrill or Countdown to Ecstacy. They occasionally get the Doobie Brothers and Steely Dan confused. They might even think Dirty Work was by the Eagles. They want hits.. Reelin' in the Years, My Old School, Hey Nineteen, Rikki Don't Lose That Number. The songs that were played at parties when they were single and doing rails and smoking joints and having promiscuous sex. They all fall into the Journey concert catagory.
• The Music Snob Steely Dan Nut; This guy (or gal, but like with the Simpsons, Star Trek, Zombies, Metal or online war games most hardcore fans tend to be guys) could be a hipster, a musician, and/or a cynical a-hole.. Yes, I fall firmly into this catagory. They were in the balcony (65 bucks versus 200+) saying things like "I voted for Here at the Western World like 50 times!", " I hope they do Green Earrings or Razor Boy." or "I like this guy on guitar but I wish they were touring with Drew Zingg, I went to school with him." et cetera. Their arch enemies are the Casual Fans, whom they are afraid will doom them to a night with no deep cuts. They want to hear the songs that they listen to at Emerson or Berklee or in their parents' basements while doing rails and smoking joints and wishing they were having promiscuous sex.
• The Hybrids; These are people that want to hear the hits but know some deep cuts. They also want to hear Dr. Wu, Haitian Divorce, Bad Sneakers, Peg, Showbiz Kids.. popular songs but not necessarily hits. They know the drum fill in Aja but don't know the drummer's name. Some of these were friends or offspring of the two groups above. I won't comment on their drug use or sex lives, they were demographically all over the place.

So I 'hit the Wang' (Wang Center, tee hee) and sat in the nose bleeds with these characters. Donald Fagan looked like a white Ray Charles with the DT's, but sounded good. Walter Becker likes to play leaning on a chair with his ass. I mean he leans on his ass, he doesn't play with it. Fagan traded his awesome keytar for a rad melodica. The show was great, "The Hybrids" and "Casual Fans" won out with the rest of us muttering under our breath as we left that the voting site was dubious at best.

Well, that's all I have at the moment, what do you want? Nothing to see here.. (yes, I deleted the part about not drinking anymore. I KNEW that would be the kiss of death to my sobriety. oops)

Downtown Crossing Guard

Boston may be one of the safest and most tourist-friendly cities in America, but even the Hub has a few less than savory spots. One of the most glaring is Downtown Crossing, a once bustling area where now a giant orifice which formally was Filene's oozes decay over the entire area. I often recommend to my out-of-town customers not to walk through there at night, which is difficult due to the fact that all the train stations seem to be located around there, especially my train the Red Line. Because of this, I have come up with some ballsy ways to avoid being mugged in Downtown Crossing, in increasing order of insanity.

1. Wear a hoodie. Not the fuchsia one you got at Epcot Center with Figment the Dragon on it. A plain black one, with the largest cowl possible. If someone can't see your face, they are less likely to mess with you. Walk with a confident swagger. This is the method I use. If someone comes from the other direction, give him a nod and a quiet but confident "'sup". It helps if you've had a couple of shots of tequila and are over 200lbs.
2. Dress in a manner that is completely out of place, for instance a fisherman's yellow slicker, preferably replete with trident and net. It will give you an "I Know What You Did Last Summer" look. I'm pretty sure the entire ensemble can be purchased within the confines of Faneuil Hall. Whatever you do, no lobster or tri-cornered hats or anything else that makes you look like a hapless tourist. We are going for weirdo/oddball here, not chump.
3. Pretend you are mentally challenged. It helps if you carry a plastic lunchbox and wear a helmet. If someone comes up to you in a threatening manner, say "Do you want to be my friend? Mom packed me a sandwich this morning. A blueberry sandwich! I like pidgeons."
4. Act like you are insane. Yell gibberish. Channel Charlie Sheen channelling Gary Busey. Gesticulate wildly. Talk to Jesus like he owes you money.
5. As your potential assailant makes his move, grab your shirt and speak down to your chest loudly. Something like "The fox is in the henhouse! I repeat the fox is in the henhouse! Move in!" This works best if you have a cop mustache (May for my buddies and me). As the guy (hopefully) runs panicking yell "Suspect heading down Washington Street, southbound!" Then run like hell to civilization.
6. Turn the tables with creepiness. It helps if you have a sort of John Waters look going on for this method. When you are accosted, say something like "Oh! Mister scaaarrry mugger guy! Did Ramon from the agency send you? I suppose you want to show me how you stick up, huh?" Then unzip your fly or lick your lips or some other creepy gesture.  If that doesn't scare him off, you might actually have to go through with your bluff, so don't try this method unless you are down for that sort of action. I won't be using this method any time soon.
7. I was going to say packing a weapon and waving it around with abandon was the ballsiest solution, but after re-reading "#6" I am starting to wonder. About a lot of things. Jeez, where do I get this stuff?

