After three years of self-imposed exile, we’re back in San Francisco! Starting soon, you can expect to see our ramblings of life at the Toronado… but for now, just chant the mantra “Chimay on Draught… Chimay on Draught… Chimay on Draught!”
Topic #2
My Neighbors. I think I'll kill them.
Avery | Janet |
Ok, now before one of you bleeding heart liberals start calling the police on me, let me clarify the topic. I don't really want to kill my neighbors, there is only one of my neighbors who I really want to kill. Upon further consideration (and some advice from my legal counsel)… I really don't want to kill my downstairs neighbor. I just want to hurt him really badly. I am not sure what annoys me more… the fact that even though he is TWO FLOORS under our apartment I can still hear his wannabe pseudo-techno god-awful music thump thump thumping so loud that the cats freak out OR the fact that when you knock on his door that he doesn't acknowledge that there is anyone out there OR the fact that when you confront him the next day he can't recall that he was even playing music the last night. ARRGH! It makes me so mad that I want to go out to his circuit breaker, kill the power, and stand outside his door, waiting for him to come out so I can introduce him to by friend Louisville Slugger. The damn thing is this: EVEN though I have called the cops twice on him and EVEN though I have complained to the landlord (who, by the way, is great man who is between a rock and a hard place due to this schmuck)… if I ever threatened this arrogant bastard, I'd be the one arrested. Why the hell can't people take personal responsibility for their actions anymore?
| The guy who lives two floors below us makes me so tense. I mean, he makes my blood pressure go so sky-high that I feel short of breath. All of this stress simply because either he's deaf, or he thinks the rest of the other 9 apartments are, because he plays his stereo at the loudest volume possible, with the loudest bass possible. We're talking so loud that we can hear the songs over our TV set…and this is TWO floors away! TWO! And this isn't just a couple of hours on a Friday or Saturday night, no sir. It is completely without warning, just unpredictable enough so that you have to sit anxiously on the edge of the couch for the rest of the night (20 minutes of music, 10 minutes of silence, 30 minutes of music, 30 minutes of silence…has he stopped for good?). I once left work at 10:00 AM with a sickmaking migraine headache. When I got home the music was on! On another occasion I came home from a terrible day at work. At 5:00 PM the music was on! One night I was trying to relax and get ready for bed (8:00 PM this time) What? You guessed it! Music! On! The peculiar thing about this situation is the fact that we had lived here for, like two years without hearing a peep out of this guy. Then all of a sudden it was like an epidemic, happening every day. Then for about a year it was relatively quiet again. He's very cyclical, that neighbor. You would think that complaining and calling the police would get him evicted. But NO! In San Francisco, everyone has rights…and it's almost impossible to evict someone without a docket chock full of a year's worth of proof. I could go on and on about the earplugs and Nytol I had to buy, but he just shut off the music. I hope it's for good this time! |
The news came out on Friday, September 10. Wizards of the Coast, the company that distributes Pokemon cards (as well as many card-based games, such as Magic the Gathering), was being acquired by Hasbro. Hasbro also announced that they would expand the card distribution to increase sales to major retail stores (like Toys R Us and K*B Toys) and bookstores.
I'm sure that 99% of you out there don't give a damn about this, but when one of your friends owns a comic shop, it can spell disaster for them. This sort of move, especially during the pre-holiday season, is the sort of thing that could put many independent comic/game shops out of business.
I found this news out from Chris, a friend that owns the comic shop that Janet and I frequent. It was in the same breath (ok, virtual breath because it was all done online) that he mentioned that he could use a beer. So, we decided to meet up at The Spigot at 8:30pm so we could drown our collective sorrows in pints of Spaten Oktoberfest beer.
Within minutes of arrival at the Spigot, Chris stopped licking his wounds and the conversation moved quickly into ribald stories of drinking, traveling and eating. As the conversation progressed, Janet mentioned that we had just come back from Boston, and I asked Chris if he had ever been to the Sunset Grill and Tap in Allston (a district of Boston) before.
Chris' friends who lived in Boston informed him that due to the way he carried on that night, the Sunset imposed a two yard per person limit.
I've said it before and I'll say it again: what a small freaking world.
Janet and I decided that we should go to the Spigot for a beer after work on Friday. So, we sat down on the new comfy stools at the bar and ordered a round. Janet got her usual, a Magic Hat #9, while I decided that I would get a Belaven Scotch Ale.
