Standing six-feet, five-inches, and weighing in about 350 pounds, Big Stan has hands that dwarf even the largest hammer. On that day, with a belly full of Jack Daniels and – unbeknownst to us – two lungs full of fluid and a triple-digit fever, even Stan had had enough. It took seven paramedics and firemen to lift him into an ambulance after the fall. Within five days, despite his emphysema, Stan ripped out his own ventilator and I.V.’s , and he walked out the door of the hospital and back to  his “old lady’s” home cookin’.

Last Thursday, another neighbor of ours was unable to match Stan’s feat. One of the best things about our neighborhood, and our community here in Lakeview, is that men like Big Stan would be the first to say “Son Of A Bitch,” and gladly trade places with our friend.

Meghan Hormann, 26, our wonderful, curly-haired, local piano girl passed away January 7, after a month-long battle for her life with a lung infection. Both her and Stan represent some of the most vivid talent available in their fields. Stan can join pieces of wood seamlessly, while Ms. Meghan could join music and emotion without effort.

Ms. Meghan and Keenan O’Reilly’s share a close history, as she opened her business, BackBeat Music Instruction, next door to us just months after our bar opened. Unlike Keenan’s, and its strict Prussian/Benedictine work ethic, Meghan did not just work hard – she worked effectively. Upon learning the news of her passing, many have said that she was always working, but we at Keenan’s would protest that she was doing much more. She was getting things done and inspiring people, both young and old, to find a place for music in their lives.

Meghan Hormann was a credit to our neighborhood, and, although we never truly earned it, she would refer to our bar – as a matter of public record, no less – as her “favorite place in Chicago.”

For once, I will refer to Keenan’s as myself, George Clemen. Saying that, and proudly standing by my ability throughout my life to properly deploy the written word, my nearly 19 years of having been published, my Masters Degree in Journalism, and all the rest of it,  I cannot find the words to express my profound sense of loss.

We are blessed here in this neighborhood to have a community of friends, and we are blessed to have decent people that care about one another. We at Keenan’s cannot ever possibly thank you all enough, and we ask that your thoughts and prayers be with the Hormann family, and our friend and neighbor, Meghan.

Yours,
George Clemen, M.S.J.
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland
Chicago

Only nine days remain until the Third Annual Keenan’s Christmas/Non-Denominational Moment of Reflection Time Party, and we at Keenan’s have a couple of questions.

One (1), in It’s A Wonderful Life, did George Bailey have to pay taxes on all the money donated to him by the townspeople of Bedford Falls? I mean, if the guy was suicidal at Christmas, I bet he REALLY went around the bend on April 15.

Two (2), Does anyone want to know the story of the first Keenan O’Reilly’s Christmas Party? ………
No?
No one?
Nobody reads this crap anyway, so I suppose it doesn’t matter if I share the story. It’s taken from The Olde Book of Irish Falsehoods.

In the late 1680′s, a young Irishman named Keenan O’Reilly was hoping to win the heart of a young lass by the name of Mary Elizabeth O’Murphy.

To that end he presented young Ms. O’Murphy with several gifts, as was tradition around Christmas-time. He gave her a wonderful sweater and a sheep. (By today’s standards that would be the same as giving a young woman a Burberry Floral Black & Grey Trench Coat, $1500 retail, and a pony.)

To his dismay, Ms. O’Murphy was a devout, chaste young woman – who refused to trade her maidenhead for trinkets, or as she called them “Cheap Irish Crap from a Cheap Irish Drunkard.”

Instead she offered Keenan a challenge, saying, “Mr. O’Reilly, if you can prove to me that you are capable of caring for something or someone other than your own appetites, then you shall have my hand in marriage, and then we can have 14 or 15 children. Later, you can go bald as I constantly complain that you never take me dancing anymore.”

She set a deadline – if Keenan failed to overcome this challenge by the time the Church bell tolled for Midnight Mass on Christmas, Ms. O’Murphy would instead become engaged to Keenan’s Rival, Johnny “Ten Cat” O’Leary.

Hurriedly, Keenan took a minute to examine his options and take a personal inventory of his skills.  That finished, he spent the remaining 45 seconds scratching his belly. What could he do? All he was good at was drinking, carousing, telling jokes and, oddly, interior decorating.

Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind. He ran home and began decorating in the most furious of fashions. The neighbors heard the commotion, and assumed that Keenan had really lost it this time, like the time last Christmas when he tried wrap-up a live goat to give as a holiday tip to the mailman.

His home outfitted in the finest Christmas spirit, Keenan invited all the townspeople to come the following evening, December 17, for a party. At the appointed hour, his guests arrived at the O’Reilly Home to find it handsomely decorated, with a Full Liquor and Baked Potato Bar to boot. There was music and dancing, and everyone was having a good time – when suddenly it happened.

SLAM!

Standing at the front door was young Ms. O’Murphy. A young, pissed-off Ms. O’Murphy. Apparently, in his haste, Keenan had forgotten to invite her to the party. It was an honest mistake, but as the Irish say, “Laddy, make up something – and right quick.” So he told her that it was a surprise party for her. She asked him if he thought she was really that stupid, and he said no, and so on and so forth.

Keenan O’Reilly and Ms. Mary Elizabeth O’Murphy were married just after Easter the following year, and their grandchild, Keenan O’Reilly III, would eventually come to the United States. There, he would continue the family tradition of drinking with strangers on Christmas, as well as New Year’s, Easter, Arbor Day and several hundred different days throughout the year.

It is in that fine tradition that we at Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub look forward to seeing all of our friends at our Christmas Party, December 17th. It’s a tradition that goes back hundreds of years, so it is easy for one to see that all the other bars with their “Holiday Parties” are just copying us.