There you have it. Seven increasingly ludicrous ways to safely get through Downtown Crossing after dark. On second thought, just grab the Orange Line or Green Line outbound at Haymarket and switch trains when necessary.

Mr. Wallbanger, I presume?

I was reading in the newspaper the other day that Dior fired their chief Boy George impersonator, John Galliano, for delivering a pro-Nazi rant in a Paris bar. Although fashion is more the realm of my staff celebrity gossip writer Klams Kardashian, I must applaud them for this move. I can't stand Nazis, and I hate Illinois Nazis. More to the heart of this post, Dior have fulfilled every bartender's dream; getting rid of Galliano.

For those of you who aren't bar savvy, Galliano is an herbal liquor with over thirty flavorings, but to me tastes like a liquorice marshmallow. It is viscous and neon yellow. The bottle is obnoxiously large and hard to place anywhere but the top shelf, where it stands out like Manute Bol (RIP-you are missed) in those old SNL sketches. It is used in cocktails such as the Harvey Wallbanger, the Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall, the Harvey Wallbanger, the West Indian Yellowbird (known at here at "The Dog" as the Mongolian Sweatervest), and the Harvey Wallbanger. The bottle is terrible to wield behind a bar, being 2ft long or longer. It is good, however, for smiting enemies and beligerant drunks.

I now present several ideas to help fellow bartenders rid yourselves of this menace;

• Pour it into narrow shot glasses or pousse cafe glasses (does anyone have those?) and float Jagermeister over it. Call it the "Maahhchand" and sell it to Bruins fans after games! (or Steelers fans, or Latin Kings, or Wiz Khalifa, or anyone else who likes black and yellow/gold)
• "Oh, you said mojito? I could have sworn you said Harvey Wallbanger. I'll just add it to your tab.." (rinse and repeat)
• Write in the snow in front of your snooty neighbor's house, preferably something like "Stop putting me in those stupid sweaters! I'm a frickin' dog!"
• Pour it into tiny glasses and float cream on top. Wait, that's actually a good idea. Elf-beer! (Keebler, not Legolas)
• Empty it into the toilet and say, "Man! Was I dehydrated!"
• Pour it into one of those ubiquitous creme de banana bottles that no one admits to having ordered and yet a new one appears every year.
• Apply it to the underarm area of your roommate's undershirts if he drinks your last PBR tallboy.
• Pour it into Chickalob Ultra to give it a more "beer-like" appearance!
• Apply it to a snowball, then eat it in the middle of Fanueil Hall.

I hope that I have motivated you to rid yourselves of this liquor in a fun and exciting fashion (ahem). Perhaps our children, perhaps their children, will live in a world where Galliano is relegated to Italian restaurants where it belongs instead of every bar in America. Drink a Harvey Wallbanger, if not for yourself than for the U S A, U S A, U S A! (or whatever country in which you happen to reside) Goodnight, and stay away from Nazis dressed like the female keyboard player from Prince and the Revolution.

