Last Saturday, we went to a neighborhood bar. I should almost say, The Neighborhood Bar, because the rest of the bars in this godforsaken no-good place are not really bars. They are restaurants for alcohol. You sit at tables and consume your goods without much interaction with anyone other than your waitress. That, in my mind, is not a bar. I don't know what it is, but I don't like it. That's for sure.
TNB is totally different. It's over thirty years old, and apparently it kept it's ideas about how a bar should behave well in check over the years. It's decorated in all the standard bar ways (and a few not-so-standard ones, too). Check it out:
Nice, right? Yep, those things on the ceiling are what you think they are. T-shirts! From god-knows-when! That would totally stand up on their own if they ever got down! We had a good laugh about them on Saturday, imagining that the ceiling would peel off with them if you ever took them down, and the skylights that would come in handy and such. Some of them are at least 20 years old, from the looks of things. Nasty.
They've also got all sorts of beer lights that I would kill for. That giant glow in the picture is a Miller Lite sign dating back to pull-tabs. Yes, that's right. I remember those tabs with great fondness - pulling them out of the river when I was swimming, ill-fated barefoot campground walks, the list is endless. Man, those were fun. What ever happened to those? This is the sort of sparkling conversation one can have with one's neighbors at the bar. This is why we have a bar, people of Springpatch - so that lonely people can sidle up, order their favorite brew, and reminisce with their new (also drunk and therefore usually more friendly than usual) friends. Your piss-poor excuse for cheese I can live with (barely). Your attitude towards bars, however, is driving me over the edge. After all, who heard of a restaurant-style beverage intake facility cheering on a fellow while he does this?:
And then he puked. He had chicken for dinner. I know, because I was drunk, and I asked him. Mac and Bruce and I were all drunk. It was fun. They didn't ask anyone about their dinners, to the best of my knowlege.
I guess that particular setting on my camera makes you really feel like you're there and drunk as well. Good to know. If only I remembered which setting it was.
And hey, I'm just sticking this up here for fun, because who doesn't like to be compared to Fred and George?
Harry Potter Personality Quiz by Pirate Monkeys Inc.
Dear New Internet Explorer thingy,
I love the new look! It's fantastic how you've integrated some of the best features of Firefox, while still retaining your ease of use. I particularly enjoy your new icons, and having less words on my brower menu always pleases me.
I do, however, have one major complaint. Whenever I try to post a picture to my blogger account, things go well for the majority of the upload - I can see it going through the process of loading just fine - until the very end. When all of my hopes and dreams for my blog post are flushed down the motherfucking toilet by the screen saying that it "cannot find the page I was looking for". Motherfucker, I was looking for the page with the DONE button on it. That's the only page I care about. And this business with it working 10% of the time is utter bullshit, as well. Y'all know there are some terrifically optimistic people out there (like me, for example), who will try it every single time with your browser (which, by the way, is fantastic in every other concievable way), just because ONE TIME it did what I wanted it to do.
Thanks to your shitty design flaw, I am forced to write my blog posts in your browser, pray to the god of boxed wine that it will go through, and then scare my husband with my terrible cursing when it doesn't work. Then I am forced to space out my paragraphs with spaces where the pictures should go and labels of the pictures I had wanted to use there (ie: [pictures of fellow drinking pitcher]), save my post as a draft, and then open it up and edit and post it through Firefox.
I am disappointed, New Internet Explorer Thingy. I had such high hopes for you. I will continue to use your browser because I happen to hate new things, and refuse to upgrade to the more efficient Firefox. I'm a pansy, and sometimes I act like an old lady. Please fix your problems.
PS: If you had a mouth, and I had balls, I would so totally be telling you to suck them, New Internet Explorer Thingy.