Leaving the Saloon and Taking the Baby With Me

Even though I've only been able to drink legally for a decade, I come across some memorable bartenders. There were the big sports fans, the beer connoisseurs, the music fans, and of course, the ladies. All of whom made drinking even more enjoyable then it usually is. A good barkeep not only makes you feel welcome, but makes you feel at home, no matter had bad, how hole-in-the-wall, how run-down, or how much of a dump the place you are drinking is.

I tried my hand at bartending once. For three weeks, I worked once a week at a bar in Tallahassee. It was the end of December and I was supposed to hold the place down while the girls who normally worked there took their Christmas/Winter breaks. It really wasn't difficult, to be honest. Then again, the most people I had at the bar at one time was three - my roommate, some random guy, and a homeless guy.

Although I worked probably close to 20 hours, I didn't bring home a red cent. Not only did I not get paid, but I actually lost money. One night the aforementioned homeless guy came in and said he knew the owner and that the owner said to give him 10 bucks for some nearby McDonalds. Since I had seen the homeless fellow in the place before talking to the owner, I assumed maybe they were tight. I was wrong. Needless to say, the owner was not happy and I had to pay back the ten bucks, which considering I worked for tips, and I wouldn't take my roommate's money (it would go for food or beer for our fridge either way), meant I had to pay back the bar out of my own pocket.

Yup, I might be the only person who lost money working in a bar in a college town.

I tell this tale because my second saloon stint, albeit this time online, has come to a close. I will no longer be blogging over at Thunder Matt's Saloon. They've decided to be more Cubs-centric and filter out any of the Tampa riff-raff they had floating around. But they did give me a nice severance package: a case of Old Style and a beat-up Cubs hat. So I have that going for me.

Anyway, I wasn't the only one recently given the boot from El Saloon de Thunder Matt. A few weeks ago, the cops found out about little Baby Hack Wilson and his residence in the back of the Saloon. They not only took him away but threw him in jail for a while. So rumor has it he is not allowed in the Saloon anymore. Well, little buddy, that makes two of us.

The End of the Bottle: Baby Hack's Sad Farewell

The Sad Farewell of Baby Hack Wilson

Greetings and salutations! Hope you remember me, I'm the baby with the bottle. The distant relative to ol' Hack Wilson. We Wilsons never veer far from the happy spirits, you know. Great-great-great-grandpa once drank a fifth of Jack, hit a grandslam, threw back a bottle of 'shine, walked, and then drank two beers per inning until hitting a game winning single in the bottom of the 16th. Then he went out for a victory brew. That's why he is my idol.

Anyway, I had a little incident I think you should know about. Seems the authorities got wind of me living here in Thunder Matt's place. I don't know how. Maybe it was that guy who came in for a drink wearing the badge and carrying a gun. He seemed real suspicious. He kept asking White Chili if he heard a baby crying. I'll admit I was crying, but it wasn't my fault, Wolter was trying to wash me in a toilet bowl. And if you have ever been to the restrooms at the Saloon, you know those toilets haven't been flushed since the Gary Varsho Era.

So the next day or so, a few cops came in the Saloon with some people from the Chicago Child Services Department. They asked some questions, got some answers, and ended up taking me away. I spent the last few weeks in the Cook County Prison. It was cool, no one messed with me. Some big guy named Zeus took care of me. He was real nice. Apparently, he was also a relative of a former Cub. Do you remember Mike Harkey? Me neither.

After a while, I was finally released from the slammer. Unfortunately, they told me I can't live here in the Saloon anymore. Something about it being illegal for babies to live in places where they serve alcohol. Jordi said that was one of The Man's rules. I'm not sure I believe in all that "omnipotent bugaboo" mumbo-jumbo Jordi is always talking about, but I'm going to agree with him this time.

The sad truth is now I am homeless. Perhaps I can find a home with one of the other bartenders. Maybe the College of Idiots will admit me, or perhaps the Mandfelt Family will adopt me. Or maybe those fine gentlemen of Unprofessional Foul will bring me in, or maybe I'll go Hitler punching with Wolter. Maybe I can join Vinnie over at Mythological Inches or Ginger Russ at the Andy White Fan Club. Then, of course, there is the Shooter-loving crew over at Effectively Wild, or The Hundley's crew over at Blog of Eternal Stench. If all fails, I'm sure The Slog or The Three Seashells will give me a place to rest my head. I'd ask Kayne, but he would probably blame my problems on the al-al-al-al-cohol.

Wish me luck as I bid farewell to the Saloon. To quote the great Snoop Dee Oh Double-G, "a tear drops my eye".