Keenan’s Christmas Party
Thursday, December 17
$2 Domestic, $3 Imports, $2 Mixed Drinks
Free Food, No Sheep

Hope to see you all soon,

George Clemen
Sooooooo Not Irish
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub

Howdy Blogging fans! I send out a lot of e-mails to the customer base at the bar I work at. I consider everything I do at work to be a joke, and that tends to come across in my e-mails.

Recently, a patron suggested putting together a collection of my e-mail blasts, and me – being lazy – thought they might actually be a good post for the ol’ blog. Enjoy, if possible.

Halloween 2009

Happy Halloween Drinking Fans!

We at Keenan O’Reilly’s have been so busy preparing for our Armistice Day Party next month that we almost forgot about Halloween.

It’s going to be tricky this year, seeing as nearly everyone has plans, so Keenan O’Reilly’s has decided to be The Place People Go To After They Have Decided That The Party They Are At Sucks.

We get an extra hour of drinking Saturday with the time change, so combine that with some TPPGTATHDTPTAS Party specials and we got a winner.

$3 Seasonal Brews, $2 Vodka Lemonades, $3 Autumn Sweater Shots AND, get this – the Keenan O’Reilly’s Costume Contest!

Our contest is a bit different, so listen good. Points will be awarded not only for the final product, but also for vision, effort and difficulty. The Grand Prize will be a $23.74 gift certificate to Keenan O’Reilly’s, and the winner will also receive a congratulatory phone call from Secretary Ken Salazar, U.S. Department of the Interior. (he’s 8th in the line of presidential succession!!!)

Everyone be safe and have fun this year, if we don’t see ya then we hope to see you on Armistice Day.

yours in drinking,
George Clemen
Director, Armistice Day Planning Committee
(64th in the line of presidential succession)
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland Ave.

Invitation to Join Bowling League

Howdy Drinking Fans!

Ever the matchmakers, we at Keenan O’Reilly’s are worried that people who would like to join the Keenan O’Reilly’s Real Bowling League may not do so because they cannot find teammates.

We’re shy too! Meeting new people can be tough, and in the Pacific Northwest in can even be deadly.

Luckily, here in Chicago – The Riviera of the Midwest – it can be easier than you think. Why, with Sexy Bingo on Wednesday at 8 p.m. and the Keenan O’Reilly’s End of Summer Free BBQ and Family Funfest  coming up on Saturday, opportunities abound for the intrepid bowler-to-be to lock onto some like-minded people here at Keenan O’Reilly’s.

But when the moment comes, what do you say?

We’ve got you covered, just use this:

Top Ten Things to Say to Strangers That May Want To Join Your Bowling Team
No. 10 Bowl with me or the kid gets it.
No.  9  I couldn’t help but notice, but you seem to be in good shape for bowling.
No.  8  Got any ‘spare’ time? (Wait for slap.)
No.  7  Not bowling is Un-American. You’re not a commie-lover, are you?
No.  6  I always wanted to join a bowling league, but I have terrible personal hygiene.
No. 5   If they make shoes in your size, I think you’d be a good fit.
No. 4   I enjoy bowling. They sell crack there, right?
No. 3   When I was young, we used to bowl frequently. Lately though, it’s just constant internet pornography that gets me through my days.
No. 2   I had my own ball once, unfortunately my dog ate it. I miss little Yapper.
No.  1  I enjoy athletics and adult beverages, but how do I mix the two?

Use one of these sure-fire lines, or come up with some of your own! Come on by for Sexy Bingo Wednesday or the BBQ on Saturday and find your niche at Keenan’s.

Love you all!

George Clemen
President, Frankie Yankovic Fan Club
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland Ave.

The Labor Day Party

Howdy Drinking Fans!

Holy Cats! It’s almost Labor Day!

We at Keenan’s know what you’re thinking – “What can we do to squeeze some more fun out of summer before it’s all over, and also why didn’t the Beatles record ‘Glad All Over’ and let the Dave Clark Five have it instead?”

Yes, we’re-a glad all over that you asked.

Up first is Sexy Bingo on Wednesday, August 26th at 8 p.m. Sponsored by the Pleasure Chest and featuring free bingo with sex-toy prizes, Sexy Bingo never ceases to amaze . In the immortal words of  Clarence Carter it will keep you “Sasified!” Three-dollar Stella bottles and Stoli mixed-drinks will be the order of the day, and the seductive Ms. Morgan will have a turn as bingo caller.

To top that off, hike up your short pants and head over to Keenan’s on Saturday, August 29th for the Official Keenan O’Reilly’s End-of-Summer Free BBQ and Family Funfest. (No family permitted, fun permitted only in moderation, and don’t tell the owner I used the word “free.”) Our friend Mike Borst (Beau to the Lovely Ms. Kate and roommate of the one and only Johnny Oak) will be tending to the grill and fixin’s. Good food, laughter and maybe even a few other surprises are in store.

Finally, get ready to trade in those sandals for some real footwear in September. Keenan O’Reilly’s will be sponsoring a Bowling League at Lincoln Square Lanes, 4874 N. Lincoln Ave., on Monday Nights from 7-10 p.m. We need teams of four, so ask your friends (or just pay a ringer to pretend, you can find anything on Craig’s List), and contact George. The League will start after Labor Day, as was the traditional time of year in the Seleucid Empire where Bowling was created.

You’ll have no sorrow, we’ll always be true, and we’d be-a glad all over to see you soon!

Love ya!
George Clemen
Former Nixon Speechwriter (indicted August ’74) and Good At Parties
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland Ave.

Cinco De Mayo

Howdy Drinking Fans!