Badfingers and a Pina Colada




Last month I gave a list of band names that I found lacking and attempted to explain why, rather than just being subjective. Of course this is always a divisive subject as there is no hard and fast rule to naming a band, and some of my favorite bands have names that I don't like. However one band name that I foolishly missed may be the ultimate proof of a bad name cursing a good band. (All specific info regarding Badfinger comes from an AllMusicReview article by Bruce Eder, Rovi)

The band Badfinger were never able to become the mega rich superstars that critics thought they should have been, despite scoring two huge hits in the early 70's with "Baby Blue" and "Day After Day". The Beatles were their biggest fans for Chrissakes! Growing up I always assumed that "Day After Day" was a Beatles track, and why not? Everybody I knew did as well, except for the people who thought it was Wings or Paul solo. Still, things never seem to go right with them, to the point where two members hung themselves (separately, and in desperation, not in some weird kinky way).

"But plenty of bands with bad names become hugely successful!" you say. You are correct. I posit that something about the specific way Badfinger is a terrible name somehow cursed them, subconsciously stacked the deck against them. For instance, to paraphrase George Costanza, think of the word "manure". Most people think of manure as a bad word, but if you break it down phonetically, it is "ma", a good word, and "newer", another good word.

Now apply the "Costanza Method" to Badfinger. We then get "bad", which is bad (except for a strange period in the late 80's, when it was good) and "finger", which has many unpleasant overtones in the modern world. When you put them together, the result is worse than the some of its parts. I believe that they would have fared better if they were named Manure. I can't believe I just wrote that.

A coworker who was there for the debate which led to "This is my sidekick, Mr. Mister", overheard my thinking aloud and rebutted thusly;

"But what about Vanilla Fudge? People loved them!"

To which I responded;

"Vanilla Fudge is an awful name, but in the Psychedelic scene awful adjective/noun names were forgiven, nay, encouraged! Badfinger sounds like something you don't want in your proximity. You would say 'Get away from me with that Badfinger!' but never 'Get away from me with that Vanilla Fudge!' It would be more like 'Bring that Vanilla Fudge over here, already!'"

I believe that the reason we never knew Badfinger growing up was that nobody wanted to say the words, especially around children. While I was not a twinkle in my parents' eyes when Badfinger hit their stride, I cannot help but think this was a case of a name affecting the fate of a band, somehow offending Fate or at least the Gods of Rock. Please send all band name ideas to me first, or this might happen to you. Good night, sleep tight, don't let the Badfingers touch.

World's Greatest Grandma

I know that I seem to have slowed down on the "inspirado" for this blog lately (mostly due to coming up with a plan for a book/ magazine freelance idea that will monopolize most of my free time). While I am quite sure that this hasn't affected anyone's quality of life too much, as a cheap substitute for a well thought-out essay, please enjoy the following excerpt from my daily life:


I was walking to the ATM to make a withdrawal and saw an old homeless woman sitting by the door. This made me think three things;

1. This was a clever, if incredibly annoying, place for her to sit.
2. It is really tough to guess most homeless persons' ages, those faces go through hell, she could have been 25 or 624 for all I knew.
3. I love numbered lists, but that has nothing to do with this story.

I had nothing in my pocket that resembled legal tender, or maybe I would have given her something. In Boston most bartenders know several bums by name and I had seen this one here before. Once she was wearing a "World's Greatest Grandma" T-shirt that almost sent me into a seizure of hilarity. I walked by and she made eye contact, the homeless tractor beam, and I told her I had no money.

"That's OK hun, have a nice night." she said. Dammit! Why couldn't she have cussed me out, or yelled incoherently about Jesus or Jebus or something? I was in the bank lobby for a while, doing a couple of transactions at the ATM, and a young woman came in and used the next machine over. "World's Greatest Grandma" came in, supposedly to get warm (yeah right) and stood in the corner as 120 bucks came out of my machine, fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt,fwwpt right in front of her. Now the woman walked by "WGG" and gave her a buck. Dammit.  I walked towards the door, and she was right there.

"Look, I can't give you a twenty, that's just not happening." I said.
"I think I have change!" she responded with no sense of irony, and fished her rheumatic hands into the pockets of her parka. She pulled out a bag of coins, and dug deeper. Her fingernails were an inch long on some fingers and short on others as she placed a two dollar bill on a ledge. "Look, a two dollar bill!" Then came the singles, one at a time, unbelievably wrinkled and soiled. "Three, four.." she went, unbearably slowly, one at a time, until "thirteen!" At this point I realized two things;

1. "World's Greatest Grandma" might make more than I do.
2.  I was getting change from a homeless woman!

