Howl at the Poon
School starts Monday. I'm quite excited about it actually. Sure, I'm mourning the death of the Summer of Sue Ellen Mischke, but I am looking forward to getting back on a schedule that includes more than working out, laying out and getting hammered.
Speaking of which, one of the newer teachers suggested we all get together for a department outing to start off the year. She boldly went where no suburbanite teacher has gone before; she suggested that the outing take place in ... The City (cue dramatic music). Had such an outing taken place in the 'burbs, I would have had a good excuse to decline the invitation. But since it was in The City, I kind of had to say yes. Besides, although I don't attend every outing my colleagues plan, I enjoy going to a few each year.
Of course, a suburbanite cannot plan a city outing without choosing an appropriately wretched suburbanite tourist trap location. Sure enough, my colleagues planned for us to go to Howl at the Moon, a dueling piano-theme bar. I do not like, never have liked, and never will like theme bars. Maybe that makes me an elitist fuck. Maybe it just makes me a curmudgeon. Either way, I don't care. As I walked into the bar, I looked around to make sure no one I knew was nearby to see me enter the place. At first it felt awkward to be there with my co-workers while the crooning pianist rapped Sir Mix-a-lot's "Baby Got Back." Something about hearing a white man rap "'Cuz I'm long, and I'm strong and I'm dying to get the friction on" to a piano in the company of married women with children felt very dirty. But eventually, I just started drinking chardonnay, (bleck.... I hate chardonnay, but it's the only white they had. The only white wine, by the way, not people; there was no shortage of white people here, particularly trashy-looking white girls), and I found myself on the dance floor with my colleagues belting out the lyrics to a shitty Billy Joel song (which one?). I guess I was, in fact, howling at the god-damned moon.
In the end, I was happy to see all the suburbanites having fun in The City, even if it was at a hole like that. I was just glad I didn't have to get behind the wheel after that night of drunken teacher debauchery. My boyfriend was kind enough to spare me a drunken el ride home, and he picked me up at about 11:00. Now that I think about it, 11:00 is awfully early to be as drunk as I was. Oh well, I guess the theme bar got the best of me.
Howl at the Moon is a chain. Do you have one in your city? Have you been there? If not, do you go to and like theme bars?
Speaking of which, one of the newer teachers suggested we all get together for a department outing to start off the year. She boldly went where no suburbanite teacher has gone before; she suggested that the outing take place in ... The City (cue dramatic music). Had such an outing taken place in the 'burbs, I would have had a good excuse to decline the invitation. But since it was in The City, I kind of had to say yes. Besides, although I don't attend every outing my colleagues plan, I enjoy going to a few each year.
Of course, a suburbanite cannot plan a city outing without choosing an appropriately wretched suburbanite tourist trap location. Sure enough, my colleagues planned for us to go to Howl at the Moon, a dueling piano-theme bar. I do not like, never have liked, and never will like theme bars. Maybe that makes me an elitist fuck. Maybe it just makes me a curmudgeon. Either way, I don't care. As I walked into the bar, I looked around to make sure no one I knew was nearby to see me enter the place. At first it felt awkward to be there with my co-workers while the crooning pianist rapped Sir Mix-a-lot's "Baby Got Back." Something about hearing a white man rap "'Cuz I'm long, and I'm strong and I'm dying to get the friction on" to a piano in the company of married women with children felt very dirty. But eventually, I just started drinking chardonnay, (bleck.... I hate chardonnay, but it's the only white they had. The only white wine, by the way, not people; there was no shortage of white people here, particularly trashy-looking white girls), and I found myself on the dance floor with my colleagues belting out the lyrics to a shitty Billy Joel song (which one?). I guess I was, in fact, howling at the god-damned moon.
In the end, I was happy to see all the suburbanites having fun in The City, even if it was at a hole like that. I was just glad I didn't have to get behind the wheel after that night of drunken teacher debauchery. My boyfriend was kind enough to spare me a drunken el ride home, and he picked me up at about 11:00. Now that I think about it, 11:00 is awfully early to be as drunk as I was. Oh well, I guess the theme bar got the best of me.
Howl at the Moon is a chain. Do you have one in your city? Have you been there? If not, do you go to and like theme bars?
posted by Sue Ellen Mischke at 7:28 AM
9 Comments:
If by theme you mean something that they actually shoot for, no. If you mean, its so old that they can't help but have things etched into the wooden tables and peanut shells on the floor, sure.
Which ones are you going to take me to when I come up to visit?
No.
No.
No.
Do you have one of these? Look at the photo section. More lesbarians than you can shake a stick at.
To answer your questions, no on all counts. I love the idea of the piano version of Baby Got Back, though. Don't suppose you recorded it and will share?
Dan, by theme I mean something they actually shoot for. Although peanut shells on the floor borders on themed. When I have guests, I don't take them to wretched tourist traps like Howl. I'm sure I could find a place with peanut shells on the floor though.
Esbee, WTF is a lesbarian? Is that like a lesbian/librarian hybrid? I remember when you posted about this place. It's so gross. I don't think we have one though. Even if we did, I don't think my department would plan an outing there. They're suburbanites, but not whores. Or lesbarians that I know of.
No, *, I did not record the piano version of Baby Got Bak. You know, I can't believe how much dirtier that song sounded on the piano. And the guy was enunciating more than Mr. Mix-a-lot. He also said the words more slowly. It was very lewd.
A lesbarian is a girl who only turns into a lesbian in a bar, usually to obtain drinks from guys.
There are also four year lesbians (lesbians only during the college years) and lesbangers, who have a rebound lesbian affair out of anger because they've been hurt by a man (or usually a series of men).
And then, of course, there's Lizzie.
I'm starting a Howl at the Lesbarian theme bar. I think it'll work. Allright I'm drunk but I'll still think it when I'm sober....
My favorite bar at school was a Dueling Piano bar (Rum Runners), but I love drunken sing along. Of course, they NEVER played baby got back. That might end up being a deal breaking.
Admit it. You loved EVERY minute of it.
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