This Week for Happy Hour: Enhance, Enhance.

Usually people don’t associate alcohol with clarity.  But the thing is, clarity isn’t always prerequisite to enhancement, now is it?  Think, for example, Claude Monet, the founder of French impressionist painting.  (Yeah, the guy who married his mistress and THEN went blind – so I guess we know what he didn’t go blind from; his hands were as hairless as a young Taiwanese schoolgirl’s.)  Anyway, due to bad eyesight, his paintings became increasingly blurry (or imprecise, more precisely).  And that style – impressionism – caught on, triggering a paradigmatic shift in the Arts, which continues to affect French and Taiwanese schoolgirls alike in art history classes across the globe to this day.   

 

Now, just think: what if Claude’s father’s name had been Jean Pierre Balls.

When you’re finished with that, just think: what if Claude’s vision hadn’t failed him, and his paintings had remained a precise, clear representation of their subject?  I’ll tell you what: he would have been just another French painter with silky smooth palms and a cliché want for mistress accompaniment.  In other words, no Monet in the annals of art history and no glowing sunsets over skylines to appreciate in museums or on Cracker Barrel gift-shop placemats.  (It just occurred to me what a ridiculous name for a predominantly-white restaurant that is.  A rich black family should totally buy the majority share, just for kicks.)

Which brings me to my primary point: July is National Anti-Boredom Month.  First of all, what a concept.  America has a national anti-boredom month.  That’s something.  America, love so much of it as I do, tends to have the collective attention span of a goldfish, which gets distracted so easily that it forgets it turned around before it has to turn around again, and thus never understands that it’s in a tank.  That goldfish does not, really, need an anti-boredom month.  A little deep-sea diver in a Jacques Cousteau aqualung suit, maybe.  Some shiny rocks to help with the looping barrage of amnesia, sure.  But not a special month to kill boredom.  Am I wrong?

Second of all, unlike goldfish, human beings sometimes get bored.  True.  But we can’t always undo the boring environment with a snap of the fingers and a proclamation made at the first of the month.  Understandably, boring conditions may persist through such efforts.  So sometimes it may be helpful to change our perception of things instead, to cause the unappreciated conditions that render experience boring to morph into fresh, new appreciable conditions.  You know, there is no spoon, and all that.

 

There are different methods of doing this.  The Buddhists might advocate meditation, reflection, mindful thinking.  Timothy Leary would have cooked up a batch of hallucinogens and made you lick a sheet of construction paper, and see you in a couple days.  But I’m not them and nobody needs a bunch of bald spinning day trippers in robes spilling your beer all over your mozzarella sticks.  By no means whatsoever. 

 

So what’s Rhino’s solution ™?  Solutions.  That’s what.  Enhancement drinking.  Alcohol to end the apathy.  Libations for mental liberation.  Cocktails for cogent clarity.  Drink ’til you’re not bored any more, and the world lights up with all the color and beauty and detail of one of Monet’s priceless works.  In honor of anti-boredom month, Rhino is having half-price happy hour, this Friday 5-9pm.  And the party continues until the wee hours, if you remember to turn around when you, by chance, near the exit of our fish bowl.

Hug, kisses, and the blurry vision of brilliance.

Cheers,

Finnegan

P.S. Summer is officially back, and with it comes the long-awaited return of Theme Movie Saturdays.  This is where we show a couple movies within a theme usually from about noon until 4pm, the theme to be decided almost at random, and suggestions are welcome @ therhinobardc@gmail.com.  (Also, anyone can email that address to be added to the weekly notice/update for this “blog,” as the kids are calling it.)  This week, in connection with the descent of concurrent and substantial Nascar races upon the masses, we’re showing Days of Thunder and Talladega Nights, so that should be pretty, pretty awesome.  There’s also a plan in the works to line half the bar with drink straws and tape, and have wind-up Hot Wheel car races down the length of the white marble.  If you want in, bring your favorite self-powered mini racer and your trusty coozy.  See you there!

This Week for Happy Hour: Drink For Freedom

On June 24^th, 1957, a sad thing happened: the Supreme Court ruled in Roth v. U.S. that obscenity was not protected by the First Amendment freedom of speech.  The Court defined obscenity as material whose "dominant theme taken as a whole appeals to the prurient interest" to the "average person, applying contemporary community standards."  Roth v. United States, The Bluebook Blows (1957). 

