Archive for bar

Spirituality Behind the Ritual of the Traditional Bachelor Party

Posted in bar, beer, family, life, love, passage, religion, spirituality with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , on March 22, 2011 by tymora42
Purification Ritual by Jonas Lonborg (catinatree)

just so you know - we will not be doing this

My best friend is getting married. Being my best friend I have the opportunity to be none other than the best man. As the best man you are in charge of arranging the bachelor party, the sendoff of your friend into the new and exciting realm of matrimony. To perform this function correctly one must reflect on the spiritual aspect of the bachelor party, the debauchery, the objectification of women, the wild romp through the night before the union of two lovers. In our current politically correct society we must slough off the reins of morality to a point and carry on like the animals we are. Aside from the base pleasure orientation of the crusade, I propose there is a spiritual underlining to the ritual of the traditional bachelor party.

In the past I have been in four other wedding parties, this one will be the fifth. The very first I was a groomsman to the highschool buddy just graduating college to go off and have a life with a wife, who was also a mutual highschool friend. They hated each other in highschool. He asked her to prom and she declined because one night he dropped in the bushes next to the Sonic. Now, they have two children and a third on the way if it has not got here yet. My second wedding I had a shared best man duty with another guy. There was a bachelor party – sorta. More about this later. The marriage ended in a bitter divorce with affairs and distrust. The third was unmemorable. He was a good friend at the time. We lost contact. I was a simple groomsman that did not attend the night before sendoff. I think they played golf. I have no idea how they are today. The last wedding was my sister’s. Being the minister I took my role seriously and did not participate in the debauchery, which took place in New Orleans on Bourbon street so you can imagine there was some serious debauchery going on. They are still together.

The traditional bachelor party can wax and wane in structure, however, there is one key aspect that needs to be upheld: 1) The women and men must be separated on the night before the wedding. And this goes for ALL women and ALL men. Just because the groom is better friends with this girl he has known forever does not mean that she should come to the bachelor party. If they are really that good of friends the bride should invite her to the bachelorette. And this goes for the brother of the bride as well and that guy she has known forever. The typical modern pre marriage get together is the combination of both groups of bride and groom for one big blowout. That is what the wedding reception is for. Save it for the rehearsal dinner, split the parties on the night before. The bride and groom will be all mushy mushy the whole night and you do not get the chance to have a special moment with your buddy where you tell him how awesome she is and that he is making the right decision right before you send him and the stripper into the private room for a VIP lap dance. At my first bachelor party I watched the groom’s father, the guy who was always viewed as an authority figure through highschool when we were upstairs in his game room carefully trying not to mess the groomed fuzz on his pool table, slipping twenties into g-strings. This was the moment I started feeling like an adult. It passed.

Another bachelor party I attended did the whole strip club thing with one MAJOR exception. The groom was also friends with my girlfriend, who came with me because she was invited. Thanks pal. His marriage failed. Good. Maybe next time you will split the genders, dumbass.

Failed bachelor parties end in failed marriages. I have theories about this. The co-bestman wedding with the bitter divorce had one of those dinner at Chilis night before gatherings with both parties represented. Lame. Halfway through the night, myself and the rest of the groomsmen kidnap the guy out the back door to hit the town. One guy yelled, “Tittie Bar!” and we were off to our destination. None of us really cared to go, but it was traditional so we did. The groom lasted no more than ten minutes in the place before he paid the bouncer fifty bucks to throw him out. A half hour of searching later we figured out what happened. That pussy had already called a cab from the payphone outside to take him back home to his woman. They woke up together on the day of the wedding. If that was not bad luck, what is?

This anecdote brings up a few of my theories as to why that marriage did not work based on the failure of the bachelor party. Having the parties together hints on distrust, whether it is the bride distrusting the groom or the other way around. Distrustful people have either been burned really bad in the past or are not loyal people to begin with. Then there is the issue of distrusting yourself. Putting yourself into a lustful position with a potential and almost certain one night stand situation is a test of your fidelity. If you do not love her enough to resist that casual urge, much less do not trust yourself in that situation, what the hell are you doing marrying? Obviously your wild oats have not been successfully sown.

Then, there is the matter of going home to her and waking up together on the day of your wedding. You are roped. There is no out. Not that you would take it, but it needs to be presented for you to reject it. Get a hotel. Sleep alone. It may be the last chance you will get. A fundamental part of the bachelor party is for the groom to have that soul searching alone time where he accepts his future. Your brain has been so wrapped up in her and the catering and sending out invitations and getting a minister on top of normal life stuff like work and bills and keeping the house clean. You are stressed. You need a wild night of release where you can ask that one fatal question: Is the sacrifice of all of this worth her for the rest of my life? In a drunken stupor you sleep it off and answer yourself in the morning. Then you go get married.