We’ve got everything going at Keenan O’Reilly’s this May, except for Swine Flu. Swine Flu had an invalid ID and was turned around at the door. I heard Swine Flu DID get in at Ginger’s Ale House (down the street), but that’s just a rumor.

Up first, our Cubs Game Day Special (Home or Away) features $2.50 Old Style 16 oz. Tall Boys, and continues to make my Old Style Deliveryman’s life a living hell. These Estilo Viejo Hijos Grandes are certainly moving …. wait a minuto, que esta pasando?

Ay que vida! That’s right! Cinco de Mayo is upon us! Being an Irish pub we have decided to celebrate the only way we know how, with the triumphant return of our friend/songwriter Dan Tedesco! Danny will be playing live May 5th starting at 7:30 p.m. Look for his band’s latest release, Staring at a Green Light, to be on sale during the event, which features our Tall Boy special and $2.50 Beam and Cokes.

May 20th features another crowd favorite – Sexy Bingo! Sponsored by the Pleasure Chest and starting at 8 p.m., Sexy Bingo brings together the best aspects of what would seem to be mutually-exclusive things: sex toys and human interaction. The crowd last time was a blast, and we gotta give it up to the Pleasure Chest for providing such outrageous, and expensive, giveaways. We haven’t seen the girl that won the Beehive thing since she walked out with it. Go figure.

Also this May, we will be spicing up our regularly scheduled Friday night Sam Adam’s $3.50 bottle special with some new Boston Beer Co. arrivals. Available all May, Boston’s Twisted Tea Half and Half along with Sam Adam’s Hard Cider will be available for $3.50 a bottlle – every day, all month!

I know what you’re saying – “Why am I still reading this?” The answer is simple. Value. We at Keenan O’Reilly’s are trying to provide the most booziness for your hard-earned buck. Come by and see us and we’ll stretch your dollar instead of stealing it.

Also, a big thanks goes out to all the crowds that have been packing it in for the Bulls and Blackhawk playoff crunch. It’s been a good time, and hopefully we’ll see a few more wins.

I love you all!

George Clemen
Mr. May – Bald and Beautiful Monthly
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland Ave.

Christmas Party 2008

Howdy Drinking Fans!

For all of our friends and loved ones, and even a few that fall somewhere in-between, we here at Keenan O’Reilly’s will have our Christmas/Non-Denominational Moment of Reflection Party on Thursday, December 18th.
Before anyone gets too excited, I want to remind you all of the bad blood that exists between myself and Santa Claus. That fat bastard is not allowed in the bar anymore after his “I Can Drink Blackberry Brandy All Night Without Trying to Grab George’s Ass” experience in July. So he will not be in attendance.

On the other hand, go ahead and get excited about drinking! Here’s the deals: $2.50 Domestic Bottles and Miller Hi-Life 16 oz. Cans, 50 cents off all imported bottles and mixed drinks, as well as $3.50 Jameson and Jager shots.

I am trying to put together some sort of menu, but if anyone wants to bring cookies and whatnot, just let me know how I can help.

On that note, do not forget that Santa’s watching you all. And in this state, there are privacy laws that are applicable, so feel free to take Big Red to court.

Thanks and hope to see you Thursday!

George Clemen
Senate Candidate No. 6
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland Ave.

Black Wednesday 2008

Howdy Drinking Fans!

It’s time for the bar industry High-Holy Day!

No, not St. Patty’s Day, and no, not New Year’s Eve – we’re talking about the night before Thanksgiving! Wednesday, November 26th Keenan O’Reilly’s will put everything on special. One dollar off everything, and $3.50 Jameson shots to boot!

Why do the majority of drinking Americans choose this night to get f’d up more than any other? I’ll give you some reasons:

1. Nobody has to get up early on Thursday, unless you’re playing football, and if that’s your plan then you want to be numb from the night before anyway.
2. All most of us have to do on Thursday is eat, and what better way to prepare for a massive food binge than preceding it with a massive booze binge?
3. Abraham Lincoln mentioned “getting fucked up on a Wednesday” in his initial Thanksgiving proclamation.
4. For the religious: You’re a Pagan if you DON’T get a little crazy the night before Thanksgiving.
5. For non-believers: It’s not like God is going to get mad at you, so why not drink a bottle of Jager on a  Wednesday?
6. The only reason the Pilgrims served food on Thursday was to apologize to the Indians for hitting on their girlfriends while they were drunk on Wednesday.
7. Chicks totally want to go home with drunk, drooling guys on Wednesdays, it’s a Scientific Fact. Really. Would I make that up? It has something to do with the stages of the moon.
8. Everything is a buck cheaper, so it’s not like you won’t have anything left to spend at the “Door Buster” day-after-Thanksgiving sales.
9. Smelling like day-old booze is the perfect scent for spending time with your loved ones on Thursday.

Wednesday still not doin’ it for ya? Then how’s about Thanksgiving itself? We will be open! $2.50 domestic bottles and $4 Jager or Bacardi O-bombs will be perfect to shake you awake from your Turkey coma! As an added bonus, Thursday is also one of our employee’s birthdays. I’m not saying who, because I don’t want anyone to know it’s mine.

I truly hope everyone has a safe and happy Thanksgiving, but if you don’t, we’re here for you.

George Clemen
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland

Election Day 2008

My fellow Americans-

Tuesday, Nov. 4th is a day that we celebrate our freedom to choose a good man for our Chief Executive, and then promptly spend the next four years ruining his health by second-guessing and over-analyzing every decision he will make. U.S.A.! U.S.A.! … Anyway, we at Keenan O’Reilly’s would like to commemorate the event by holding our first, and most likely last, Choose Your Own Special election night.

