Ye Mustaches and So On and So Forth

So a couple nights ago we went to a new "pub" (I use quotes because I feel stupid saying "pub" casually, like I'm Madonna using the word "gobsmacked" to sound British) in Chicago's stylish Wrigley-Lakeview-whatever-whatever neighborhood. The place is called Blokes and Birds, which is why we had to try it, and of course I thought I was extemely witty in the cab ride over discussing the name in reference to the Streets' lyric "We call them birds/not bitches" even though I kind of find the Streets sort of boring, but whatever.

Anyway, it was delicious and had lots of whiskey and beer and fun cocktails with names like "Cobbles and Stones," "Mind the Bollocks" and so on. And oh! They do craft cocktails that have adjectives like "infused," "puree," "tarragon syrup" and so forth, which I am immediately suckered into (the more adjectives a cocktail has that makes it sound like something from an apothecary[1], the higher the probability is that I will be excited to try it). They had a note on the menu that said they requested customers not freak out if it takes a while to get the cocktail because they take a while to make (which is fine with me -- I'm a cheap drunk). But it wasn't too crowded in there so I didn't have to wait too long, which was a nice surprise.

Part of the logo was a mustache, which, all things mustache-y are very in right now, which means that my dad must be super famous. No, my dad is not Salvador Dali. Nor is he John Waters. But his handlebar mustache IS legendary. I'm sure you've noticed the popularity of the mustache thing right now, what with the "growth" of -- ha, ha-- "grow-a-mustache" charity a-thons and Accoutements' hipster mustache product -- I suppose an indication of the zeitgeisty-ness of mustaches -- and then you can buy mustaches to joke-ily wear and then also, you can buy mustache stick-ons to put on your mirror, and even at work we have this mustache wax that comes in 3 old timey flavors designed by the inimitable art of BT Livermore.

Anyway, in keeping with the British theme -- so they were playing Monty Python's Holy Grail and playing music like The Sex Pistols and the Clash and so on -- kind of Epcot Centery in its choice of British music in that regard, if Epcot Center was a little bit un-Disney-fied, but you know, that's cool. This is fine with me -- I mean, you're talking to someone who would get a Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy tattoo if there was a good graphic of it that I could get into, and not "Don't Panic." No text on my body. That's where I um, "draw the line," ha ha ha. (And I will not do any of the cheesy graphics from the book covers. I have also thought about getting some of the Guide's graphics as realized in the BBC mini-series, like at the parts where the Guide is talking and it has all this hilarious animation. A co-worker suggested I find an artist who does artwork I like and have them draw something from the book, which got my mind going. So if you do awesome art and want to draw something from the book then let me know. Pan Galactic Gargle Blaster? Babble Fish? Sperm whales? Petunias? Improbability Drive? Dolphins leaving the sea? [I actually heard someone in the audience at the theater at the opening night of the semi-recent movie version, when the dolphins leave the sea, at the end of the opening theme, go "Oh shit!" And the audience laughed, which was great, like a bunch of people in the audience bonding over geeky common interest, which warms my cockles, like on opening night of the first X-Files movie and just as Mulder and Scully were about to almost kiss, the audience started screaming. I live for these type of audience bonding moments. New age-y mob mentality, just my style. I've always wanted a group of friends that big.])

Anyway, back to ye mustache pub with all you can eat fish and chips and shepherd's pie etc. Sometimes they would sneak in non-British music. I would be Ok with this except that it was Talking Heads. I can't get into them. Their songs are long and boring. And ulch! David Byrne and his scary Robert Blake face driving down the road.

My husband Joe pointed out that the Talking Heads were sort of new wave-y, and he could kind of see how that music might get incorporated into the music they were playing at the bar with the other stuff they were playing. My reponse was: "The theme of the place is British. Not new wave."

He alerted me to the fact that David Byrne was Scottish born, so technically he was a British citizen.

I said David Byrne should be "expedited."

Joe pointed out that the word I wanted was "extradited."

My response was, "Fine! Expedite the extradapolation, whatever. David Byrne, all New Yorky with his bicycle and his McSweeney's book[2]."

Joe's response was, "Yes. OK" to let me win an argument he preferred we not have.

My response was, "No wait! Continue! We're having a conversation!" and so on.

Joe's response was (as counseled by me at a lighter moment that really, all I really want in almost any preposterous conversation such as this is someone to say this to me to push my "shut up" button): "You're hilarious!"

And curtain.

Ye End

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[1] Or if we’re being British I suppose I might say “chemist.”

[2] Technically now this publisher is located in California.