No, Oh No, Not O'Neil's. Why? You Bastards!!!

They finally did it. I saw the newspaper clipping years ago, but I'd forgotten. Or I didn't care at the time. Or I was too sad to recognize its reality. But I saw it with my own eyes moments ago. They killed O'Neil's.

Much of my mid 20s and most of my initial grown-up paychecks were spent at this pub. A tiny little whole-in-the-wall basement sort of bar, smoke clouds filling the place from the floor to the 7-foot ceilings, dark as night even if you were there for lunch, scaring off the Michigan Avenue tourists, one of the older bars in Chicago, to be sure, the place had history. And narrow - wide enough for Mike or Bridget behind the bar, the regulars seated on their stools, and one person to scoot gingerly (or drunkenly) behind them to the four tables in the back. And in the warmer months we were lucky enough to have enjoyed the courtyard in the back - a sunny little haven away from the plumes of carbon monoxide filling our lungs when seated on the sidewalk.

It was as close as we ever got to our own version of Cheers. They did know our names. They knew that we wanted Budweiser bottles in the summer and Maker's Mark in the winter. And we knew their names. Hell, Senor Juevos even took Michelle out one time (which may have been the beginning of the end, but that's a different blog). And Michelle always asked where Jessica was when I only showed up with OtherJason. And we'd be so happy when we got the bill and we realized that they'd bought our last few rounds (despite having to pay for the previous 14) that we'd leave a monstrous tip, ensuring our enjoyment the next weekend.

Man, we would just destroy hours of our life in that place. It was a black hole. One time, on Jessica's birthday, I'd arranged for a limo to pick her up to bring her to the restaurant where I'd meet her. I had a couple hours to kill so I stopped into O'Neil's with Senor Juevos for a couple of pints. A couple of pints later I realized that my couple of hours were up, resulting in the need for me to sprint down Michigan Ave in order to beat the limo, which I'd just watched pass by. Why are you sweating? she asked. No reason.

It seems like an exaggeration, but I'm quite certain that one evening that turned into night included the consumption of a solid 24 bottles of Budweiser - between only myself and Juevos. A case of beer without noticing. Just a few trips upstairs to the men's room during commercial breaks of whatever basketball game happened to be on.

And now they're tearing it down, as it's on the ground floor of a 3-flat that is in the way of some new glass and steel condominium atrocity.

So a toast:

To OtherJason's famous comment about Bridget: "she's like....a woman". True indeed.

To Polkadottas.

To my $10,000 t-shirt.

To Michelle - best cocktail waitress-turned-friend-turned-MIA ever. We miss you, wherever you are.

To Mike - calm and cool bar manager, and he couldn't have been older than us.

To Bridget's St Pauli Girl Halloween costume.

To Happy Hour turning into Happy Midnight.

To the only bar in Chicago to have Leinenkugel on tap, giving us enough reason to drink Leinie drafts for years.

To Robert, for introducing us.

To countless lost nights with my friends - Jess, Amanda, Eggz, and Schrowe.

To Schrowe.

The Death of Customer Service; or How I Learned to Stop Worrying & Hate the French

As much as I whole-heartedly agreed with OtherJason's post ranting about the obnoxiousness that is Southwest Airlines, a new carrier has overwhelmingly taken the reigns as my Most Hated Corporation: Air France.

I'd always had my reservations about all those anti-Frenchy comments about how they are rude, or stinky, or how they smoke like Siberian chimneys, but now I am steering the bandwagon on its quest for Freedom Fries. THE FRENCH SUCK.

I'm saying this only with having experienced approximately 0.000000082% of the French population, but these were employees of Air France, and therefore representatives of the entire country.

Here's the story: I recently vacationed with my lovely wife in Italy. We had a fantastic time, of course, loving every bit of Italian history and culture and people. To get there and back, we flew Air France. Part of that trek was a layover in Paris - Chuck De Gaulle Airport. We booked our flight home to return from Rome to Paris, Paris to Chicago on a Monday. A month or so after booking the flight (on AirFrance.com) I received a call from AF stating that they were no longer offering the Monday flight from Paris to Chicago; our flight home would be delayed 24 hours. Their offer, over the phone, was that they'd put us up in a hotel in Paris for the night and we'd simply fly home the same time the next day. Well sure, I said, happy to add 12 hours in Paris to the vacation. I knew we'd be stuck at some airport Holiday Inn, but big deal. So the French-accented woman on the other end of the phone said to me: just go to the Air France Transfer Desk at the airport and they'll arrange everything for you. I said: can you email me something so I have some sort of confirmation? She said: oh, don't worry about that, you're all set in the system. A month later or so, I had to call Air France to update our passport information. A different French-accented woman on the other line, so again, I ask: is there something you can email me as a confirmation for the hotel. Again: no, no, I see it here, it's in the system.