Here’s how it shakes loose:
Step One – Come to Keenan’s.
Step Two – Tell your bartender, or shall we say “Election Judge,” what you would like to drink.
Step Three – If you have chosen a beer the Election Judge takes 75 cents off, or if it’s a mixed drink you get a dollar off, for the whole night.
Step Four – Pee and Repeat if necessary

It’s easier than voting! You don’t have to punch a card, or follow an arrow across a ballot, touch a screen, or bring a lawyer (unless you are a lawyer or dating one, just check the law license at the door). Ask for your drink and get a discount – your choice!

I know what your saying – “George, you’re a handsome, articulate man, but this sounds crazy!” Sure it does, but ram-rodding some Pre-Approved, State-Sanctioned, Put-It-On-Special-Just-Because-it-Is-Not-Selling special down your throats is rather Marxist, and I hate the Marx brothers. And just because they invented the airplane that does not mean they can tell me what to put on special!

Our 47-inch TV’s will be tuned to the latest updates, so you and your friends can play any sort of Red State/Blue State drinking game you want. I know I’ll be drinking heavily, but that has more to do with my Semi-Functional Alcoholism than it does with politics. Hell, I’ll  probably be playing ping pong all night just to get away from having to listen to another dip-shit TV commentator trying to incite a riot because someone with no I.D. showed up late to the polls in Buttfuck, U.S.A. and couldn’t register an ultimately inconsequential vote.

Wow, that was bitter.

One final thought, someone may have a different political opinion than you. That does not make them a bad person. I’ll toss any self-righteous asshole that can’t handle that if I want to. That’s my choice.

See ya Tuesday! And if you’re wondering who I am voting for, it’s the same guy you are, so let’s just be friends and get drunk on a weeknight!

George Clemen
Your Polling Buddy
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland Ave.

I Don’t Know What This One Was About

Howdy Drinking Fans!

The rumors are true, my Fantasy Football team is a paper tiger. But, moving along, it is also true that our friends Brit and Alea are moving to Texas. Keenan O’Reilly’s will be giving them a send-off on Thursday, Oct. 30. Specials will include the already famous Hi-Life Tall Boys for $2.50 and $2 shots of Jim Beam (in honor of Brit) and $3 Captain and cokes (in honor of Alea). There will also be food of some sort, probably something better than Spam, but probably not much better than Dinty Moore Beef Stew.

If you do not know Brit and Alea, then, hell, this is your last chance. Brit may even chase you down the street with his penis, and I know how much fun that can be.

In other news, our Special Export sign is currently falling off the building, and they may not be able to fix it, mainly because this building is a piece of shit. So if it goes the way of the Do-Do, don’t be alarmed. Hopefully, few deaths will result as the goddamned thing awaits that final burst of wind.

Anyway, back to football. I am personally going to fly to Dallas to figure out what the hell is wrong with the Cowboy’s offense, but in the meanwhile we are proud to announce football specials. (Hey George! It’s NFL week 8, way to be Johnny on the Spot!) We are having the Hi-Life Tall Boys on special every Sunday for $2.50, or try our Long Branch Bloody Marys – they’re fucking tasty. In addition, for Monday Night Fotball, we have Old Style on special for $1.75 a bottle on Mondays.

I hope everyone is doing well, and as always, feel free to call me with questions – just don’t ask me about that hooker. I already told the police I didn’t know her -  or, er, um, him.

George Clemen
Former Director of the Tony Romo Fan Club
Current Director of the Tony Homo Fan Club
Keenan O’Reilly’s Pub
3916 N. Ashland

All-Star Game 2008

Howdy baseball fans!

We here at Keenan O’Reilly’s are very interested to see whether the Cubs or the Sox will have home-field advantage come World Series time. Therefore, we are going to celebrate the 2008 MLB All-Star game the only way we know how – no, not by hiring a bunch of hookers – but by getting drunk.

Well, ask me later about the hookers.

As a special surprise, Chris Fuhrman, our friendly neighborhood pizza-maker, has managed to convince Giordano’s that they need to cater this event for free. (Yes, I know. I wish he knew some hookers too.) They have promised us pizza and italian beefs.

And since baseball is the great American past time, we are going to make all American-owned non-premium beers $2. Good luck finding one. All other domestics will be $2.50.

I love you all, and the game starts at 7 p.m.

George Clemen,
Avavilable for Parties

Super Bowl 2008

Super Bowl XLII
Keenan O’Reilly’s
MMMCMXVI N. Ashland
Sunday, Feb III, MMVIII

Buckets of Bud/Bud Lt. – $10
That’s VII VII oz. Buds for $X!
Busch Cans – $I

Free Food, XLII-inch HD TV’s!

No Cover! Hoping to have some giveaways and other action too.

Go whoever you want to win!
Hope to see y’all,
with love,
George Clemen

Author’s note: Wrote this the other week after Chicago lost its 2016 Olympics bid and the Blackhawks Hockey Club lost its season opener, thought it sucked,  but a beautiful autumn Wednesday made me want to publish it despite its cheesiness.

All the dejection this morning!

True, it was a rough morning for both Sporting Fans of Chicago and Chicago Sports Fans. We did not get the 2016 games and, just hours after that much-ballyhooed announcement, the Blackhawks lost their season opener. Everyone on the street seems so down, and I would presume that the phone lines are over-taxed at the Suicide Prevention Center.  On top of all that, for most people, the grey autumn skies and intermittent rain make it hard to smile.

Not me though, I have fond memories of the Fall. It’s my favorite time of year.

