// I like to start off my posts with a picture. In most instances, I make an effort to select a picture that is not only humorous, but within (roughly) the context of the subject(s) I write about. This is not one of those times. I saw the picture. I thought the picture was funny, so I fired it up. There's a picture later in the post that does have some relevance to the topic in which it's placed. The above photo has no relevance. And that's my choice.
// I was taking a very long, very leisurely drive with Brian a few days back. First, I think I should say it's good to see Brian back in the blogosphere. It's like MacArthur returning to the Philippines, only with a little bit more glory and fanfare. I actually got an email from The Headmaster of the Internet telling me how good it was to see Brian back on the 'Stream. Dig it. Anyways, in the 6+ hours we spent in the car on this beautiful day in which you'd like to do almost anything but drive, Brian and I touched on a plethora of subjects. More often than not, the conversation dynamic between Brian and I goes like this: 1) Mike yells out nonsensical and/or useless garbage until something interesting enters his brain. 2) Mike gives Brian a mini-lecture for about 12 minutes. 3) Mike repeats steps 1 & 2 until 3) Brian says, "Can we stop and get some McDonald's?" On this particular day, the pattern was holding true. For the sake of trying to get a hearty laugh out of Brian, which is about as easy as quantum physics, my own mentally handicapped rants were all of the same ilk: I was doing my best impersonation of a strip club DJ (or at least what I've heard a strip club DJ sounds like) and trying to come up with a good "phrase that pays".
***Actual Fake DJ Voice*** "FELLAS FELLAS FELLAS! Let's give it up for Cindee on the main stage! Whooooo-haha! THAT'S RIGHT! CINDEE on the main stage! She's a paralegal by day and a temptress by night, so PUT DOWN your wills and get out your DOLLAR BILLS and say 'HELLO!' before you beg to plead the fifth to CINDEE! Hahaha! ...Leesa, stage 2. Leesa, you're on Stage 2."I'd give myself an A- for effort, but only about a C- for execution. Regardless, the conversation evolved - or maybe devolved - into an old standby topic that many of my friends hold close to their hearts. We began to discuss what a bar would be like if we owned it. Not surprisingly, this subject is most often broached at an existing, non-fictional bar. As this was an exception and we were very sober, and also we were the only two people in a car, the topic was delved into in a deeper than average manner. That's what she said. After bouncing some ideas off of each other for a spell, it became very clear to me that between everyone I've talked to this about, we've got the whole thing pretty much figured out except for "where do we get the money?". We've talked names, decor, the atmosphere/aura/ambiance we want to achieve, drink promotions, tv/jukebox/bar game set ups, customer foci, and even a few innovative ideas regarding service that I believe would be firsts in the saloon industry. With that in mind, we're going to unveil a new mini-series called "If I Ever Own a Bar". The first installment. IS. HAPPENING. RIGHT.....NOW.
1) The Name -- I'm not a business expert. Nor do I pretend to be. Nevertheless, I am a self-proclaimed armchair psychologist as well as an astute consumer and I believe I have a decent bead on what makes the customers tick, especially the throngs of barflies. A good bar name is essential. However, it is more important to NOT have a BAD bar name. Case in point: there's a bar that I've driven by perhaps more than any other bar in my life. It's right outside of Grosse Ile on Van Horn Road. The reason I've never gone into this bar that I've been within 50 feet of more times than I can count? The name. The name?! Yes, the name. What is the name? It's the stupidest name that any human could possibly name any business: C Dogz. I've been inside bars that have C Dogz's (sp?) similarly ramshackle appearance on the outside. I've been in bars that have silly ess-box clientele like I imagine C Dogz does. The reason C Dogz gets the snub from this guy is simply because its name is so egregiously awful. Also, the sign has a caricature of a gangster-looking dog on it, but that's beside the point. The name is a total turn-off. It's like it was named by the white trash cousins of Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin. Actually, that's not a bad working theory for Chris Martin to call his bar C Dogz. If he'd name his daughter Apple, I could seriously envision him talking himself into C Dogz. Anyways, the point has been made: a bar's name is of the upmost importance. Now... what to call it? The majority of your decent bar names fall into three major categories. First, you have your generic, non-ethnic names (Lloyd's, Rick's, Joe's, Nick's). Those aren't bad, but they're not good. They're bland and boring. Secondly, you have your stereotypical Irish names which may or may not be complete fabrications and the owner is just a lazy pile of dook (P.T. O'Malley's, Malarkey's, Duffy's, Sully's). I actually spent last St. Patrick's Day in a bar in Chicago called Lizzie McGuire's, like the Hilary Duff character. That bar was actually really fun, but that name makes my blood boil like the fiery lakes of Hades! While these names themselves conjure up images of good times and malted hops, the mere fact that some jackass would just slap any old Irish name on the door and still be able to look at himself in the mirror is just vomit-inducing. This ludicrous little phenomenon is quickly climbing its way to the top of my pet peeve list (currently topped by wet shoes on carpet). Moving on before I have an aneurysm, the third major category of names involves just thinking of some word or phrase that has to do with the making of an alcoholic beverage and calling your bar EXACTLY THAT. Fine examples I've seen include The Wheat & Rye, The Whiskey Barrel, The Tap Room (which my friends and I refer to as The C*ck Pump, albeit not in protest), and The Gin Mill. While the names are fun to say and in most cases well within the context of the activity held within, one can't help but feel uninspired. I feel like my fake bar can do better than this. First rule of show business: always leave 'em wanting more. The name of my fake bar that will likely never exist will be unveiled in the coming days. To be continued...
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