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Famous Last Words

Brian Fairbanks — Wed, 11 Mar 2009 17:20:00 GMT

Why is it that celebrities are able to muster more creative energy than they've had in years to consistently utter their unforgettable last words?

Take, for example, the curious case of Dylan Thomas, poet, raconteur, and mainly raconteur who drank himself to death via shots of whiskey at New York City's White Horse Tavern before staggering back to the Chelsea Hotel, more than a dozen blocks later, and collapsing in its now-famous lobby. His immortal last words?

"Eighteen whiskeys... that must be some sort of a record."

Of course, the reason that all these famous last words are so, well, famous is that they are exaggerated and that the circumstances surrounding them are mostly unsubstantiated myths.

Here's what really happened to Dylan Thomas... according to Wikipedia, of course:

Thomas.. said that we was feeling awful and asked to take a "rain-check". He did however accompany Liz to the White Horse for a few beers. Feeling sick he again returned to the hotel.

[Dr.] Feltenstein came to see him three times that day, on the third call prescribing morphine. This seriously affected Dylan's breathing. At midnight on November 4/5, his breathing became more difficult and his face turned blue.

By 1:58 am Thomas had been admitted to the emergency ward at nearby St Vincent’s, by which time he was profoundly comatose. The doctors on duty found bronchitis in all parts of his bronchial tree, both left and right sides. An X-ray showed pneumonia... and Thomas died on November 9.

Here's where the myths started:

During an incident on 3 November 1953, Thomas returned to the Chelsea Hotel in New York, from the White Horse Tavern and exclaimed, "I've had eighteen straight whiskies, I think that is a record." However, the barman and the owner of the pub who served Thomas at the time, later told Ruthven Todd, that Thomas couldn't have imbibed more than half that amount, after Todd decided to find out.

Despite shattering that myth, here's a set of famous last words that have stood the test of time. If we're half this witty when the time comes, we must've done something right in life:

Friends applaud, the comedy is finished.
-Beethoven, died in 1827

I should never have switched from Scotch to Martinis.
-Bogart, 1957

Don't let it end like this. Tell them I said something.
-Pancho Villa, 1923
I know you have come to kill me. Shoot, coward. You are only going to kill a man.
-Ernesto "Che" Guevara, 1967
How were the receipts today at Madison Square Garden?
-P.T. Barnum, 1891
Codeine . . . bourbon.
-Tallulah Bankhead, 1968
Either that wallpaper goes, or I do.
-Oscar Wilde, 1900

But our favorite famous last words are those of former US President John Adams, who died on July 4, 1826. His bitter rivalry with Thomas Jefferson (the POTUS #3 to his POTUS #2) continued to his dying day, upon which Adams muttered, "And Thomas Jefferson still survives." As it turns out, Jefferson had actually died earlier that day, but Adams did not learn this before passing on.

Jefferson's last words? "Is it the Fourth?"

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The Greatest Dive Bars: The Comfort Zone

Brian Fairbanks — Fri, 02 Jan 2009 17:55:00 GMT

We can't say for sure that this bar qualifies as a dive, since it's more of a dance club than a place with, say, a jukebox and your Uncle Morty, sporting a fedora, downing Old Crow in the corner; however, we'll take the reader's suggestion and include Toronto's notorious Comfort Zone on our list for two incredibly good reasons.

1) This review, which appears on iBegin:

If its normal to you to shit backwards on a toilet seat and just leave it, its the place to go, if its normal to clog sinks,flush plastic cups down the toilet,tear things out of the walls,its the place to go,if its normal to puke in the corners,leave all your shit,although big bins are just in front of you,its the place to go.
But they do have great music. Addy is just divine.Not to forget the staff.; - )
Please tip the cleaners,show them respect for being able to keep up with your people, they are having a hard time,trying to keep the toilets okay, they have to stay out there 24/ 7 just to keep up. God bless the cleaners.

2) And this story, which appeared in the March 17, 2007 edition of Eye Weekly:

The police raid early Sunday morning at the Comfort Zone at Spadina and College, resulting in approximately 150 people being investigated and released and 33 arrested and charged, came as little surprise to anyone who encountered tweaking patrons squinting into the street on weekend afternoons. The club’s location, in the basement of the Silver Dollar Room of the Waverly Hotel, is next door to the Scott Mission shelter and soup kitchen — an intersection where decorum is limited and the finest dining option remains Burger King.