I can remember playing with friends and dancing at my Church’s Octoberfest as a small boy. I can also remember getting in trouble for being drunk as a small boy (like 8 years old) at one particular Octoberfest. My older brother’s friend, Nick Bohr, fed me a bunch of plastic cups full of a wonderful amber liquid that I assumed was cider. I found out later it was beer. I guess I was wrecked. That was the first time I can remember hearing the words “Give it to George, he’ll drink it.”

As a fifth grader, I can remember the many oranges and reds of the autumn leaves during wonderful afternoons spent at Garfield Park. It was in that romantic locale where I would meet up with my first crush, Amanda, and her friends after school. I vividly recall when young Amanda pulled me aside, under the dimming shade of a nearby tree, to tell me a secret. I excitedly listened to every word as she told me that her friend Erin, not she, had a crush on me.

I can remember the smell of leaves when I think of my first kiss. I can also remember thinking how pretty and unusual my date’s Homecoming dress was that night, in both it’s look and the way the fabric felt on my fingertips as we danced that night. It wasn’t the normal satin gown thing, and it complimented both her persona and her brown eyes equally. All this was on my mind as I leaned in for that kiss, clouding my aim as I missed my mark, hitting my head on Lisa G.’s front door, subsequently waking her father.

Another favorite fall recollection was Ryan Halquist’s Annual Halloween Party, a staple of every First Semester whilst I was a scholarly lad at Loyola University. He and his roommates had a wonderful house on Newgard Avenue, and we had the run of the joint. Everyone went all-out for costumes, and even me and my baby face grew a full beard once to compliment a Clint Eastwood costume. Unfortunately, one year I turned into a Devil-Worshiper. I believe her name was Andrea, and she had a great Satan costume -  horns and all. Like most false idols, it was a case of impaired judgement on my part, as Andrea the Devil was better left alone. Later, she stopped by my dorm room, but luckily we were rudely interrupted within minutes by arriving roommates. In her haste to leave unnoticed out the back, she forgot her horns. With lipstick on my collar I tried to explain to my teasing roomies that nothing had happened – when roomie Joe Bergmann spotted the horns. For the next year Joe would pull those horns out whenever he wanted to razz me or get under my skin.

Finally, the fall is also the best time of year for New York Yankee baseball. I have had the pleasure of watching Yanks win the World Series four times, but that doesn’t make up for the first time I ever watched them lose. In 2001 the Yankees were a lock to win. The post 9/11 scene demanded some sort of feel-good rejuvenation for New York, and the Bronx Bombers were in a position to win in the final game, in the final inning – and I sat there waiting for the final out. It didn’t happen, the Yanks lost. My  girlfriend of three-plus years had dumped me earlier in the week, I had no job prospects and my Yankees had just lost the Fall Classic.

Wait a minute, those stories all ended terribly! How, in the name of Oprah, can I like the Fall so much? According to these stories I would be better off sitting at home and applying dark eyeliner while watching The CW.

Simply not true.

First of all, in each instance I had to live a little to lose a little, and I would not trade any of those experiences for better results. Wouldn’t change a damn thing. Secondly, in each case I had wonderful interaction afterwards with friends.

Nick Bohr and I still laugh about Octoberfest – often while drinking with my parents.

Amanda and I laughed on Facebook about how cliché it was that grade school crushes were talking on-line.

Never did bounce back with Lisa Gurbal, but she has a wonderful family now with a Bass-Playing Hubby. She met him our junior year in High School when she came to watch me and my lame band play in the middle of a cornfield. His band had opened that night. All I got out of that gig were mosquito bites.

Bergmann still has those horns, thank God he lives in Green Bay, but I hope to see him soon, while Marty the Bartender and I still talk about the pitch that lost the Yankee Game and how drunk we were for the three days that followed.

You can’t get down on yourself in the short term. You have to look forward and realize that at some point in the future things get better – and sometimes get bad again. Keep near good people though, and they help you get through it all and also help you laugh at things later.

That, especially, is what the Chicago 2016 people need to keep in mind. Comprised of some of the best people this city has to offer, they showed Chicago to the world in the best possible light. Chicago 2016 should take the loss in stride, find a new cause, and get something else done. Outside of the White Sox in 2005, they brought forth some of the strongest civic pride I have ever seen in the 13 years I’ve lived here, and they should be proud.

Finally, the Blackhawks just need a new goaltender – plain and simple. Maybe the 2016 people could get on that.

I had a fun couple of weeks chasing a skirt. Yup, I said it, chasing a skirt.

READER RESPONSE: “Don’t ever use that kind of language when describing affairs of the heart, you twisted, twisted man!”

EDITOR’S NOTE – READER RESPONSE is a Twitter-like instant messaging system, special to this blog, Drums of Death Mark IV, that reports reader’s objections to the thoughts of the writer immediately, before said writer can even finish a sentence.

Instant reader response? Are you serious? Weird. Anyway, back to the story … You see? When it comes to relationships, EVERYONE has an opinion, but how many people do you see that are really happy? What could they possibly know? “Hey George, this is what I think, and if you follow my dip-shit advice then you can be as miserable as me! Oh, and did you notice that I changed my hair color for the eighth time this week?”

I like to try to provide guidance for my friends, but usually only if it is solicited and usually in a constructive manner – except when I tell people to go fuck themselves.

READER RESPONSE: “How could you ever say that to a person? You wicked, wicked man!”

Ugh, that is going to get annoying. People chirp in with the dumbest stuff. For example, Ms. ______ . (NAME WITHELD DUE TO THE LIBELOUS SLANDER THAT IS SURE TO FOLLOW)

What? They cut her name? Fucking editors, anyway, Ms. ______ asked me the other day if, in my pursuit of said skirt, I had taken my turn in playing “Hard.” At first I thought she was suggesting some new sort of kinky that one finds in racy magazines like Hustler or Cosmo, and maybe I should know about this, but I was wrong.