This is what the whole shebang, the ritual of, the purpose for the bachelor party. This one question is what it is all about. The job of the best man is to be the devil, to throw temptation into the face of the groom to be. The rest of the attendees are minor demons assisting in bringing those temptations to the forefront. It is not because we do not want him to marry. Do you really think Satan, sent by God, really wanted Jesus to cross out of his circle of stones instead of dying on the cross? Hell no! He just wanted him to be confident he was doing the right thing.

Tuesday Trike Night at the Dark Horse: Fail

Posted in bar, beer, boulder, colorado, review, Uncategorized with tags , , , , , , , , on June 17, 2010 by tymora42

It is rare that I attend an event and not have a good time and even rare that I feel compelled to write about it. What happened this past Tuesday at the Dark Horse in Boulder for me to feel so completely underwhelmed by something that should have gotten my motor revved? The burgers were great. The beer kept flowing. Most of my friends here were there with me for a going away party that my roommate, Nick, organized. The energy was flowing and we all filled out team slips to compete in the adult tricycle race around the bar. I will tell you. The host.

When you are given a microphone you should use it wisely. You are the central figure to tie in the various acts that follow with enthusiasm and encouragement. You are the instigator of the audience. You are to keep them entertained during lulls and drags along the course. You are to make them forget the dull. You return their attention to the fun they are having. Our host this night did not deliver. When he felt a loss of words for what was being witnessed he used profanity, which does not normally bother me if it is used creatively, but research shows that cussing makes you less likable even if the observer is a regular potty mouth themselves. He used the same jokes in rapid succession following each other like he thought maybe we did not hear him the first time. He went beyond failing to encourage the abnormal behavior of the participants to downright dissing their efforts. He was slow to keep the ball moving and uninteresting in his wit. None of these things are befitting of a host. When he took a bathroom break we almost cheered that he had removed himself from the stage except we were all waiting impatiently for our turn on the cycle. I expected more from a place that obviously likes to screw with their patrons.

Which one would you choose?

I will give the event this: It has potential. Free drinks meaning shots and beer. A large, welded big wheel trike for adults with ramps up and down and a crowd of people cheering you onward on your plight around the central area of the back bar to a spot in the corner where you take a shot, spin around in a barstool, relay back to the starting point, chug a beer, tag up and send your partner round for the same ordeal. You get to pick a team name, perfect fodder for a good host to chum about with while everything gets ready for the go, and a theme song. Why were there not more crazy helmets or costumes? I did not see one. Why were there not more terribly drunken wrecks part for real and part for show? There were a few. Maybe we should have had them chug a beer before they got on the bike rather than at the end. Or at both points. It still would have come down to that damned host to keep the crowd together cheering. After five heats things began to dissipate for the audience and the entire event became suddenly not as humorous.

One team spilled his beer. The host completely missed it. You have to pay attention to those sorts of things and call them out on it. Another team was obviously too drunk to be behind the wheel of the kiddie rides in front of Walmart. He called them out, but not the right way. He was discouraging rather than en-. Say something to the tune of, “We got a real winner here, folks. He has been practicing. Everyone needs to take two steps backward out of this guys way for the wide turns and weaving.” The guy was larger than most. He could also have said in mimic to the boss, “Did we remember to put the beeper on that thing in case he decides to back up?” Another group lost his group member, so he went two round by himself. He got more for that than the guy who spilled his beer. No matter how hard we tried, the host would not let anyone get into it.

It was Team Rocket’s turn, us. They could not find our song. I purposefully picked something obscure because he said that they could find it. They couldn’t. They gave us Team America instead, “Fuck YEAH!” We had our pit crew set up at the shot table interval waiting with salt on his neck, a lime in his mouth, and a shot of that Mexican powerhouse, Tequila, hovering near his breast. Yes, “his” breast. Greg took the first wave. he had some difficulties rounding the video game dead man curve, licked it, slammed it, sucked it, spit, took the required shot of grossness provided by the competition, spun in the stool, and ate it at the next corner. The host was speechless. He had nothing to say. So he fell back on what he knew, cusswords. My thoughts were this, I am going to get messy. He did say two things that could have been better if the energy was consistent. First, as I threw the shots all over everywhere, “You know we do not have showers,” and then following me reentry to the trike, “Are you going to make out with me next?” I should have stood up for that and made the attempt to do so, but my mind screamed, “Go! Go! GO!” So I went and instead made the attempt to run him over. He was standing right in front of me, but still I angled the wheel to make him leap backward. To further emphasize my lack of caring to the no shower policy, my beer chug consisted of dumping it onto my face and catching what little I could in my mouth. It was Budweiser. I do not drink that crap anyway. He says, “Well, now we can get back to normal racers.” Why would you want to do that? We were entertaining unlike you. You should want more people like that to keep alive the cheap gimmick of getting people into the bar and keeping them there drinking.