I really didn't want a Scotch Ale, what I really wanted was a good Octoberfest Märzenbier, but since I didn't expect to see a Märzenbier on tap until late September, I made due with the Belhaven. Scotch Ales and Märzenbiers share a similar maltiness, but Scotch Ales are… well… ales, while Märzenbiers are lagers… and that difference meant everything to me that night.
I was two sips into my Belhaven when Janet pointed at the newly revised tap list… and there it was: Spaten Octoberfest. Aah, Spaten! The true king of beers and the master of the Märzenbier style! How could I have missed you on the list? I quickly downed the Scotch Ale in front of me and immediately moved onto the Spaten. From the first caramely sip, I knew that I was not only in heaven, but also in extreme danger that I would not be able to leave the bar seat by the time I had my fill.
But three pints of Märzen later, I was not only able to get up, but I was able to walk home and order delivery Mexican food from Coyote Flaco as well… now if I can only get them to start serving Bratwurst and Weisswurst, I'll never have to leave the bar again.
The reports of my demise were… shall we say… premature.
The Spigot has re-opened and is back in business. The reason cited for the closure? Vacation.
Of course, most businesses would tend to post signs or some other form of notification to passersby that the bar was closing for two full weeks, but the owner of The Spigot decided that it would simply make more sense to hide a 3×5 notecard on the mantle of the bar (in between the knicknacks and other miscellaneous crap) for a few days before they closed shop. Whatever… I'm in no mood to complain…. The Spigot is open again and I'm absolutely thrilled. Seriously.
So, the question is: why am I at home telling you about this instead of going back to the bar for another beer?
Our story begins on a warm Monday morning, last Monday to be exact. Jim (my co-worker and friend) and I were coming back from a grueling day at our company's Y2K certification test lab. Since the test lab is in East Hartford, and Jim lives in Meriden (which is South of Hartford) and the traffic between Hartford and Meriden at 4:30pm is horrible, we planned on stopping off at the Spigot for a beer and a cigar after we were done at the lab. That way, we could de-compress from a long day, Jim could avoid the traffic, and I would have a reason to stop in at the Spigot. I told Janet about the plan, and she decided that she would come and meet us there around 5:45.
We pulled up to the bar a little before five and noticed that the parking lot was empty. Ok, it wasn't empty, there were three large trucks in the lot… and their signs stated that they were with a paving and driveway resurfacing company. I thought that it was a little odd, but paid it no attention. We pulled in, got out of the car and headed towards the front door.
Jim grabbed the handle to the outer glass door and attempted to open the door. Nope. It was locked. Then we noticed: the neon signs were all off and there was mail piled between the outer glass door and the inner door. This was not good.
Anyway, we went back to the apartment, I grabbed some beer from the fridge and we went outside to smoke some cigars and have a beer or two. At this point, I'm ready to write up a elegy for the Spigot, because in my mind, something major must be wrong… because bars just don't close without warning.
Jim, as he usually does, tried to be a voice of reason… but for every good explanation, I had a logical retort. If they had been closed by the Board of Health, Alcohol Board of Control or had been foreclosed upon, there would be visible legal notification. If the place had been a scene of a crime, there would have been police tape. Jim thought that maybe the owner went on vacation, but they have a staff of close to 10 people, so the owner being away shouldn't have stopped operations.
Regardless of the reason, the bar was closed… and there was no sign posted… nothing to let us regulars know what happened to the place, or when it would re-open. I consoled myself by thinking that maybe the afternoon bartender was sick and they couldn't find someone to fill in for him. Since Mondays are historically slow days for bars, this made sense, and I was sure that the bar would be open if I drove by after work on Tuesday.
Tuesday, 5pm: Closed. No sign posted.
Wednesday, 6:30pm: Closed. No sign posted, and a stack of Hartford Advocates (our weekly free newspaper) stacked at the door.
Thursday, 5pm: Closed. No sign posted but the newspapers removed.
Friday, 4:45pm: Closed. No sign in the window, no signs of life on the premises. I decide to call… no answer.
Saturday, 10pm: Closed. No sign posted.
It's now 5:30 on Sunday afternoon, and there was still no sign of life at The Spigot. The bar is dark, the phone goes unanswered and there is nothing letting passers-by know when it's going to reopen.
To quote Dr. McCoy from Star Trek: I think it's dead, Jim.