This test was later clarified to provide specific protection for sexually oriented material that also had literary, artistic, scientific, or political value.  So, for example, this elementary school drawing would NOT be considered obscene because it is educational in nature, reaching beyond mere sexual offensiveness to somewhere in the artistic/scientific (albeit disturbing) realm:

Georgia O'Keeffe, Age 6

But I just love how the Supreme Court ended up defining unprotected obscene speech.  They basically said that it is sexual material that turns you on, AND that it is patently offensive.  Does that seem odd to anyone else?  The Supreme Court Justices agreeing by majority decision that they are turned on by patently offensive material?  What was going on under those robes?  Loose skin and old balls, gross.

But I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that admission, really.  In fact, it has just inspired a Happy Hour.  Come to Rhino Bar for Happy Hour today, 5-9pm, and test the boundaries of your First Amendment rights.   

Got something on your mind, you’re not sure whether it’s obscene?  Don’t know if you should put Anthony’s Weiner or its equivalent on your Christmas card this year?  Bring in your material for discussion; we’ll put it to the crowd.   

And we’ll all enjoy half-price drinks and food, and plumb the depths of our prurient interests - creative, intriguing, and legally questionable as they may be - toasting in defiance of the obscenity of censorship.  We'll drink to freedom.  We'll drink to try to forget that now we agree with Ron Paul about something.  And we'll drink because, today, we all saw a second grader's drawing of a penis.  And there's no way to unsee that kind of thing, ever.  Eight-year-olds, Dude.

See you there!

This Week for Happy Hour: The Juice is Loose!

That’s right, baby.  The Juice is loose!  And no, I’m not talking about that weird thing that your last sexual partner used to scream during climax.  I’m talking about June 17th, 1994: O.J. Simpson leads the Los Angeles Police on a scenic tour of the local highways and byways from behind the windshield of the famed White Ford Bronco.  As luck would have it, before he was taken into custody he was able to make a quick stop at Glamour Shots for this portrait:

The Juice was not loose.

They do great work at that place.  Wonderful attention to detail.

Anyhow, it’s been 17 years since that fateful day.  And Rhino Bar is having a special O.J. shots and drinks Happy Hour to commemorate the occasion.  Screwdrivers (OJ-vodkas) and tic-tacs (orange vodka-red bull shots) are two-for-one, on top of the already half-price Happy Hour special.  In fact, for this weekend only, screwdrivers will be strictly referred to as Nordbergs (Police Squad/Naked Gun, anyone?) and tic-tacs will be renamed Lovelocks (Lovelock Correctional Center is the prison where the Juice is currently serving a 9 year sentence for kidnapping and armed robbery).

Oh, how the mighty do fall... Except for Frank Drebin.  That Frank Drebin was one sexy beast.  Eat your heart out Officer J. Dangle.

Anyway, order a “Nordberg” or a “Lovelock” by name and your first one is on the house.  Show up in a pair of tight gloves or wearing a WFB t-shirt, and may God have mercy on your soul, because the bartenders won't.  At the very least, when you get drunk you can take great satisfaction in uttering to no one in particular: "The Juice is loose!"

See you there!

-Finn

This Week for Happy Hour: A Tilly in the Gina Is Worth Two in the Hand

Sorry for the late post this week.  I’ve been busy as a one-armed coat hanger the past few days, but at last I’m happy to report this week’s Happy Hour celebration.

As you may know, June is Gay Pride Month, though that’s not exactly what we’re celebrating.  Not exactly.  What we’re celebrating is Gina Gershon’s 49th birthday, which is today, June 10^th.  Everyone together now: Happy Birthday, Gina.  Wait, you remember her, right?  The big-screen babe from such high-brow classics as Cocktail, Face/Off, and Showgirls. Oh yeah, she's 49.  But she's a cougar if there ever was one.  She's the kind of woman who can make you want to grow a mustache, regardless of your gender.

“But what the hell’s that got to do with Gay Pride Month?” you ask.

Well I’ll tell you.  I’ve always kind of thought that having pride about something you’re born with is a little weird.  I mean, what the hell did you do (and I’m speaking in generalities here) that you’ve got to be so proud about?  You can’t help certain things, like where you’re born or what your race is, who your parents are, or what’s in your genes, so what’s there to gloat about?