"Look, I am running late for work, I don't have time for this. If I see you later I will give you a buck" I said, keeping my twenty of course.
"Wait! I have more bills!" she exclaimed as I hustled out the door and down the street.

I am sure that there is a moral to this story, but I am not sure what it is. I am pretty sure however that this woman was not the "World's Greatest Grandma", or else her parka would have been full of Werther's Original and her dollar bills would have been crisp and new and stuffed into generic birthday cards.

Mustache Jams

Since we here in "The Hall" are planning a calendar for "Mustache May", the time when all of our female friends tell us we look creepy, it got me thinking about the concept of creepiness. More specifically, I am referring to the older man making advances on a much younger woman type of creepy. To be fair, there is an "inner creep" in every man. Seriously, if you do not believe me, find the guy that you think the least skeevy (father, grandpa, that uncle with the cut-off jean shorts... wait, not him) and set up a nubile girl to walk by in something tight/skimpy. Notice his attempts to leer without being noticed. If you were not there he would follow her for a quarter-mile out of his way. I am not only a man myself, but I work at a bar full of fifty-something customers located next to a three story "Abercrombie and Fitch", so I know what I am talking about.

Now that we have gotten that out of the way, there is a different level that separates a 'normal guy' from a 'true creep'. Here is a partial list, in ascending order, of creepy hit songs that one hears in supermarkets and drugstores regularly. [To be clear, this is just covering age-gap creepiness, "I'll Be Watching You" will appear in a different post, or maybe in my future book tentatively titled "Taco Tuesday"]

5. Steely Dan, Hey Nineteen; I used to appreciate this song because it is a great little souless, jazz-inflected, 1980's coke jam, with creepy lyrics like "Please take me along when you slide on down..." and "Skate a little lower now!" Things have changed since I am now at the stage in life where Donald Fagen probably was when he wrote this song; just north of thirty, at the bar talking to a girl 'a bit' (ahem) younger than him, who has no clue about the references he is making. Now I don't consider myself a creep per se, but when this song comes on as I am telling a story with "...so the internet had just been invented..." to a twenty-two year old, I kind of do. (Two of you are probably saying to yourself, "Wait! Cousin Dupree is a MUCH creepier Steely Dan song!" You are right, but Star Market does not have that song on rotation.)

4. Michael Jackson, P.Y.T.; This feels like a cheapshot, considering that the allegations were never proven, but tell me your opinions on this classic piece of pop mastery aren't tarnished a bit post-1990ish. I really wanted to leave this off the list, I swear, but I can't... resist... MJ... jokes.

3. Neil Diamond, Sweet Caroline; OK, some of you who know that I am a huge Red Sox fan might think I put this song on here because I feel it cheapens my Fenway Park experience. Truth be told, I enjoy Neil Diamond because I love all things cheesy, and I do a mean "Cracklin' Rosie" at kareoke. No m'am, this song is on here because it was written about a twelve-year old! You see Neil is older now and felt like answering that long-asked query "Who is Caroline?".  Thanks, Neil, could'a kept that one to yourself.

2. Neil Diamond, Girl, You'll Be a Woman, Soon; Yes, the Diamond is on this list twice. I am noticing a pattern here...

1. Benny Mardones, Into the Night; This song opens with "She's just sixteen years old, leave her alone they say..." 'Nuff said. Actually, no, not enough said. Yeah, creep, leave her alone, at least for two years to avoid statutory charges. Certainly DO NOT "...pick [her] up, and take [her] into the night.." because that is called kidnapping and if you take her across state lines you are REALLY screwed. I, uh, saw it on Law and Order SVU, I swear.

I need to go and trim my beard into a stylish mustache for "National Porn Day" which I've been told is Sunday. Remember it is rude to not take candy from strangers, and if a guy in a van tells you he lost his puppy, give him a hand.