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Thursday, Whisky Day

I wasn't feeling very well when I woke up this morning. At first, I thought it was because the radiator was on all night, making it extremely dry… and when I sleep in a dry climate, my throat gets all raw. So, I had a couple glasses of water and headed into the office, figuring that once I fully woke up and had some juice, I would feel better.

However, one three-dollar bottle of Odwalla juice, a banana and a bottle of water later, I was still feeling sick. My stomach was acting up, my throat was really raw and I was just feeling sort of lethargic. When 4pm came around, I knew I just had to get home and get some sleep.

One of my favorite things to do when I'm sick is sit in bed reading comics and drinking tea. Yeah, you heard me right… comics, as in Comic Books. Now before any of you start getting all high-and-mighty because I read comic books, let me give you a little history.

When I was a kid, all of my friends collected comics. Sure, what we collected was pretty standard stuff: X-Men, Superman, Star Wars and some other superhero comic stuff. But then again, I also had my secret collection of comics hidden where my mother couldn't find them.

These were my favorite comics… copies of Zap and the Fabulous Furry Freak Brothers and a couple issues of Raw. They were underground comics… black and white pictures poorly printed onto bad newsprint paper, and I cherished every one of them (even though I didn't really understand what was going on in most of them&#41. I found these comics from Rip Off Press had something more real about them… something that I didn't find in the four-color advertisement-filled comics from Marvel and DC.

My father introduced me to underground comics when I was a little kid. Instead of buying me copies of Spider Man and Batman, he would bring me copies of Fat Freddy's Cat, the obvious inspiration for Garfield and Bloom County's Bill the Cat. Yeah, they were a little racy… Fat Freddy's Cat had testicles and would eat Freddy's stash… but the humor was raw, and extremely funny. Even now I still have an original copy of R. Crumb's Zap Comics #0, which my father sold in his head shop before I was born. My favorite, however Raw comics: an oversized magazine which collected some of the best comics I had ever seen.

As I got older, I would go to the Trading Post in Canton, CT to get my comics. There, I would not only get my copies of X-Men and stuff like that, but the owner would also get me the latest copies of the underground comics I so loved. They knew my tastes at the Trading Post, and I would always find a surprise in my box… an international comic they got their hands on, or a reprint of an old copy of Zap. Even though I was underage, they knew it was OK with my father, and they enjoyed watching my face when I would go through the weekly subscriptions and find a copy of Boris the Bear or Flaming Carrot or the latest copy of the Freak Brothers slipped in with my normal order.

Unfortunately, when I turned 15, I stopped collecting comics… so I boxed everything up and gave it to my mother to put into storage (except for the underground comics, which I have taken with me wherever I have lived&#41.

When I was living in Boston about 6 years ago, I was browsing the discount rack at the Harvard Book Store in Cambridge and came across a copy of Maus, the pulitzer prize winning graphic novel (an oversized comic book&#41 about the Holocaust. I had never been so shaken in my life. The story, the images… I had nightmares for days after finishing Book One, and I realized that this is where underground comics had gone. Art Spiegelman, the founder of Raw Magazine, had written something so powerful… and he had done it in a medium that never before had the respect of the academic community. Maus is now a required text in many high schools and colleges.

When Janet and I moved to San Francisco, our work schedules were out of synch… which left me with a lot of time on my hands. So, I went out and found a comic shop near the apartment and picked up a couple of comics (including Grant Morrison's cult classic: Kill Your Boyfriend&#41… then our schedules were re-synched and I never went back.

A few years ago, a friend at the office, Carlos, gave me a copy of Kyle Baker's Why I Hate Saturn. This was an underground comic… but now they were just called "Small Press Published" comics. I read it and re-read it. The next day, I went back to Comix Experience and picked up a copy of my very own. A few weeks later, Janet and I got a subscription box.

