The plan was to leave work early, go home, get my luggage, and take a train, a train and a bus to Laguardia. The plan was to board AirTran flight 208to Akron. The plan was to spend a night in Cleveland and drive to Cincinnati the following day for a Memorial Day weekend that was a housewarming and reunion all rolled into one.
As they say, "The best laid plans of mice and men go oft awry and leave us naught but grief and pain."
Showing posts with label bushwick-country-club. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bushwick-country-club. Show all posts
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Thursday, May 20, 2010
How an Early Evening Turns Into a Late Night
For the better part of four years for my friends and I Wednesday has been a bar night. Not a wild, get dressed up, go out late bar night. A blow off steam after work and leave after happy hour night. Occasionally these outings have spilled into Thursday A.M. but generally we'd belly up at 5:30 and be out in time for Lost. Though we've dabbled in other bars our bar of choice has been largely consistent as has our bartender (the wonderful Ms. Heather.) Our times have not always been unpredictable but they have always been fun so when I texted the usual suspects yesterday as afternoon stretched to evening I thought I knew exactly what I was getting into.
Little did I know that I'd be left fighting a hangover for most of Thursday that even an early-morning bacon/egg/cheese croissant couldn't ward off. How did I get from light after-work drinking to trudging through a work day dehydrated, muddled and craving huge bowls of fries covered in cheese and hot sauce? The story isn't funny. It's not strange. It's not surprising. It's probably a little anti-climactic But it says a lot about that bar, this city and the people that choose to populate both.
Little did I know that I'd be left fighting a hangover for most of Thursday that even an early-morning bacon/egg/cheese croissant couldn't ward off. How did I get from light after-work drinking to trudging through a work day dehydrated, muddled and craving huge bowls of fries covered in cheese and hot sauce? The story isn't funny. It's not strange. It's not surprising. It's probably a little anti-climactic But it says a lot about that bar, this city and the people that choose to populate both.
Friday, May 22, 2009
Beer Goggles Are No Longer the Correct Prescription
On August 18th 2006 I moved from Columbus, Ohio to Brooklyn, New York. My first New York apartment was on the edge of the hip neighborhood of Williamsburg, sandwiched between ever-increasing numbers of young transplanted hipsters and Puerto Rican, Dominican and Italian locals. 3, his fiancé and I immediately made point of checking out as many local bars as we could to find “our place” and a week into our stay in the neighborhood we found it in one Bushwick Country Club.
What wasn’t to love? A divey bar that was dark and homey featuring a 2-4-1 happy hour from 5-8 - a deal that wasn’t as ubiquitous at the time as it is now and boasting one of the best all-round bartending staffs I’d ever encountered. Phillip was our first bartender, the nerdy but uber personable big man with whom we’d discuss Heroes back when it was good (circa right when it was starting) and Watchmen (long before it was a Major Motion Picture). He made us feel right at home and soon enough even made us “members” allowing us to get the specialty house cocktail for a dollar off and to drink free on hour birthdays. Heather – whose musical taste I always found the best of all the BCC bartenders – quickly became a favorite as well because of her disarming and quirky friendliness and her ability to somehow pay attention to everybody at the bar at once. Thomas, he of the Free Pulled Pork Sundays, Megan and Ryan filled out a stable of bartenders with home we were all familiar and with whom we’ve all spent countless hours and dollars.
As bad as it sounds, in those early days the BCC was my home away from home. Hating my job at Barnes and Noble I spent at least three nights a week four blocks from my house bellied up to the bar, chatting and drinking more than I should have.
It came as quite a shock the other day when I discovered that the place has started to feel like just another bar. It’s certainly still a good bar, but while Heather is still my bartender, BCC is no longer my bar.
It’s hard to put a finger on what’s changed. The jukebox is still perennially “out of order”. The lights are still low. The booze is still cheap. The grill in the back is still open to anyone with raw food and a desire to cook. The novelty miniature golf course still sits largely unused in the back. In the end I think the biggest thing that’s changed is me.
My job is steadier and pays more (though still not nearly enough). I hang out with more people in more places than just this watering hole that I no longer live close to. And really the BCC is a bar for drinkers at a time when I don’t want to drink as much anymore.
Is there such a difference between 23 and 26 that this place should seem so different to me, so less comfortable? That I should feel more at home at Second Chance up the block with the thirty-somethings that lived in the neighborhood before it was cool?
That case race last week really served to put in startling focus various parts of my life (the stupidly overdrinking parts) that I’m not terribly interested in anymore. I guess it’s time to find a new vice. Good thing I live in New York.
What wasn’t to love? A divey bar that was dark and homey featuring a 2-4-1 happy hour from 5-8 - a deal that wasn’t as ubiquitous at the time as it is now and boasting one of the best all-round bartending staffs I’d ever encountered. Phillip was our first bartender, the nerdy but uber personable big man with whom we’d discuss Heroes back when it was good (circa right when it was starting) and Watchmen (long before it was a Major Motion Picture). He made us feel right at home and soon enough even made us “members” allowing us to get the specialty house cocktail for a dollar off and to drink free on hour birthdays. Heather – whose musical taste I always found the best of all the BCC bartenders – quickly became a favorite as well because of her disarming and quirky friendliness and her ability to somehow pay attention to everybody at the bar at once. Thomas, he of the Free Pulled Pork Sundays, Megan and Ryan filled out a stable of bartenders with home we were all familiar and with whom we’ve all spent countless hours and dollars.
As bad as it sounds, in those early days the BCC was my home away from home. Hating my job at Barnes and Noble I spent at least three nights a week four blocks from my house bellied up to the bar, chatting and drinking more than I should have.
It came as quite a shock the other day when I discovered that the place has started to feel like just another bar. It’s certainly still a good bar, but while Heather is still my bartender, BCC is no longer my bar.
It’s hard to put a finger on what’s changed. The jukebox is still perennially “out of order”. The lights are still low. The booze is still cheap. The grill in the back is still open to anyone with raw food and a desire to cook. The novelty miniature golf course still sits largely unused in the back. In the end I think the biggest thing that’s changed is me.
My job is steadier and pays more (though still not nearly enough). I hang out with more people in more places than just this watering hole that I no longer live close to. And really the BCC is a bar for drinkers at a time when I don’t want to drink as much anymore.
Is there such a difference between 23 and 26 that this place should seem so different to me, so less comfortable? That I should feel more at home at Second Chance up the block with the thirty-somethings that lived in the neighborhood before it was cool?
That case race last week really served to put in startling focus various parts of my life (the stupidly overdrinking parts) that I’m not terribly interested in anymore. I guess it’s time to find a new vice. Good thing I live in New York.
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