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This is the all new second series of Matt Cleary's Local Bar Reviews. I decided to make a few changes:
(1) No more individual or cumulative number ratings
(2) A fresher perspective: I'll review the bars after recent visits instead of month or year-long gaps. This will mean some updated profiles of bars I've already reviewed.
(3) I'm going to try to be a little more eloquent. Most if not all of the past reviews were written when I was incredibly drunk. Though I'm fully supportive of abusing drugs and alcohol to fuel creativity ("I am the eggman, I am the walrus"???), inevitably my genius is clouded by it.
So enjoy this, my second series of local bar reviews.
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I really couldn't imagine in this lifetime or any other that I'd ever set foot in Biggie's again, but fate is a fickle beast. Sometimes it's a chance encounter with your soul mate: a person who complements you so perfectly that it should be criminal. Other times, fate is a seedy bar with an atmosphere that makes Baghdad look like Sesame Street.
Within five minutes of entering, I realized why Biggie's has a reputation for having more bar fights than the Double Deuce in Roadhouse. I was ordering my first beer of the night, standing in a spot at the bar with four open seats. A husky gentleman (that's being too nice, he made Biggie Smalls look like Karen Carpenter) sauntered over to where I was standing. "You're in my seat" said the meathead wearing overalls emblazoned with Harley Davidson decals (I'm still not sure how 400 lbs. of idiot can balance on a motorcycle). "Oh, sorry" was my reply. He responded to this as any gentleman would to a sincere apology: he stared me down until I got my beers and left. I opted out of saying anything else, instead wishing bone cancer on his mother.
I quickly brushed off the incident with the meathead. I had more important things on my mind: WOMEN. I casually glanced around the bar, seeing whose tramp stamp I'd be glazing later. My confident smirk faded quickly after realizing the one thing all of the women in there had in common: they all looked like they'd just gone 8 rounds with Soda Popinski. It was brutal. My options were limited to a lanky woman wearing a neon yellow shirt and a woman that closely resembled Ronnie James Dio.
I decided to face the facts. I was too scared of the regulars to pal around with them, and I wasn't going to chase after women who looked like villains from the Harry Potter movies. I realized that my only salvation at Biggie's would be mocking its regulars with my friends and requesting obscure music that's completely inappropriate for the mood there.
The karaoke DJ looked like a fat Gallagher. He reminded me of one of the bosses in Double Dragon: a short, stocky slob with an IQ in the single digits. It was quite apparent that his knowledge of musical technology was limited when he pulled out (and I promise you I'm not joking) his collection of laserdiscs. LASERDISCS. I'd wager that some of you have never even seen these in your lifetime. I can't blame you; the last and only time I saw one was in 7th grade. Honestly, these reviews write themselves when the DJs have fucking laserdiscs. I haven't seen technology that irrelevant since the Viewmaster. I thanked fat Gallagher for indulging my request for "Detroit Rock City" and returned to the bar.
There were several handwritten advertisements for food specials throughout the place. Spaghetti specials. 25 cent wings. A jar of pickled kielbasa collecting dust on the bar. If I washed up on a deserted island and discovered Biggie's in the middle of it, I'd stick to eating coconuts and sand. I imagine that the only thing "special" about the spaghetti is the miscellaneous bodily fluids in it.
I'll admit, I was actually eager to go back to Biggie's so I could give it a fairer evaluation. I walked in with a clean slate, but what I walked out with hasn't yet been identified in any medical journals.
Did I have a good time with my friends? Yes. Was it in spite of my surroundings? Absolutely. Will I ever go back to Biggie's? Let's put it this way: I'd rather spend an eternity watching the Blue Collar Comedy Tour.
3:06 PM
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