Unfathomable Miscellany
Ellis Dhee
Behind Bars: One Alcoholic's opinions and impressions of Northern
California's finest Dive Bars
Obligatory Rating Scale:
* Not even Bukowski would frequent this shithole.
** Not much better than one. It usually possesses at least one
redeeming quality. That "quality" is seldom the bartender.
*** This is the most common ranking. Average. Moderately strong
drinks. Good jukebox. Number of lost souls kept to a minimum after 9
PM.
**** This ranking is usually reserved for bars that I myself frequent
(it's my article and I'm allowed all the fucking bias I want). The
bars that achieve this ranking generally have pool tables, more than
one draft beer (preferably not of the corporate nature), more than two
women (preferably not of the hermaphroditic nature), and, despite our
state's oppressive laws, they still allow smoking.
***** This rating is virtually unachievable. It requires special
circumstances. Those circumstances usually involve, but are not
limited to, the bartender hand-delivering me an over-sized,
over-boozed gin and tonic to the bathroom where I'm shooting heroin
while being sucked off by last year's prom queen.
THE BUCKHORN
Location: Petaluma
Date Visited: Sometime in '98 (a good alcoholic doesn't waste time and
precious memory space with petty details like months and days of the
week).
Upon entering this monument to loneliness and wasted life, I was
greeted by the shrill sounds of a particularly ear-grinding Zeppelin
standard, the lingering smell of defeat and unfriendly (yet comically
pathetic) stares from the defeated. I felt as though I had broken
their concentration. It was obvious by the lack of basic hygiene that
these booze funnels had all the mobility of a runaway stump. My guess
is that the most strenuous part of their daily regimen involves
craning their red necks toward the creaky screen door to see if what
crawled in falls into the category of "to fuck" or "to beat up". There
is rarely little, if anything at all, physically or morally stopping
them from doing both.
Aside from this handful of Petaluma's finest, there wasn't much
to see. I'm not sure, but I think this was due to the particularly
thick prescription of my beer-goggles that evening. Or maybe it was
because the brightest subject in the room (aforementioned patrons
included, myself being the sole exception) was the TV in the upper
right corner of the bar, ironically displaying static and fuzzy snow.
Another tribute to nothingness.
My departure was almost as rapid as my arrival only moments
earlier. To them, I was just a hallucination from their alcohol-soaked
imagination.
I gave this bar two stars although it only deserved one-half. I
tossed in an additional one and one-half stars for the hooker and the
high level of dank that any self-respecting dive bar would aspire to
achieve.
Obligatory Rating: **
ANDRESSEN'S
Location: Petaluma
Date Visited: Sometime in '98
My God, could they possibly stack any more fucking dead animal
heads on the wall? Wait--I think I see some empty space in the corner.
Perhaps we could fill this void with the head of the owner.
Apparently, he stopped using it 20 years ago.
Tonight it seems to be just me, the barkeeper, and a few of
Bambi's closest friends immortalized and mounted in trophy form about
the bar next to an impressive display of antique firepower and law
enforcement brutality tools. Not even Hitler practiced such
exhibitionism.
I'm told this establishment was formerly a brothel. I don't see
how. Vlad the Impaler couldn't achieve a fuck-worthy erection in the
midst of this carnage.
Despite the stomach-churning decor (ask to see the framed
picture of the human wind chimes resting on the cash register), this
watering hole is not without its appeal. It's usually empty and the
jukebox isn't half bad. I give it three stars for its speakeasy
mentality, friendly service and antique bar paraphernalia. It would
have received four stars, but I was rammed in the crotch by the ghost
of a dead elk in the bathroom...or maybe it was the ghost of a dead
prostitute. I prefer to think it was the latter, but who can tell for
sure?
Obligatory Rating: ***
This article appeared in Church on Thursday, Issue #9, a long time ago.