Some things, however, you can help.  Like what’s in your jeans.  You know what I mean.  Or what you post on your twitter account.  Or, like, maybe you’ve made a concerted effort to improve your alcohol tolerance, and it’s paid dividends.  Well kudos to you, Varsity Drinker.

Now, of course I understand that certain groups have had a history of mistreatment and discrimination, and in many cases that mistreatment and discrimination continues to some or another extent, depending on group, place, etc.  So I understand the celebration of a characteristic is often just the acknowledgment and legitimization of it, because characteristics can represent something much more complex and meaningful than obvious superficialities.  And all that.

All I’m saying is, I’m not sure pride is the answer.  I’m not sure it ever is, for any reason.  In my experience, proud people tend to act like shitheads. 

But if you want to be proud of something, my gay friends, then be proud that you as an individual have worked and continue to work for human rights and for the acceptance of people – gay, straight, bi, black, white, brown, or whatever – as inherently valuable in and of themselves.  But don’t just be proud to be gay, because you didn’t do that.  It’s not an accomplishment any more than is anyone’s race or eye color or freckle density, or even someone’s opinion of the snack treat Bugles, which I happen to think are delicious.  There, I said it.

But then again… (and here’s where we tie back to Gina).   Have you ever seen the movie Bound? 

It’s a super sexy movie in which Jennifer Tilly is married to an abusive gangster husband, and then Gina Gershon moves in next door and starts making eyes with Tilly and pretty soon they’re having steamy, graphic, lesbo sex while Tilly’s husband is out doing stuff, and then they eventually hatch a plan to kill him and take off with a bunch of dirty mob cash.  Great flick.  (That’s what she said – zing!)

Anyway, I won’t spoil the ending for you.  [Insert happy ending pun here.]  But the ending’s not really relevant to what I’m saying, which is, “Thank you, Gina Gershon, for having the courage to make the choice to be gay in that awesome movie, and for showing Jennifer Tilly who’s boss between the sheets, and for the gratuitous nudity.  And for the gratuitous nudity.  And Happy Birthday, you crazy cougar.  And half-price drinks tonight at Rhino, 5-9pm for the birthday party, and then stick around for the NHL playoffs upstairs. Go Bruins.”

Gina may not understand that last part, but I hope she does.  And Jennifer Tilly too.  Hopefully they make it to the nation’s capital this June to make their voices heard, and also stop in at Rhino Bar along the way.

If not, I guess there’s always whiskey and beer.  Screw you, Andrew Volstead.  I’ll see you in hell.

Cheers,

Finnegan

She's smokin'.

This Week for Happy Hour: If You Brew It, They Will Come (But May Not Willingly Leave)

 The day was June 4^th.  The year, 1974.  Cleveland Indians vs. Texas Rangers, at Municipal Stadium in Cleveland. 

Storm clouds loomed.  The sound of metal on plastic ticked and echoed down the stadium’s halls like the steady rush of hail fall.  And the natives were restless that day, my friends.  And angry, like a drunk old man trying to send back soup in a deli.

The previous week, the same two teams had met on Texas soil, and the outcome had been bleak.  The trouble had started in the bottom of the fourth inning with a walk to the Rangers' Tom Grieve, followed by a Lenny Randle single. The next batter hit a double play ball to Indians third baseman John Lowenstein; he stepped on the third base bag to retire Grieve and threw the ball to second base, but Randle disrupted the play with a hard slide into second baseman Jack Brohamer, who had to leave the game with an injury.  “Oh no he dih’in’t!” the crowd exclaimed.

The Indians retaliated in the bottom of the eighth when pitcher Milt Wilcox threw behind Randle's head. Randle eventually laid down a bunt. When Wilcox attempted to field it and tag Randle out, Randle hit him with a forearm. Indians first baseman John Ellis responded by punching Randle, and both benches emptied for a brawl. As Rangers players and coaches emerged from the dugout, they were struck by food and beer hurled by Cleveland fans (in Texas).  The crowd eventually began to storm the field, and WJW-TV, Cleveland's then CBS affiliate, suspended their live telecast of the game.  They may as well have cut to black with a caption that read, “To be continued….”

So the stage was set for a rematch in Cleveland.  Six days later, on June 4^th, they got it. 