Shoulda Been Dead On A Thursday Morning Bangin My Head

Greetings. The Great Jordi is back. In some parts I am known as Agent J, but that is neither here nor there. Well, it is actually there, as it is in some places, which have to be there, because they are certainly not here, unless you were there, in which they would be here. And if they were here, then I must stop talking to you because I am not ready and it is impolite to have guests over when you are not ready. So therefore, ipso facto, e pluribus unum, because I am not ready they are not here so they must be there. So there.

Now I am completely off course on what I wanted to talk about. But because I have a steady first mate, I will bring myself back on course in a moment.

Anyway, did you know there was a Science Fiction writer named Jerome Walton?

Do you remember that movie Fire in the Sky? All about being abducted. By space men. Speaking of, I watched Phinneas and Ferb tonight and they were in space, pretending to be astronauts. Seriously, if you are not watching Phinneas and Ferb you are selling yourself short and doing yourself a disservice. While the rest of the Saloon is watching cooking shows, I am watching cartoons.

And that's just the way it is. Some things will never change.

By the way, the following teams were declared winners last night by outscoring their opponents before the close of the 9th inning:

Pirates, Yankees, Rockies, A's, Marlins, Nationals, Mariners, and Blue Jays, Braves, Rangers, Angels, Astros, White Sox, and Dodgers, and Cubs.

If your favorite team was not listed on this list, they probably either didn't play, or lost.

Peace out.

Counterprogramming on the night of the ESPYs

I have never been a big fan of award shows. I don't watch the Oscars, the Tonys, the Emmys, the BET Awards, the CMT Awards, or any other WTF Awards show out there. Instead of being about the fans and the entertainment, award shows end up being industry love-fests where celebrities drool all over each other. And few, if any, of these awards shows are worse than ESPN's ESPY awards.

Way back in day, I used to be excited about the ESPYs. I not only watched, but even taped the first ever ESPY award show. An award show that celebrates the best in sports over the last year? Sign me up. Then it began to pander to celebrities - actors and actresses and the like. No thanks.

So with my normal Sunday night routine of unwinding to baseball destroyed thanks to the ESPYs, I embarked on a channel surfing journey to find something interesting to watch. Admittedly, I am not an avid TV watcher and I don't have any routine shows, so I was embarking into the vast programming unknown. Fortunately, I only had to travel less than a dozen channels before I landed on CNBC's Marijuana Inc, an exposé on the pseudo-legal marijuana business in Northern California.

Now I am not going to push my opinion either way, nor admit or deny any prior usage, but I have always been interested in the weed business. Back in my college days, I used to play Dope Wars non-stop. Perhaps you remember that. Perhaps not.

Anyway, CNBC's broadcast went behind the scenes in Northern California's Mendocino County, a place where selling weed is a booming business and millions in marijuana money is brought into the local economy each year. Thanks to a tangled web of federal, state, and local laws, growers are allowed to grow, buyers are allowed to buy, and smokers are allowed to smoke. CNBC talked to cafe owners who sell out of storage areas, entrepreneurs who want to turn parts of Oakland into the second coming of Amsterdam, housewives who attend classes on how not to get caught selling, and the poor DEA and local authorities who are trying to restore order in this Mecca of Mary Jane.

After Marijuana, Inc ended, what to watch then was a no-brainer. The next show on CNBC was a similar expose on the porn industry entitled Porn: The Business of Pleasure. You can't tell me the folks at CNBC didn't know what they were doing, broadcasting two hours of content on two topics my demographic (18-35, male, single, and bored) love as much as sports. You are correct, CNBC, in lieu of sports, weed and women work just fine.

Although there were the expected images of bikini clad women throughout the broadcast, the porn business expose was not all about the T&A. Did you know the porn industry is worth over 13 billion dollars? Did you also know that adult DVD sales have dropped between 30 and 50% in the last few years? That's what this show covered, the money, the people, and the technology behind the business of horizontal body banging.

All in all, it was an enjoyable night of television entertainment. I did find it interesting, however, that the host of the weed documentary was casually dressed in jeans and a polo shirt, and the host of the porn special was gussied up in knee-high boots and heavy make-up. And I also had a chuckle every time they mentioned women in executive positions of the porn industry being "on top". I'm not sure if those things were worth noticing, or if they were a big deal to anyone else. Maybe I was thinking too much.

Maybe I should have relaxed, rolled one up, popped in a movie, and conducted my own research.

The Hack the Fifth Diaries: Tough to be a baby

Sorry for the lack of updates. I've been pooping myself.

I guess I have been derelict in duties of informing you of my life. To be honest, there hasn't been much life to talk about. I mean, seriously, look at me. I'm a baby.