Janet and I now subscribe to about 15 comics on a monthly basis. Almost all of them are from either Slave Labor Graphics [Action Girl, Johnny the Homicidal Maniac, Lenore, Squee, Milk & Cheese and Dork] or Fantagraphics [Eightball]. We also get a number of small press comics like Optic Nerve from Drawn & Quarterly and the Jay & Silent Bob series from ONI press. The closest thing to a big-label comic that I get is from Dark Horse, which publishes the Star Wars line of comics.

Ok, I do get some superhero comics and some comics from DC's Vertigo and WildStorm divisions… but they are all created by my favorite writer: Warren Ellis. Ellis writes the seminal work Transmetropolitan. He also writes Hellblazer and the now defunct StormWatch.

Anyway, this afternoon, I decided that I should just pick up this week's selection at Comix Experience, so I could just come home and read and drink tea. When I walked in, almost all of the staff was there… and they greeted me by name. Ok, they greeted me by my last name… because that's the name on our box. I grabbed this weeks selections (a Star Wars comic, PULP and Warren Ellis' Transmetropolitan&#41. They were all giddy, so I asked what was going on. Larry just gave me a shot of Jack Daniels in a Hellblazer shot glass. I asked what the occasion was, and he said "It's Thursday." Hell, who am I to argue with that sort of logic? So, I drank my shot, paid for my comics and started the 4 block walk home.

The moral of this story: comics and tea might be good for a cold, but comics and whisky are much better. By the time I got home, my throat was feeling almost fine, and the fatigue that had been plaguing me all day was gone. Thank god for the comic shop!

Posted in Smirks.


Archived Observation

Disappointment Is:

Watching Jeff Foxworthy do his entire "You Know You're a Redneck if You…" schtick on his HBO comedy show because…well, frankly because there's nothing else on on Saturday night and you're just too damn lazy to get up and do something else, and then going out to the Toronado and coming back home at 2:00 AM and turning on the TV only to find out that you have just missed by a matter of mere seconds your favorite comedian Denis Leary's "Lock and Load" comedy routine on HBO which you have only seen but once on that night two New Year's Eves ago when all your friends agreed that yes, it would be fun to get a room at the Marriott downtown, but who all ended up "changing their minds" at the very, very last minute, leaving you to pay the bill for the entire amount of the $275 "Special New Years Eve Rate" for the room in which you drank a bottle of champagne and delighted in Mr. Leary's excessive use of the f-word, and though you search the digital cable guide in vain, realize that it's not gonna be on again any time soon.

Posted in Observations.


Wednesday Night

Janet and I started going to the Toronado on Wednesday nights because not only is Ian on shift, but the crowd is usually smaller than on Saturday nights, the other evening he works. Notice how we said usually… because last night, the crowd was massive. Hordes of yammering yuppies trying to pick each other up.

However, when we walked in, I noticed our usual seats were open. It seems that a pack of 5 yuppies were standing by the seats trying to figure out which ones of them would sit, and which would stand. So, Janet and I just walked by them and grabbed the seats. Ha, we say. Ha.

The night was relatively uneventful. Janet quaffed a couple pints of Guinness, and I had a Lagunitas Maximus and a Boont Amber. The crowd thinned around the time when we finished the first pint… and a couple of locals came in and occupied the newly opened up seat. The first to arrive was Jeff, the owner of Rosamunde Sausage Grill. He was followed by Johnny who had just gotten back from hanging out with his mother in Portland. Johnny came by and said hi, then went to his table of friends and downed a couple of beers. But at least before we left, he called us over to do a shot of Underberg. We left less than two hours after arriving feeling extremely relaxed.

It’s nights like this that make going to the Toronado worth while.

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.