I have an idea. Get the guys from PropGay to host their homosexual takeover on a Trike Night. Then, you guys will be in for a show. It is just too bad more of them do not wear dresses to those things.

Oh yeah – And get some speakers that actually have bass.

Behind the Ogden and Over to the Cheeky Monk

Posted in bar, beer, blog, colorado, denver, music, review with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on June 6, 2010 by tymora42

We set out onto the Denver night with the focus of seeing David Rhinehart at a house concert hosted by as place called, “Behind the Ogden,” which was by the plum de nom, behind the Ogden. The venue was not a real venue at all, meaning it was devoid of licenses or even chairs for that matter, but it had drinks, a performance space, and music. It also had a table of vintage, and soon to be vintage, americana materials neatly arranged around the CDs of the artists for sale. The centerpiece was a table diner style ketchup and mustard rack. Instead of the condiments there were, very confusingly I should add, a single bottle of Wonder Bubbles. This home did not look like the type of home that would be very accepting of some stranger walking in and blowing bubbles all over their wood floors. Believe me, I was tempted.

Recently, a girl my roommate invited over noticed my construction and decoration of faerie wings. They freaked her out. In a juvenile, third year psychology major mindset she rationalized the creepiness with mental disorders fresh from her most previous classes. One of those, among other upsettingly judgmental accusations, was that I had age identity issues. I accept the truth of this to an extent. Much of my writing has reflections of it. Daily I struggle with the modern quarter life complex of being an adult, yet maintaining a youthful demeanor and playfulness. In extreme cases it is difficult for me to find my fit. Tonight was no different. At the house concert I felt too young to be there. Passing the Ogden and the Fillmore on the streets I felt too old.

Eventually I could stand it no longer. I took the soap outside to play. The evening air had the right amount of humidity for bubble perfection. Surprisingly, I did not take their hula hoops for a spin. When the music started again, I laid out on the cool, soap scum free, wood floors. The atmosphere was very church like. Rhinehart slowly brought the energy up a notch, keeping it in the tolerable realm for the stoic audience, then back to comfort. He was holding back. Only during the “Murder Song” did he reveal his desires to cut loose a little more. The song was still slow but the content, a man who killed his wife contemplating the life taking of the widow next door, breached. I would have liked to see the same show with a rowdier crowd.

Afterwards, we crossed the streets of children at the Tech N9NE concert to the Cheeky Monk, a belgian style bar with Dubbels, Trippels, Saisons, Kwoks, and ales from left to right. I was not so much in the mood for drinking until I had the fried pickles. The waitress brought me a glass of sweet and sour cherry mash called Kasteel Rouge. It was good. Really good. I must also mention that they are the only bar I have ever been that had Delirium Tremonds on tap.

More than the street with the kids trying to be all grown up in their hot pants, dreadlocks, struts, and puking in corner trashcans; more than the adults trying to be kids with their do not disturb bubble containers, vintage paraphernalia, choral recital halls in living rooms, and sleeping in designer sheets; the Cheeky Monk was my place with my people. They served us quality. the wait staff stooped to our level of immature dialogue, and they let us make noise sitting outside on the patio. They would have had no problems with us blowing bubbles and nobody needed to puke in the waste bin.

Going to a Happy place with a group of Gay Men

Posted in beer, blog, boulder, colorado, faeries, life with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 29, 2010 by tymora42

To be clear, Happy is a bar down the street from my place in Boulder that specializes in making drinks. Gay Men are homosexuals, meaning they like intimate relationships with same sex partners. I have no issue with either except that at times they both can be a bit frou-frou.