But I do know a few things about what's been going on here at the Saloon. First of all, Wolter still hates me. He calls me "Hack the fifth son of Satan". I guess I am kinda to blame. A few weeks ago, ol' Chaim convinced Wolter to at least try holding me, for just a second. At first, Wolter gave me the evil eye and splashed holy water on me. But then when I didn't burn, he decided to take a chance and hold me.

I puked on him.

Then there are the interns. I don't know what's up with these guys. One of them is barely older than I am, one is a philosophical nut, and then there is Adam Blank, who put me in the dishwasher a few nights ago. I wish my motor skills were fully developed, I would have called the cops on him.

Again, I have to apologize. I tend to exaggerate a bit. Life in the Saloon is not as bad as I sometimes make it out to be. I get to drink free beer, eat as many chicken wings and fried pickles as I can, and most of the time the guys put me in front of the t.v. and I watch sports all day. Then I get a diaper change, get burped, and go to bed. Not a bad life.

But let me tell you, I have seen some strange things on the t.v. lately. Stuff that would make a grown-up poop.

First of all, remind me to never get involved with a crazy chick. The guys were telling me stories of Artuoro Gatti and Steve McNair. They said they were real men. Real warriors. Unfortunately, they were both killed by crazy chicks. Although I've never met a woman, I'll admit I am a little scared to now.

Not all of the bartenders are bad people either. I know I might talk about their bad habits and all, but the other day Brant Brown tried to teach me about the world outside the saloon. He told me all about the world's worst people. I was so scared I swore in my baby talk that I would never ever leave. Brant just smiled and said "good boy".

Eulogy for the Eliminated: Bea Arthur

Dearly Beloved,

While normally we gather to bury the underachieved, the pathetic, and the downtrodden, today we bury a legend. Today we mourn the loss of the patron saint of sassy old ladies everywhere, the delectable, amazing Bea Arthur.

Miss Beatrice Frankel was born in New York just before the Great Depression. She lived a bunch of years then got into acting. She was good at it.

In the great year of 1971, Miss Bea showed her mettle against the immortal Archie Bunker. Bea's "Maude" character was the bane of the conservative, bigoted, pre-Sarah Palin sect. If her character was around today, she would have been called a heretic and crucified by the disciples of Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck.

But still Bea marched on, matching George and Weezy as the most successful spin-off of Archie and Edith. After "Maude", Bea helped usher in the debut of the baddest bounty hunter the galaxy has ever seen. Then she moved to Miami to live with her mother, a ditzy loon, and the world's oldest slut.

Like many of my generation, Bea Arthur stands on the pantheon among the most awesome old babes. She was cool without having to be cool. The old lady you wouldn't mind having a beer with and maybe even smoking a doob with (I have no idea if Bea Arthur actually smoked weed, but it would be cooler if she did). Also, to top it off, she is the only woman over 65 I ever imagined naked, thank you Brendan Fraser.

On a related note, the Golden Girls now join the Beatles and the Who as amazing quartets who only have two surviving members as Estelle Getty left us last year.

So here's to you, Bea Arthur. Thank you for pissing off the Right, introducing Boba Fett, being a voice of reason in a house of dopey Dade County dames, being the sexual fantasy of wannabe rockers everywhere, and giving me 3 points in the Thunder Matt Fantasy Death League.

Rest in peace, Bea. You will be missed.

Hide your cash with Mighty Mickey M

Economy got you down?

Kicking dirt as your house drops in worth?

Don’t know the difference between bailing out the economy and bailing out your Uncle Charlie?

Then come see me.

I’m Mickey Morandini and I would like to introduce you to Mighty Mickey Morandini’s Magic Money Mattresses.

You remember me, right? I played for the Cubs many moons ago.

Unfortunately, my money slowly disappeared in a few unfortunate investments. (Damn you, Enron!)

But like the scrappy middle infielder I was when I played, I get back up when I get knocked down. And now I am back with a great new idea!

Presenting Mighty Mickey Morandini’s Magic Money Mattresses. Forget banks. Forget 401Ks and forget mutual funds. Our mattresses are perfect to store your money in during the worst of times, the best of times, or any other times.

What makes our Magic Money Mattress worth your hard earned cash? First they have hidden pockets that store that easy to get moolah safe and secure. And for that long-term investment, all of our mattresses come with a bulletproof titanium safe inserted inside the mattress. Simply insert your money in the slot and our Magic Money Mattress will keep it from prying government hands. And even if it does get stolen, the built-in GPS will help you track it down.

And don’t worry about losing the combination to your mattress safe.

I am the only one who knows the combination.

Safe opening service sold separately.

Meet a Bartender: New Staff Edition

JORDI

Real Name: Jordi?

