Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Alcohol

I read Esquire. It's just another bullet point on the long list of un-military activity that I participate in on the daily but I'm not ashamed of it. I envision for myself a future of upper-middle class comfort where I'll be able to indulge in fast cars (probably rented), nice suits (that I won't have much occasion to wear), and of course fine expensive liquer. The mixing of these three is always a guaranteed recipe for hilarity, but if for some horrible reason I was ever forced to choose just one from the list, I'd have to follow my heart and my liver to the drink.

Alcohol is illegal in Kuwait, as it is in Iraq and of course my natural perpensity toward the contrary is begging my better judgement to find some sort of underground hooch network here on base where shampoo bottles are filled with bathtub gin and you need a password to open the tent flap. I've heard alcoholism runs in my family but I like to believe that I drink not because of some genetic defect but rather because drinking makes me a famous super hero with sexy chiseled abs and large offshore bank accounts. Reality is dictated by perception, right? I enjoy my reality on the rocks.

Anyway the reason I mentioned Esquire as a prelude to my libational confession is because they do a "Best Bars in America" feature every year and as I was laying on my cot in my white tent reading about bars that I'd actually been to I came to the conclusion that the only thing that rivals my love of music is my love of drinking with my friends. But I fucking hate going to the bars. They are too loud, too full of retards, and I always feel short in them. I don't why bars are the only place where I become self conscious of my height but it pisses me off just the same. It seems to me that these feelings aren't indicative of the bar experience as a whole but rather because the local bar scenes in the towns I've lived in have been either based around obnoxious college age drunkards or obnoxious middle aged affluent drunkards and the bars themselves focused too much on squeazing every last cent out of plastic sheathed well rum and cokes and not on the atmosphere of what made the public house of so many years ago a welcoming meeting place for the tired and thirsty masses.

I guess the only thing to do is build a bar from scratch that won't suck. Here's what my bar will feature:

A well trained and friendly staff. They don't have to be super models but men and women who know how to make a real drink. I figure I'll have to snag some from a larger city or start off staffing the bar myself until things are running the way I'd like.

No TV's. I don't care about sports and I want my bar to be a place to talk and meet people not to drool and stare into the corner at a Berry Bonds fat ass.

A free or cheap jukebox with good music. My definition of good is fucking good.

A small area for live music. People have forgotten the power of live music inclosed areas and alcohol, it's an awesome trio. I will use my contacts which still remain to get good artists to come play and I'll treat them right.

These will be the basics. As for design ideas and implimentation I'll be thinking while I'm not drinking. When I get home I'll be doing some heavy research to find out exactly what do and don't want in my bar... this of course will have to be done in the field.