I had never been inside Happy, although I have walked by it many of times and heard stories about the thousands of drinks the bartenders are required to have in their memory banks before an application would even be looked upon. These are not a set roll call of booze mixings, but rather a sheer quantity of knowledge and artistic talent ala Tom Cruise in Cocktail without all of the theatrics. Had there not been an onrush of gay men quadrupling the normal weekend crowd size, and I mean the whole weekend, not just one night multiplied by four, I would have ordered the Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster only to see if they could make it. As it was, the Sushi menu of drinks was dropped to the Happy Hour list with dinner time prices.

Blake of the Moab fame invited me to this meetup or matchmaker or manhunter (I cannot remember the title of the group), where the homosexual union in the Boulder area practices their solidarity in protest to no gay bars by taking over ‘straight’ establishments for the night, bringing tons of people, buying tons of drinks, and effectively scaring the hell out of wet-behind-the-ear bar backs. Actually, I invited myself when he told me about it. It sounded like much more fun than their usual orientation elitist naked parties. I like naked parties as much as the next guy, more than the next guy, much more than the next guy, but when you involve strict sexual conduct rules the ball crosses the fence for me.

I think sexism should be less gender specific and more about the orientation of those being prejudiced against. Sexism is really genderism. We need labels like this instead of homophobia. Phobia has the literal connotation of fear and the homo part cannot be used to slap back for being reverse discriminated against in the manner that ‘racism’ can. We do not call it blackaphobia, negraphobia, mexiphobia. Okay, xenophobia, sure but this is a condition that causes racism or is caused by it, not one that is inherently in and of itself ‘racist.’ I like to apply it to extraterrestrial aliens myself.

In ten minutes standing at the bar you can discern the feel of whether this guy is going to serve you anytime soon. He wasn’t. At that point it is important to find the lynch pin of the serving station. Every bar, no matter how crowded, has one. I usually explore the joint upon entry, find the bathrooms if I need an excuse, accidentally walk into the employee only kitchen for a head poke, lap the typical u-shaped center, bumping into interesting people along the way. This time I went straight, pun intended, for the drinks. This did not serve me well or even at all so I performed my Lewis and Clark impersonation. Oddly, the rear entrance, which became the main entrance due to the inclination of tonight’s current clientele and the fact that they were allegedly locking the front for a semi-private engagement, was it. I pushed through, teaching a bunch of demure twinks how to be more aggressive with getting the attention of the bartenders by waving cash around like a pervert at the TNA club. He says, “I only have a credit card.” Dancers take that too, buddy.

With Mojito in hand I could properly canvass the next stop on my tour, the smoking section. Yeah, yeah, yeah. A Mojito. I figured, when in Rome. This does not mean I am going to strip down to my toga in the bathhouse for a night with the son of Mars and Venus, but it does means I will drink a tasty mojito in an already frou-frou gay-for-the-night establishment. Evidently, Mercury forgot to deliver the message to some of them. There is always that one guy, the poacher, that you clearly demonstrate verbally your straightness, yet, he still wants to convert you. I could have learned much more about bears and otters than I wanted to that night. I even explained about my breast fixation. The general consensus was that those nasty things were just in the way. Being predominately straight, I can think of other protrusions that would ‘just be in the way.’

There was an after party. I did not go. Thanks to the Boulder Creek Festival my car was already parked way too far from my house. I could only imagine rolling in at 5am and having to walk a mile back to mi casa. Some guy offered a lift. He only had room for one. I figured Blake would get more out of it than I would, so I bowed out. I have more important things to do today needing an earlier rise of a different sort than some here might prefer. I have kinetic generator hula hoops to build. I have art exhibits to attend. I have concerts to go to. The Boulder Creek Festival might take my parking spot, but they cannot stop me from enjoying it.

One Step Over the Line

Posted in beer, blog, computer, life, technology with tags , , , , , , , on July 26, 2009 by tymora42

I talked about bringing a book to the bar. That was okay. Enjoyable, even. Non threatening. Antisocial? Yes. But not over the top. Now, I am sitting in Bayfield’s Steamworks Brewery with a computer. Too much? Yes. Why? Because there are no coffee shops open after 2pm on a Saturday and this is where I came instead of Durango. A couple friends are driving up from Houston with my canoe. I came into town early to meet up with them and bring them the rest of the way home. What was I supposed to do while waiting? Well, I figured, I will just bring my computer to finish tapping out the 3rd part  to the Daudi Travels series. They have a really nice place in town called the Mill Street Brew, coffee brew not beer. They serve beer also, but it is safe for the electronics because they serve a nice hot cup of java too. Not today, though. They close early on the weekends. They close early every night except Thursday and Tuesday.

The good news is that it is pouring down rain. That will fill up the rivers.