But the mother of Andrew Fazio, the 26-year-old from Hamilton who died of an accidental overdose in January after visiting the club, took no solace in this matter-of-fact when it was raised at a police media conference this afternoon.

Others have questioned whether the club should have remained opened after the bust-- observers noted hard drugs were still being sold openly, which some may view as an insult to the guy who died. After all, shouldn't the club at least be worried it will happen again on their watch?

Nonetheless, most locals enjoy the vibe and the "dirty electro house beats." One noted on iBegin that it's the only place he can go and dance all night, sans shirt, without being bothered. But remember, we warned you about the other side of the coin:

Can someone say crystal meth? This is what this place seems to be all about. A drug dealer's heaven.

Here's the Comfort Zone's official website, in case you're visiting. Above photo is not of the Comfort Zone.

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Who Knew North Dakota Had Such A Great Bar Scene?

The Greatest Dive Bars: Mars Bar

Who Knew North Dakota Had Such A Great Bar Scene?

Brian Fairbanks — Fri, 05 Dec 2008 15:48:00 GMT

Hankinson, North Dakota is an up-and-coming town of 1,058 people, with not much going on these days except the North Dakota Horseshoe Tournament, taking place while the rest of the world will be climbing up lampposts in D.C. to see an inauguration.

But now this budding tourist hamlet is getting some unwanted publicity of the kind that actually inspires horndogs and other vacationers to hop the next plane to... wait, where the hell are the airports in North Dakota anyway?

The Boston Herald this morning picked up a story out of Hankinson that makes their bar scene sound worthy of the hardest-drinking Americans: The Spare Time bar is being shut down for a week after it was revealed a couple had sex in the middle of it for thirty minutes the other night. The 21-year-old "performers" were charged with misdemeanors, identified by the police thanks to the fact that dozens of people took pictures and video with their cell phones and then, get this, sent them to the City Council for amusement. Whoops-- the City Council turns out to not have a sense of humor.

On Wednesday night, Roger Boutain, who owns Spare Time, went before the Council with 100 supporters behind him (all of whom, one assumes, were at the bar that night and heartily approved) and begged to be allowed to remain open. Luckily, Hankinson only closed The Spare Time for a week...

"We went from being an up and growing community to Hankinson, the place where they had sex in the bar," Mayor Joe O’Meara said. "It didn’t shed a good light on our community. I’m hoping now, we can just put this past us."

By the way, the airport you want to fly into is Hector International, in Fargo.

Image via the Sun-UK.

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The Greatest Dive Bars: Mars Bar

Brian Fairbanks — Fri, 21 Nov 2008 18:01:00 GMT

Every time we've been to Mars Bar we've seen a fistight, an ejection, and vomit. If that doesn't qualify this New York City establishment for Dive Bar status, nothing ever will...

Mars Bar is located in Manhattan's East Village, a mere block from CBGB's old home and seemingly the only remaining structure in the area that isn't a monstrous condo tower. Besides the nearby St. Mark's Place, this is the only spot left in New York where one can play at being "punk," although even the bar's greatest regulars are closer to posers tha the real thing.

Just check out the reviews on Yelp:

-A few nights ago my friend and I were wandering around the East Village and got caught in a downpour. We ran to the nearest bar which happened to be Mars Bar. Wow... what a TOTAL shit hole...and I mean that in the best way. It was so refreshing to find this dump after having been to so many painfully hip NYC bars. Totally punk rock.
-Okay, I like dive bars, but really? This is too much. I can deal with the broken stools, the meh beer, but I really would like to inhale without smelling piss. That's kind of important to me.
-old punk on the jukebox all sorts of randoms dirty as shit...i loved it. ill definitely go back again when i visit. we went outside for a smoke, started talkin to this 17 year old crustie who was swilling gin and warm beer (ah the good ole days). it was great. bartender tells these guys who just left the bathroom "hey don't leave that balloon in here!" it was one of those thin long balloons the guy just left on the counter and the guy says all crazy "in this topsy turvy crazy world who knows where that balloon came from!!??" and he goes back into the bathroom.
-when i get approached by lawyers, investment bankers, or nice jewish boys and they ask me what my favorite bar is, my answer is Mars Bar. this place is a complete dump... gum on the walls, broken bar stools, etc. good jukebox stuff, and bartenders who aren't there to flirt with you. (this is a good thing)

It doesn't get anymore crass than this. And we seek out crass even more so than the booze.

