Fancy Schmancy
I’m not quite sure how it’s happened, but since moving to Portland I’ve somehow been snookered not once but twice into having drinks at what I like to call “whoopdy-fuckin-doo” bars.
The first time was at a little place called Rocket, where Adam had — for reasons unknown to me — arranged to meet a couple of his friends when he came to visit a couple months ago. Several things immediately clued me in to the fact that I didn’t want to be there. Aside from the décor (which I wanted to destroy) and the clientelle (whom I wanted to fight), they call their appetizers “Prefix” and their main courses “Matrix.” Gimme a fuckin break. After an eight dollar pint of beer that costs less than two dollars a bottle outside of the context of a pretentious bar, I complained enough that we relocated to a bar across the river that had Olympia posters on the wall. On our way out of Rocket, we were all given small printed glossy envelopes with fucking flower seeds in them. What? Good riddance.
The second time (a little less than a week ago now), I had less of a choice because it was my special lady friend’s birthday. She wanted to go — with friends, thank fucking god — to the Portland City Grill, a bar on the 30th floor of some bank building where you have a breathtaking view of a zillion rich pricks ignoring a breathtaking view of Portland. I’ve never felt so out of my element in my life — as though I was crashing a Fortune 500 company party. Fortunately, I wasn’t alone in my schlubdom because Cameron was with me, who is also a schlub, although many of his shirts have buttons. Somehow, in violation of at least three rules on the dress code posted out front, we managed to get a couple seats at the bar. They served Stella, so Cameron and I could at least nurse some eight dollar pints for a while; the girls had martinis and mojitos. A note of interest: Their well gin is Tanqueray. I also learned I don’t like being served a beer by a guy in a bow tie, nor do I ever want to drink somewhere again with a live piano player, unless it’s Zack Galifianakis.
When the rest of our party arrived, we finally got a table away from the bar, which was a bit of a relief because I couldn’t stand any of the people around us. I saw one dumbass in particular enjoying an expensive brandy out of a snifter he had sitting at a 45 degree angle in another glass, which was filled part way with water. For a moment, I thought I had gone blind with anger, when I realized I was just rolling my eyes too far up into my head. Believe me: these people only impress each other.
The happy hour menu at the Grill is actually surprisingly reasonable, a moot point when your skin is crawling, though. To make matters worse, the flat screen TV mounted in my line of sight was playing Olympic men’s volleyball. This pissed me off two-fold because one: fuck volleyball and two: fuck the Olympics. After a couple hours of making my GF’s birthday miserable, we were allowed to leave. Why people date me is a mystery I one day hope to solve.
Oh, I did shoot a couple photos, though. These were taken outside the bar down the street from her place (before we left for Portland City Grill), where she was served nachos. On the house. With a CANDLE stuck in them. I’m not sure why we left. On my birthday, I’m getting birthday nachos and a bottomless pitcher at the dive bar and prank calling the Portland City Grill all night.
August 27th, 2008 at 5:41 am
dude, that reminds me of the ONE time i got dragged to that bar above 303 called elixirs. i was PISSED the whole time. they had a fucking picture of the Vegas skyline. it was humongous. i lost my shit before going to the bar where a mother fucker in a tie that was tucked into his shirt proceeded to laugh at me when i asked for MGD, knowing they wouldnt have pabst. way stupid. i ended up having some italian beer that he suggested was the closest thing to MGD. i thought it was gross. fuck.
August 27th, 2008 at 6:08 am
Dude, what’s with the necker-chief/ribbon?
In other news, It’s good to read a post like this again. Reminds me that you haven’t lost your edge
August 27th, 2008 at 7:14 am
If it’s untied, her head falls off.
August 27th, 2008 at 11:09 am
Elixirs is the worst.
The green ribbon came off one of her presents. Dick.
August 27th, 2008 at 12:29 pm
Hahaha. Calm down Bill, it was what we refer to in the business as a “joke”. I don’t really think that she wears necker-chiefs, or why you would even associate with someone that would. Dick.
August 27th, 2008 at 12:43 pm
I don’t need to tell you about my total disdain for pretentious types, but these people (and places) are definitely not worth the anger.
August 27th, 2008 at 7:04 pm
Mom took too many of her pills again, apparently.
August 27th, 2008 at 7:26 pm
the portland city grill wasn’t as bad as elixirs because a)we got our drinks in less than two hours and b)some guy kept shouting “SUCK FOR A BUCK”
August 28th, 2008 at 5:41 pm
Bill is back. Awesome.
September 1st, 2008 at 12:26 pm
BILL SMASH!!!