She meant “Hard” as in hard-to-get. Stunned, I wanted to say, “No, you miserable, lonely, barren woman – I was taught that if you like somebody you take them out to dinner, or at least do something nice for them.”  But I knew I was drunk and thought discretion to be the better part of valor, so I just smiled and replied “Jager.”

READER RESPONSE: “Your espousal of binge drinking sickens me! You’re a sot! A dirty, dirty sot!!”

A funny aside, Ms. _______ was so baked and out of it, she had met the New Love of Her Life For This Week, Possibly Less, only twenty minutes before. She brought him with, his name was Biff or Brannock or something douchey. Makes me appreciate the 1965 Beau Brummels tune “Laugh, Laugh” more and more each day. Pay attention to the final verse Ms. _______ …. but I digress.

Other friends such as Ms. _____ and Ms. _______ both offered advice as well. “Don’t tell her you like her, and for god’s sake, don’t act like you like her!”

My advice to both Ms. _____ and Ms._____ would be simple, don’t have children – because the guy that sneaks one past your goalies will only be able to do so because he’s had A LOT of practice. Ask any professional hockey player. And yes, you’ll probably believe him when he says you’re the only one he’s never worn a rubber with.

CANADIAN READER RESPONSE: “Leave hockey oot of dat der libelous slander der dat your spreading all over dat der linny rink. Walleye. And you ended dat der sentence with a preposition, Poor, poor writing-type man.”

Wow, I didn’t know I was even read in Canada. I wonder what the Canadian Courting Ritual entails. I bet it goes like this:

Canadian Male: “Ya der Missy, you want to eat some walleye and drink some brew and get touchy feely der?
Canadian Female: “Oh Lord, thankfully most beers here in Canada have six percent alcohol or better, or else I would never know how to play ‘Hard’ with this fish-eating douchebag.”

Back to the story kids, let’s focus here, as, after all, I am a professional.

EDITOR’S NOTE: CLEMEN IS NOT PAID, SO IS THEREFORE NOT A PROFESSIONAL.

Harsh, but true. I am not a professional, and definitely out-of-touch on a lot of things. But dating, however intermittent, is not one of those things. It can take you anywhere, provides hope when you have none, makes you smile for no discernible reason, and may even lead to a kiss. How fucking cool is that?

FORMER ASTRONAUT READER RESPONSE: “As fucking cool as unzipping your fly in space.”

I for one, never saw the reason to fuck all those nice things up by pretending to be someone I am not, or hiding who I am.

In the end though, I did let some of the chirping get to me recently, and I wish it hadn’t. Let’s just say it didn’t all come together the way I wanted, but I always tried to put my best foot forward.

Given the chance, I’d happily do it with the next skirt.

READER RESPONSE: “You didn’t learn anything then, you stupid, stupid man!”

I sure did, I learned that I like me. Also,  I like that when I like someone, I play “Soft,” and someday that will work. Laugh, Laugh chirpers or twitterers, I’ll at least never be the person telling someone to act unhappy in order to make someone they like unhappy just so they can be happy. That’s just fucking stupid. If you believe in that sort of thing, you can go fuck yourself. Wicked.

SPECIAL TO DODMIV

CHICAGO – George Clemen is going to quit smoking, and no one is being held hostage. George Clemen is going to quit smoking, and not in order to avoid jail time. What the hell is going on?

Well kids, it’s been a long time coming, but it has to be done. I love smoking. I love everything about smoking, I looooooooovvvve it. All of it. It’s been my only recourse for all the terrible things I must do every day.

Alas, I have to. You and I both know all the reasons. Fuck those reasons. I am doing it for something new. I am doing it to protest the fact that we haven’t landed a man on the moon in years. I am doing it because Mayor Daley wants me to keep smoking. I am doing it because Philip Morris kills puppies. Most importantly, I am doing it because I met a girl that I like.

This is going to fucking suck, but I’m tough – and she is wonderful. people will tell me to quit because I want to. Go to hell. I want to because I want a shot at happiness more than I want a shot of nicotine.  You don’t get up for school or go to work because it’s easy, you do it because you want something better.

I want something better, and since combat reporters with no experience are not in demand, I choose this.

Sorry to my friends if I become short with them, or do something else that hurts. I will try in earnest to avoid all those cliches.

Don’t wish me luck with quitting, wish me luck with the girl. She is more than worth it.

SPECIAL TO DODMIV

Questions abound over John McCain’s choice of V.P., yet the only thing I can think about is this: Why are my wrist and index finger swollen?

My quest for answers took me immediately to the Wikipedia of the health world, WebMD. There I was quickly able to dismiss my two biggest concerns, cancer and lupus, but in all I was unable to get a solid fix on my problem. More than likely, my self-diagnosis led me to decide upon a worn or swollen tendon running through my hand, with the possibility of gelatinous sacs or carpal tunnel thrown in there for good measure.

I used to want to be a writer, but lately my interest has waned. However, the idea that I have suffered a career-ending injury before I have even began a career is rather troubling. I’m like the Bobby Kennedy of the writing world. I feel like pulling a VanGogh and cutting my hand off and sending it to a girl, but all the ones I can think of would probably just pretend to like it for a week and then throw it in the trash.

At this point, if I knew directions to a glue factory, I would pop for a cab. Luckily for me however, I don’t have a job that requires typing! Even better, unlike most writing jobs I have had, my current job is actually supposed to pay me, at some point, eventually. I manage a bar, and I can still make an Upside-Down Pineapple Cake shot without even the slightest worry about my poor fingers. It simply will not affect my job performance. It’s just a pressing, personal problem.