Lazy Bastard Bird

(continued)

For some reason, the TV at the Toronado was tuned in to a nature-type show about snakes, alligators and capybara (large rodent-type creatures that resemble beavers, also known as “water hogs”) A long-legged bird stood on top of a capybara as it swam through the water (Avery identified this bird as the “Lazy Bastard Bird.”) A snake that was, like, one of me wide and fifty of me long ate one poor capybara. An alligator ate another. Then a capybara gave birth. Birds pecked at the placenta, then tried to eat the baby capybara itself. It fell into the water, and the fish had their turn. Poor capybara. Every single person at the bar (Ian included) was staring at the television set, enraptured by the time-honored struggle of nature against itself.

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.


Pseudo-Punks

Yesterday, as we came back from Safeway (the local supermarket chain&#41 I spotted a group of pseudo-punks coming out of the Rite-Aid Pharmacy with cans of malt liquor in brown paper bags. As we walked by the group, one of the punks decided to scream something into my ear at the top of his lungs. Oh, brave man… yelling some epithet to a stranger carrying shopping bags in each hand. If I wasn't carrying the bags, he would have found out what an ass whipping from someone with a few years of boxing training feels like when it's let loose on his 98 pound pale white body. Instead, he got to be the big man to his friends… and I just decided to go home before I turned around and did something he would have regretted.

Sigh. Just another reason to hate San Francisco.

Posted in Scowls.


No Smoking!

Well, if you’ve been reading this week’s Barfly Chronicles, you’ll realise that Avery’s been stuck in a Brown Shugga rut. Brown Shugga is a beer that was brewed by accident at Lagunitas Brewery. Subsequently, they only made a few kegs, and once the Toronado burns through it’s last keg, it’s over. Forever.

So, every day since Wednesday night, we’ve made a point to go out to the Toronado, hoping to get a last few pints in before it goes away. On Thursday, I went over to the Toronado after work and had a few glasses of Brown Shugga (one half-pint and two full pints).

Friday night, Janet and I went over to the Toronado after meeting up with Jocelyn at a local bar called Chances. Chances are that we won’t be going back anytime soon. Actually, that isn’t true. Janet and I will probably go back to hang with Jocelyn, but the beers were sort of expensive, and they had Jagermeister on tap (icch!!!). Combine that with an excessive amount of smoke and really bad air circulation, and chances are that Chances will never be a regular haunt. Still, they have a couple of pool tables and an ATM and a good selection of hard liquor. But if I want hard liquor, I’ll just go to An Bodhran (the local Irish bar).

Anyway, we went to the Toronado after finishing up at Chances and hung out with the people. Janet will tell you more about what happened Friday night… but suffice it to say, I polished off five pints of Brown Shugga and Janet had 2 pints of Guinness, and a bottle of Lindemans Kriek.

It wouldn’t be a Saturday if we didn’t go to the Toronado. However, this week we went there really late (about Midnight) hoping to miss the crowd. Well, we didn’t miss the crowd… but we did get there in time to watch this little weasely dude really piss off all of the bartender.

The Scenario: This little weasely guy is nursing a pint of Guinness. He’s got a lit cigarette and is hiding it under the bar ledge… because NOBODY ELSE is smoking. You see, Johnny is an ex-smoker. On top of that, he doesn’t have any patience for people doing illegal stuff at the bar… and smoking is still verboten in San Francisco’s bars. So, Johnny comes over and asks the guy to stop smoking. The conversation below is paraphrased… I don’t remember the exact quote.

Johnny: Hey there… You know the law, no smoking.

Guy: I wasn’t smoking (he then drops the cigarette and casually stamps it out).

Johnny: Yes you were… you had it under the table, and I don’t appreciate it. Next time, take it outside.

Guy: Ok, I’ll think about it next time.

Luckily, he left soon afterwards, and Janet and I took his seat at the corner of the bar. The mood was relatively somber… Johnny wasn’t in the best mood, and everyone just seemed on edge. So we had our two pints each (Janet had a Beamish and a Guinness and I had two Brown Shugga) and when the bell tolled 2:00am, we left for home. Still, we’ll be back on Wednesday for a beer with Ian. Hopefully, it’ll be a Brown Shugga.

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.