My bar is leaving me!

So I just got back from my bar. And admittedly I hadn't been there a lot lately. But my bar is moving. And it will Not Be The Same. And I am very sad. Because it was always my bar. even if I wasn't there I knew my bar was there. and many great wonderful live bands started there. and tomorrow my bar will be gone. :cry: to move to another place. and maybe it will be OK but it is not the same Bar. it was a great bar, and I am very sad.

So tell me about your bar, or about sad things. :cry:

was a place in Tahlequah, Oklahoma, called Granny's Attic. It was two levels, about a block from my university campus, and it had big DeKalb Corn signs on the walls, a jazz quartet on Friday nights, and a special chair on the second level for the cool, liberal, hippie campus Episcopal priest, Fr. Winston. Ah, those were the days.

is like a home away from home.....

My second-favorite was one that had a life-size Jesus with outstretched arms, holding a salad bowl.

:yourock:

Well, get this, the owner of that bar with holy salad bowl was named "Cheetah." I've gotta love any place owned by a woman named Cheetah!

is some funny s*it! :evilgrin: :thumbsup:

hence, plenty of interesting bars. If you're a young person with a gift for writing and an affinity for bars, I'd recommend journalism as a career choice.

i will be a journo. that would be interesting. this lifetime, I think I have mostly had fun. :evilgrin:

That's the only way to handle this life thing.

I've shifted my steady watering hole over the years and as a matter of fact I just got in from there.

do when your bar leaves you?

End of an era.......

always felt The Bar would be there ...

Tinnitus

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Smoker's Lung with Lung Cancer



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Alcoholic Cirrhosis

Alcoholic liver disease. To many people, cirrhosis of the liver is synonymous with chronic alcoholism, but in fact, alcoholism is only one of the causes. Alcoholic cirrhosis usually develops after more than a decade of heavy drinking. The amount of alcohol that can injure the liver varies greatly from person to person. In women, as few as two to three drinks per day have been linked with cirrhosis and in men, as few as three to four drinks per day. Alcohol seems to injure the liver by blocking the normal metabolism of protein, fats, and carbohydrates.

and what are YOU doing up at this hour eh? :P

call yerself a democrat!? ;)

I love me a good time, don't get me wrong... I'm just givin' you grief...

but i ain't looking at those pix, ew! :P

who go to your bar? won't they go to the new bar?

Then, it's like moving to a new house, is all. Same nice family, etc.

Here's a sad thing that turned out o.k

I had cleaned and/or painted an apartment my brother owns a few times over the years, and I'd always look out the window and wonder what it would be like to live there. It was secluded and quiet, and kind of woodsy.

We lost part of our roof to Frances, and had to relocate, and that place was available, so we stayed for 2 months while our house was being repaired.

It was a little weird moving in there, after having wondered what it would be like. And now, when I drive by that street, I always kind of have a little longing. Hard to explain, but our little family, me, hubby and our 9 year old had a really rough time during that period, but we never lost our sense of being at home as long as we were together.

maybe it will be OK. some of it is the people and some of it is the BANDS and who knows if those musicians will continue to come now that it is not quite the same.

over ten years, many great bands who started there. some gone, some still around, all a part of The Bar...... like a piece of my life leaving ....

The Frontier Room in Seattle.

That place just RULED back in the day. It was dirty and scummy but oh so inviting! The drinks were mean and the bartender was meaner.

I pretty much stopped drinking the day it closed.

Sunday night - last day.

think I might have to call in sick, heh....

It was a nice little Irish-style pub. I could walk in the door and by the time that I grabbed a seat, Gloria (Glo) would have a pint of Murphy's Irish Stout waiting for me. My friend Benson was usually there to talk about music with me, and Crazy Chuck was always ready to tell me stories about when he was "in country". My friend Pete ("El Segundo" we called him, in order to differentiate him from the other Pete) would challenge me to a game of 9-ball, and we'd play one game for about an hour because we both suck at billiards. Big Doug (the owner) would buy a round of shots for the regulars, and we'd fight about which pro football team sucked the worst.

I suppose I'll find a new bar one of these days, but it won't be the same.

<sigh>

I miss My Bar.