And likewise, if Sarah Palin was running an Abstinence School for Girls, or chose to turn a blind eye on her “I’ve made some mistakes” Taser-His-Ten-Year-Old-Son State Trooper brother-in-law, then I’d worry about her abilities. Her problems are personal, not professional. But don’t worry all, if McCain wins I will make you all the best Chocolate Cake shots you’ve ever had.

Which reminds me of a thought I’ve been hearing around the bar lately, namely, “[Palin} deserved to have a down-syndrome baby for trying to have a child when she is that old, that’s what happens.”

I could not agree more! That is classic liberal thought at its best! An unbelievably stupid understanding of mental disability traces its root as a plank in the Democratic party platform back to the days of Joe “Trust Hitler” Kennedy Sr. If Palin had a liberal bone in her body she would immediately hide the child from public view, like Joe did for his little girl Rosemary. Then, following Joe’s lead, she would slice the child’s frontal lobe in two and leave the babe to rot in an asylum.

Good lord, that’s some awful stuff … but I guess it proves that conservatives don’t have all that tight a hold on being douchebags. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I am going to go cut open my finger and try playing “Devil Went Down to Georgia” on my tendons, it’s a lot easier than listening to political thought in a bar.

Supreme Editor, DODMIV

That stupid fucking Clemen. Look at his editor’s note in his latest post. He meant Howard Dean, not John. John Dean was one of the best Republicans ever. He helped take down John Ehrlicman and Bob Haldeman by turning and serving as a government witness during the Watergate scandal. John Dean helped send The Boss himself packing, and back to San Clemente.

Clemen fucked that one up. He sure is a douchebag when it comes fact checking. He’s ugly too, balding and pasty. No wonder women won’t touch him.

Dean as the Water-Walker, or Careful What You Wish For
by George Clemen
“The only way a reporter should look at a politician is down.”
- H.L. Mencken
On my first day of graduate school, a day that I will be paying off forever, our professors had us all introduce ourselves and tell the class who our favorite journalist is. Much to the dismay of the faculty, a few of us said Hunter S. Thompson. However, I felt strongly then, and even more strongly now, that his insights on national politics are not only fresh, but seem to answer questions that pop into my head before I even have thought of them. See if you can sense where I am going with this passage:

HST: Do you think the kind of campaign you ran in the primaries, a real sort of anti-politician campaign- would have any chance in ’76, or do you think we all misconceived the whole thing- not just the temper of the time but the whole basic nature of the electorate.
McGOVERN: I don’t think there ever was a majority for the approach I was using. I think we had a fighting chance.
HST: No better than that? Not even with all those new voters? That was a hell of a natural power base for you, wasn’t it? What happened?
McGOVERN I think we exaggerated the amount of enthusiasm for change among young people … There really are a great number of people in this country that are a helluva lot more interested in whether the Dolphins beat the Redskins than they are about whether Nixon or George McGovern ends up in the White House.
-Fear and Loathing : On the Campaign Trail in ’72, p. 478
by Hunter S. Thompson

Moderation is not just a two-way street, it is a clover-leaf interstate junction with many merging lanes and exits, beset at both sides by bi-ways and bisected down the middle with express lanes. If you know where you are going on it, people will ride with you, if not, you have to get used to going around in circles by yourself.
Your column on Dean assuming control of the DNC was thoughtful, well-written, and even passionate. I don’t know how you got passion by an editor, but keep it up!
However, and it is just my unemployed, over-educated opinion, part of the problems Democrats are facing are the arguments they are making and the conclusions they are reaching.
First of all, Democrats should be staying away from using phrases like “living in denial” or pretending to sleep through the Bush years. It shows too much weakness, or to use your own words “wishy-washiness.”  Those who wish to refute your arguments won’t have to do more than call you a cry-baby to feel like they’ve won. Don’t let the bastards get you down, stand and fight, stay alert, keep to station and push through. This is only my opinion, but I think readers may be turned off to political commentary from someone who admits in the first paragraph to not being awake for the last four plus years. I’ll always keep reading, I learned how to a few years back and I can’t seem to kick it, but I am sure there are some people who were smugly happy to see you write that, and then promptly turned the page.
Next, what the hell were the Democratic glory days you were reveling in as, gulp, a teenager? First of all, were you really reveling in the Clinton presidency, or were you reveling in being a teenager? Don’t answer that. I’ll just assume it was the Clinton presidency.
Clinton’s years were not very glorious at the time for the Democrats. The party’s leader, Clinton, started off with some difficult cabinet appointments in ’93, set health care reform back many years, was beset by scandals, suffered humiliating losses in Congress in mid-term elections and last, but not least, he was impeached. I was interning on Capitol Hill while Clinton was tried in the Senate, it was not a fun time to be a Democrat in D.C. (A funny aside, there I was running an errand, tearing through the halls, when I was blinded by bright lights while hustling around a corner. I then crack-blocked Henry Hyde, I couldn’t see him because of the television lights that were trailing him on the way to the Senate floor as one of the House Managers.)
What else was there? If you even say the economy, I will come down there and kick you in the shin, but not hard, don’t worry. Perhaps Clinton and the Democratic party will best be remembered for standing tall and shutting down the government to force a balanced budget. That was not only dramatic, but it was also good fiscal policy. Clinton also retained Alan Greenspan as Federal Reserve Board chairman, another good move.
However, the private sector was an absolute frigging mess, creating a situation that was soon to explode. Over-valued stocks and rigged, outrageously priced I.P.O.s were the norm. Books were being cooked, and too many corporations were eagerly looking forward to a new tool, the Internet, to bring profit home. It could not last. Even the New York Times dumped many millions into its digital production before its owners wisened up and realized it would never turn a profit.  They were not alone, and an economy built on the promise of profit did not last. (Another aside, I believe in 2001 the only news corporation that actually turned a profit on its Internet operations was the Chicago Tribune, and only with its Career Builder site.)
Without Clinton’s reasonable economic policies, I’d hate to think where we’d be now.
But still, did these glory days have anything to do with Clinton being president? Morale in the military was its lowest since Vietnam, our enemies abroad were able to train unimpeded for years and economic troubles were on the horizon. Tell me again where the glory was?
O.K. I think I’m tearing off in the wrong direction, you can see why I never landed a job in journalism.
However, a few more things.
Young people do not vote for many reasons. Even if they did, they would not all vote for a Democrat.