And so now here we are at the Air France Transfer Desk. A brief 20-minute wait in line and now it's our turn: Hi, I'm so-and-so and here's my story and which way do I go to my hotel, and isn't everything wonderful? And here is the lovely Air France representative, typing, typing, typing, calling someone on the phone, typing, typing, typing, finally acknowledging our existence (insert your own snooty French-woman accent): No, eet eez not possible. Thees flight on Monday does not exeest. I know it doesn't exist, that's why you're putting us up at a hotel becuase you cancelled it. No, eet ees not our fault. Thees flight never exeested. REALLY??? Is that right? That's fascinating, because that's the fucking flight I booked with AirFuckingFrance.com before two separate Air Fucking France representatives assured me that I was in the fucking system and they knew that eet fucking eexseested. And some such words.

And so now the lovely Air France Transfer Desk Representative is going to the back office to speak with her supervisor. And the lovely Air France Transfer Desk Representative is gone for a solid 15 minutes. I'm not exaggerating, honestly. We were sure that she'd come back wiping croissant crumbs from her snot-nose after having taken her break. Meanwhile, smoke was fuming from my ears, I'm certain.

Oh, here she comes. Finally. And here she sits. And here she is typing. And here she is still typing and she still hasn't said anything to us. Still typing. Typing. Still no words. She hasn't even looked at us. Typing. SO CAN YOU PLEASE TELL US WHAT IS GOING ON? We have zee hotel for you now. Oh, well, eur-fucking-reka. Now, here we go, here's the apology and the offer for the upgrade to first class and maybe even the ticket voucher for our next trip. And more typing. And another phone call. And more typing. And one more phone call. And more typing. And finally, OK, here eez zee voucher for zee hotel, call zees number to have them pick you up. What??? Who have you been on the phone with??? Why don't you pick the phone back up and call them to pick us up? And more typing. And the phone call. And then, OK, zhere eez a shuttle bus right that way.

My turn: I'm sure you're a very nice person and all, but this is ridiculous. You've had us standing here now for over an hour after I was assured by TWO separate Air France representatives that all I had to do was come to the Transfer Desk and you'd take care of everything. That I was in the system. And now I stand here after you essentially call me a liar, that my flight never existed, and I see NO effort on the part of Air France to keep me, my family, or my friends as customers. NO attempt to alleviate the tension I'm feeling towards your organization. Why don't you go get your supervisor?

Same spiel to the supervisor. Her response? It was a mistake on the website where you bought the tickets. !!!!! I bought the damn tickets on AirFrance.com. Is that not a part of Air France? Are you not essentially blaming yourself??? Head-shaking No. Me again: I see Air France making absolutely no effort to keep me and my family and everyone I know as customers. SURELY, there are first class seats available on our flight home. Head-shaking No. Eet eez not possible. Really? Because you also told me that it wasn't possible that you would reserve a hotel for me and here I stand with a hotel voucher that you just handed me. Head-shaking No. Eet eez not possible. Really. Point-blank: you're not going to offer anything to keep me as a customer. Again, a head-shaking No.

Fascinating. Anti-customer service. Even the chicks that work in the double-wide at the 700 Sacramento tow lot give more of a shit about me than Air France.

And so now my request, a real-life boycott: please, for the love of all that is good, NEVER FLY AIR FRANCE, or if you're like me, any of its partners at SkyTeam, which includes ten airlines (Aeroflot, Aeromexico, Alitalia, Continental Airlines, CSA Czech Airlines, Delta Air Lines, KLM Royal Dutch Airlines, Korean Air and Northwest Airlines).

Now where are my damn Freedom Fries?

Alas, but you forgot one...

Very valid points my friends, but the tragedy in my eyes is the lack of a DVD copy for the classic film, BMX Bandits. I think it was Australian, but that may just be because it features a 15-year old Nicole Kidman practically unintelligible thanks to the unbroken accent. Nothing better than 3 teenagers foiling the plans of the evil bad guys, thanks solely to their kick-ass abilities on their kick-ass BMX bikes.

It also features a similarly kick-ass theme song by The Papers. Although, the chorus sounds a little ELO-ish. Enjoy. You-know-who would have.