Where are you now?
Tampa, FL

Favorite Sports Teams:
New York Mets, Tampa Bay Rays, Brevard County Manatees, Florida State Seminoles

Favorite Current Player(s):
Kerry Wood (token Cub), Tim Wakefield, R.A. Dickey, Prince Fielder (calm down, he went to my HS), Tim Lincecum, all LOOGYs.

Favorite All-Time Player(s):
Calvin Coolidge Julius Caesar Tuskahoma McLish, Rusty Kuntz, Howard Johnson, Benny "The Jet" Rodriguez.

Memorable encounters with MLB players:
When I was 10 I went to a spring training game, got myself a hot dog, lathered it up in mustard appropriately, when ex-Met Roger McDowell came up alongside me and said "Excuse me." Well, of course, I moved out of the way.

Then like twenty years later I crashed the 2006 General Managers meeting in a Disney hotel. I met or saw Tommy Lasorda, Ozzie Guillen, Cal Ripken, Jim Leyland, Darryl Hamilton, Bryan Harvey, and Scott Boras. I hate Scott Boras.

Player(s) you'd sit and have a beer with:
Joel Zumaya, Nolan Ryan, Ralph Kiner, Billy Brewer, Roy Hobbs, Rube Waddell (do they have to be living?), Hack Wilson, Ty Cobb, and J.O. Sampson.

Player(s) you absolutely despise:
Bobby Bonilla, Chipper Jones, Kenny Rogers, Vince Coleman

Best baseball video game of all-time:
I am going to go with Little League Baseball for the NES. Just slightly over Basewars. Yeah, I haven't played much video games since the reign of George the Elder.

So whatcha drinkin? This being a saloon and all:
La Fin Du Monde. It's French for The End of The World. Before you get your panties in a bunch that you let in someone who speak a wee bit of Francais, rest easy. La Fin is brewed in the mean streets of Canada. Probably in Calgary, Alberta, Canada.

What about Beecake?
Never much of a fan. Until he did the Barbershop and Shawn Michaels kicked Marty Jenetty through the glass window. Or like when he got in that motorcycle accident and smashed his face into a million pieces. Wait, B-e-e-c-a-k-e? I don't know no Beecake, I thought you were talking about Brutus "The Barber".

Favorite sports card(s) you own:
Sorry. I was fortunate enough to sell my cards and have them pay for my college education. Oh, you didn't do that? What, no one wants your eighteen 1993 Mike Piazza Topps regular edition rookie card? Sucks to be you.

Ketchup on a hot dog. Yay or nay?
You don't put ketchup on a hot dog. That's like putting the Spicy Brown on a steak.

Who do you consider your nemesis?
The Man. Somma bich constantly holding me down. One day I'm gonna stick it to The Man and give The Man some whatfor. Oh, and Bryan Maddox.

If you could be any movie character, who would it be?
Elliot Richards in Bedazzled. Or Joe Dirt.

Favorite thing you've written for TMS?
Well, due to process of elimination, it would have to be this. Either that or a comment. I do like to bring the humor in the comments. Yeah, remember that one comment? Yeah, that was cool.

Thing you've written you're most ashamed of?
Dear Thunder Matt Crew,

I am just starting my own blog. I found yours and thought it was really funny. Can you give me any pointers?

*This is referring to an email Jordi sent us nearly two years ago asking for advice. Because we being a 6 month old blog obviously had all the answers. I still have that email saved but I'll spare him the embarrassment of posting it here.

Tending Bar over at Thunder Matt's

Way back in my younger days, many, many, many moons ago, I worked in a bar in Tallahassee. Actually, to be honest, I didn't really work. I just kinda stood behind the bar, played music, and handed beers to the few friends or homeless vagabonds who showed up. After two weeks of this routine, the bar told me they were going with the "hot-girls-behind-the-bar" strategy and that I wouldn't be working there anymore.

And that was the end of my life as a bar keep. Until now.

Last week, I received and accepted an invite to write for one of my favorite blogs: Thunder Matt's Saloon. I've long been a patron of Thunder Matt's little corner of the blogosphere and it's an honor to be welcomed into such a circle of greatness.

If you are not familiar with Thunder Matt's Saloon, they are the geniuses who brought us such legendary posts as:

Underrated/Overrated: Condiments

The Fantasy Hurricane League

The Thunder Matt Beer Project

and 50 States/50 Bands

So what will I bring to the Saloon? Well, I'm not quite sure yet. Hopefully, I'll bring my legion of two or three faithful readers. But other than that, as long as they don't decide to replace me in two weeks with pictures of hot chicks, I think I'll be alright.

By the way, don't worry - The Serious Tip is not going away. I'll still be here. I'm just branching out.

(P.S. That's not really Thunder Matt's Saloon, that's a picture of a place called "Matt's Saloon" in Prescott, AZ.)