There was a quiet that morning, they say.  Not peace, but a quiet, and one which could not last, because the marketing director at Cleveland’s stadium had made a fateful and irreconcilable mistake: “Tonight, we will sell beer for 10 cents,” he declared.  “If you brew it, they will come,” said the voice of Luke’s father, and the “This is CNN” guy, and the superficially menacing but ultimately kind and gentle hermit from The Sandlot.  “They will come, Ray.  And they will pay good money for tickets, as long as that means they can drink beer for only a dime.”

And brew it they did, and sell it on the cheap they did, and stadium seats filled with fannies, and the coffers filled with coins, and the bellies and bladders of the fans did overfloweth.

But there was a problem, go figure.

The cheap beer promotion drew about 25,000 fans to the park that day – 3x the average attendance that season.  And every one of them (even pregnant women and children and people on antibiotics and designated drivers and the radio announcers) was completely pickled and boiled rotten.

So what happened?

Well, a beer-fueled baseball riot broke out, of course.

Early in the game, the Rangers took a 5-1 lead. Meanwhile, throughout the contest, the crowd in attendance, which was already heavily inebriated, grew more and more unruly. A woman ran out to the Indians' on-deck circle and flashed her breasts, and a naked man sprinted to second base as Grieve hit his second home run of the game. A father and son pair ran onto the outfield and mooned the fans in the bleachers one inning later. The ugliness escalated when Cleveland's Leron Lee hit a line drive into the stomach of Rangers pitcher Ferguson Jenkins, after which Jenkins dropped to the ground. The fans in the upper deck of Municipal Stadium cheered, then chanted "Hit 'em again! Hit 'em again! Harder! Harder!"

As the game progressed, more fans ran onto the field and caused problems. Ranger Mike Hargrove (who would manage the Indians and lead them to the World Series 21 years later) was pelted with hot dogs and spit, and at one point was nearly struck with an empty gallon jug of Thunderbird (cheap, fortified wine which was presumably smuggled in to save on cost of concessions).

The Rangers later argued a call in which Lee was called safe in a close play at third base, spiking Jenkins with his cleats in the process and forcing him to leave the game. The Rangers' angry response to this call enraged Cleveland fans, who again began throwing objects onto the field.

In the bottom of the ninth, the Indians managed to rally and tie the game at five runs apiece. However, with a crowd that had been consuming as much beer as it could for nine innings, the situation finally came to a head.

In the ninth inning, a fan attempted to steal Texas outfielder Jeff Burroughs' cap. Confronting the fan, Burroughs tripped, and Texas manager Billy Martin, thinking that Burroughs had been attacked, charged onto the field, his players right behind, some wielding bats.  A large number of intoxicated fans – some armed with knives, chains, nunchaku and portions of stadium seats that they had torn apart – surged onto the field, and others hurled bottles from the stands. WJW producer Tony Lolli then suspended the station's live telecast of the game. Realizing that the Rangers' lives might be in danger, Ken Aspromonte, the Indians' manager, ordered his players to grab bats and help the Rangers. Rioters began throwing steel folding chairs, and Cleveland relief pitcher Tom Hilgendorf was hit in the head by one of them. Hargrove, involved in a fistfight with a rioter, had to fight another on his way back to the Texas dugout.

Among the Indians players suddenly running for their lives was Rusty Torres, who was on second base at the time, representing the winning run.

The bases were pulled up and stolen (never to be returned) and many rioters threw a vast array of objects including cups, rocks, bottles, batteries from radios, hot dogs, popcorn containers, and folding chairs. As a result, umpire crew chief Nestor Chylak, realizing that order would not be restored in a timely fashion, forfeited the game to Texas. He too was a victim of the rioters as one struck him with part of a stadium seat, cutting his head.  His hand was also cut by a thrown rock. He later called the fans "uncontrollable beasts" and stated that he'd never seen anything like what had happened, "except in a zoo".  Eventually, the CPD brought in their riot control guys, who finally put the extravaganza to rest.

I’m really not sure what to make of the tale.  Or how to comment on it, exactly.  Ultimately, since no one was killed, I suppose it’s an exceptionally exclamatory example of beer making life more interesting and, in hindsight, lots of fun.  At least to hear about.

So cheers to America’s favorite pastime: getting drunk and watching the stranger-than-fiction human drama unfold.  The catalyst to catalyze all others.  Drink beer.  And do it at Rhino.  Half price everything Friday for Happy Hour, 5-9pm.  And if you're thirsty now, come drink upstairs, Thursday starting at 7:30.  Woo!

-Finnegan