Another great Flick

Yes! I always loved RAD, but I could hardly ever find it in the video store. So, I have a hard time remembering many parts of the film. I do recall the scene where he rides his bike off a ramp into a lake. Classic.

While I'm on the topic of great childhood movies, let me share "Over the Edge" with everyone. I was something like 12 years old, and up one Saturday evening watching some late night programming with Rhonda. Yes, I'm speaking of "USA Up...All Night". I don't know if that show is still on, but it was sweet because I could always watch some obscure flick that really made me believe you could drink your way through college or that all old horror movies were really comedies (not true: case in point Exorcist and Poltergeist). Funny story though, I was watching this movie at 1AM or so, and my phone rings. It's my buddy Schrowe calling to tell me about a movie he's watching. Yep, he was watching it too. So we watched it together, in separate homes, and we discussed the movie often. Nothing about the movie is over the top or visually impressive, but that is the point.

Over The Edge was awesome for a few reasons. (1) PLANNED COMMUNITIES: I thought this was a recent phenomena, but as the movie unfolds you see that it has been a parasite of culture for decades now. I firmly believe there are few things that rob us of our creativity and imagination more than a community, where everything material is at your fingertips and kids are confined to backyards and "play-dates" (2) kids being kids, I swear that some of the same stuff happened in Jo. Co. where I grew up, but somehow we never got caught. (2) Music: the soundtrack is full of late 70s and early 80s rock that still holds its own.

So rent it. I got it on Netflix a couple of weeks ago, b/c I was thinking of Jason. If it sucks...let me know. I haven't had a conversation about it in a while, and Jason was the only other person I knew who had seen it.

The Monster Squad vs. Rad

Ok. Either you know these 2 movies very well, or you have no fucking clue what they are. Rad came out in 1986, and was about a teenaged BMX racer named Cru Jones who tries to qualify for ‘the big race’ on ‘Helltrack’. The Monster Squad came out in 1987 and was about a group of kids who discover that all of the movie monsters (Dracula, Wolf Man, Frankenstein, etc.) are real and are trying to end the world. By today’s standards these movies are seen as corny, ridiculous teen flicks. But, in the 80’s – Oh My God – they were the shit.

When my bro and I would do the weekend dad thing after our parents divorced, dad would always let us rent 7 (that’s right – 7) movies for the whole weekend, especially if the weather was nasty. Guess what 2 out of the 7 ALWAYS were? Jas and I were completely obsessed with these movies, doing such things as getting ‘BMX’ bikes, and trying to form our own monster squad. We knew all the words (in fact if I watched them today, it would all come back to me, I’m sure) and even held tape recorders up to the TV to record the songs and best one-liners from the movies. Some lines that come to mind:

“Wolf Man’s got nards!?”
“Check it out guys! Cru’s gonna try and qualify for Helltrack!”
“It’s Scary Old German Guy’s house”

or something like that. Anyway, it’s 20 years later, and these movies still have not made it to DVD. Why not? I haven’t done much research, but there has to be a cult following somewhere (or at least I could start one). One of the last e-mail exchanges I had with my brother was actually about the distress we both felt about not being able to buy these movies on DVD. Oh sure, we would e-mail each other links to buy Monster Squad or Rad shirts, or other merchandise, but of course that is not the same. I have found them on VHS on various sites for sale – but the lowest price I’ve seen is like $35.00. For 20 yr-old VCR tapes?! No thanks, I’ll wait for the DVD.

So, a great mystery to me is - which one will be put on DVD first? And which one would I want to see first? And how can I go about making sure that these fabulous movies get put on DVD? I think I would be slightly more excited about The Monster Squad, but I bet Jas would prefer Rad. Either way it will be a fine day when I can go to Best Buy and pick these up.

A Memory

At the Hofbrau House in Munich, Germany. Dee-runk on Pilsners served in mugs the size of your noggin. And I have a large noggin. Been drinking said Pilsners all day. Since we arrived in Munchen. All we did, in fact. Beirgarden to Beirgarden. Liter to Liter. Buzz to tipsy. Drunk to wasted.

Left alone in some sort of back room. And there is a small rocking horse. And there is Schrowe. Giant beer mug in hand. Climbing on top of the small rocking horse. And rocking. And drinking. And singing. Singing his English "translation" of what the group of Italians we saw earlier were singing.

USA Sucks
Italy Rules!
USA Sucks
Italy Rules!

And a giant smile as big as his mug. Making his eyes squint so they may as well have been closed. A smile showing his teeth. Which was rare. And a definite sign he was happy.