So stop it, just drop it.

In ’72 McGovern shocked the country by winning the Wisconsin primary, proving that with a whole bunch of motivated, young volunteers, a liberal can win in a liberal state – in a primary. He lost in the general election.
Whether or not you think it will ever happen to you, people become more moderate as they grow older, and strangely enough, they vote more. No one has ever won the presidency in this country by being even the slightest bit radical. Before you blurt out Jimmy Carter look up the word backlash, and before you say FDR realize that massive new programs were needed to literally save the country. Clinton was, I daresay, a moderate, who, to use your words again, made jokes, spoke in plain language, and was charming. He did offer hope, and was extremely empathetic, but when he tried to move to the left, he was quickly called to task. Republicans are hoping for more Howard Deans Version 2003-4, and, strategically speaking, I don’t blame them.
Finally, and I doubt you are still reading (now I know what it feels like to be a news reporter), there is one thing I am eager to hear. You should be excited to stand up for what you believe in, congratulations. I hope Howard Dean does stand up for the core liberal principles, but I doubt he will meet with the widespread success you are hoping for.  What are the core liberal principles you speak of? Even if I only asked Democrats, I would get many different answers. That’s the problem. You guys all talk about this stuff, but you don’t list them, and if you did you would probably receive many letters telling you what you forgot, or what doesn’t belong.
However, you do have a damn fine point: Republicans are proud to call themselves conservatives, why then should Democrats be afraid to do the opposite? I think if Democrats stay in the right lane on the moderate circle interchange of the political spectrum, someday they will be proud. I hope they find a good driver.

Special to DODMIV

Author’s note: This little ditty was written back in November of 2006, but I believe it still holds true today.

We own a little store on Chicago’s North Side.
It looks dingy, and makes your clothes smell. It’s a “Mom and Pop” place, except ma and pa are never there, just a bunch of us guys, in bad moods, between the ages of 25 and 72.
You can buy doughnuts next door, from our rotten neighbors. They’ll take your money, but if you want change for a dollar afterwards, they could care less. So, after you’ve spent your money someplace else, you can come in and ask us for change.
One of two scenarios will follow:
1.) If you’re lucky, the irony of your actions will be accepted pleasantly, and your denominational monetary concern will be resolved.
2.) If you catch us at the right moment though, your smugness will be rewarded with a barrage of insults, which for the next week will force you to constantly ask yourself: “Do people know how criminally insane those jerks are? Should I alert the authorities? For the love of all that’s sacred, what does ‘jaggoffblowhardcocksucker’ even mean?”
Some people get our predicament: it’s very annoying to be handling other business’s customer care concerns. These bright people will at least grab a $0.25 pack of gum, and make it easy, while others, well, uh, not so much.
After working there for six years I am convinced that at least one out of every ten people is developmentally challenged enough to warrant euthanasia.
I’m not talking about the homeless crazies – the ones that truly believe that if they see lipstick on the ground they should eat it immediately, or that someday a chariot will arrive at the bus stop to carry them to Valhalla.
No, those people would skew the curve too much, and in order to preserve the appearance of significance, they are discounted from this study, except for anecdotal purposes.
What is afoot here is a full-scale, broadly-served, condemnation of society. It is easy to say “people are stupid,” but to explain that stupidity to the level in which it has affected my own presence of mind is another thing. It is like the difference between just pointing out something obvious or going the extra step to examine its not-so-blatant side effects.

For clarity, a good example of this would be a nuclear bomb.

Victim 1 (one): Holy crap! Did you see that explosion? We’re gonna eat it man!
Victim 2 (Two): No, we’re far enough away, just take a deep breath and relax.
Two weeks later
Victim 1 (one): Asshole. I told you so. Goddamn radiation.
Victim 2 (Two): Can you believe, I quit smoking a month ago? Thought I’d live forever. (expires)

See? What I’m saying is that being around stupid people is like absorbing a huge dose of nuclear radiation.
It seeps into every essential system of the body and begins a slow rot. All of this travels up the spinal column and sets up shop in the brain stem. There it begins to earn its keep, cutting off synapses and disrupting essential functions until eventually you become stupid too.
The first symptom is that you begin to tap your feet along to any song performed by a former member of “The Mickey Mouse Club,” and it ends with you thinking that life is eternal and that you look good in a Polo shirt with the collar turned up.
In the meanwhile you will notice those around you only superficially, but on the other hand you speak openly and constantly of your deep level of concern for life in all its forms – from the acorn to the poor, poor children of Brasil.
Those little rugrats will be fully on your mind, and their plight will bring you to a level of personal consternation that can only be solved by a doughnut. And with your collar up, and Boston Cream in hand, you’ll walk in, just to ask us for change.
Hope you’re feeling lucky.

Post Script: The store was sold in early 2007 after 80+ years of being run by the same family, and never, ever again will I call a person a cocksucker, jaggoff, or blowhard – no matter how high up there collar is turned or how pink their shirt is. I promise.