***As always, we welcome your nominations. Seriously, we haven't done this in a while because we want to branch out to bars we haven't personally visited, so please send in your picks.***

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The Greatest Dive Bars: The Clermont Lounge

Brian Fairbanks — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 17:30:00 GMT

We were in Atlanta over the 4th of July weekend to see Tom Waits play on his rare and limited-date US tour, for which we drove down from Brooklyn.

After the show, a cute and rather innocent female friend suggested, almost offhandedly, that we might enjoy this place called the Clermont Lounge...

Shrugging in surrender and still not entirely conscious after that intense concert, we staggered into the Clermont sometime after midnight on a Saturday night, expecting to have a few beers and collapse. Instead, we were met by perhaps one hundred and fifty people, many of them couples in their 20s, rocking out on the dance floor and enjoying what even we had to admit was a great DJ. At the bar, we ordered a couple of PBR's with accompanying Jager shots, seeing as how we were at a world-class dive/dump. The bright red neon light that adorned every inch of wall space took us back to our most drugged out New Orleans evenings... or even back to that Factory scene in Midnight Cowboy.

Anyway, we were settling in, marveling at the local characters... when it soon became clear why we'd been directed to this place...

With no fanfare whatsoever and to the complete dismissal of everyone on the dance floor, a large woman wearing a sumo wrestler's outfit stepped up onto the bar and almost immediately exposed her breasts:

Aside from the fact that this low-quality, dim-lighting camera phone shot is basically useless in a blog post, this at least gives you an exact replica of what we were seeing. It turned out were in Atlanta's oldest and longest running strip club, complete with some of the finest area talent: the next act was an elderly Chinese woman in a green dress who raced back and forth across the slim bar and flashed each customer indvidually. According to this page, the strippers have to put money in the jukebox themselves if they want some theme music to dance to.

The outside kind of looked like this, although not really:

Yeah, not really. Anyway, it's well worth checking out when you're in town... or, hell, driving from halfway across a Hemisphere.

More on the Clermont Lounge online at this link.

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Scanner Highs and Lows: Finders Keepers, Finders Weepers

Brian Fairbanks — Fri, 09 May 2008 21:51:00 GMT

Oh, the things you'll learn!

HIGHS:

We found porn on Wikipedia.

We found a picture of a very sexy carrot.

We found out about... sommmmeeboddyy'sss birthdaaay!

We discovered a secret pantie run at ASU. Okay, it couldn't have been that secret if hundreds of Arizonians were ready with their cameras when it went down.

We uncovered the ancient art of the VHS tape.

We revealed the identity of Minnie Driver's baby daddy. And no, she's not "fucking Matt Damon."

We learned that homosexuality is a whopping 140 years old!

We began a new contest after finding one of the great dive bars.

LOWS:

We uncovered a Google Map pertaining to the sexual conquests of an individual unfortuantely named "Igor."

We found out that Grey's Anatomy is resorting to raunchy lesbian sex to keep its ratings up. Shame on them?

We discovered the Ugly Models Agency is not really all that bad. It makes us feel ugly, in fact.

Our eyes burned after learning about anal from Spencer Pratt.

We mourned the wonderful news of Scarlett Johansson's enagement.

IN-BETWEENS:

We learned the identity of the owner of a famous third nipple. Actually, everyone cheated by reading the name of the celebrity off the title of the photo. Whoops!

And we learned about America's most sexually satisfying cities. None of them are near us, damn it.

The Greatest Dive Bars: The Saturn

Brian Fairbanks — Tue, 06 May 2008 18:43:00 GMT

We'd love it if you reader folks would submit your favorite (area?) dive bars for our Greatest Dive Bars competition...

First up, the Saturn Bar, in a very dangerous neighborhood, severely damaged by Hurricane Katrina, called the Bywater, near the 9th Ward...

The first time we entered the Saturn, many years ago, there was a couple making out in the most hideous way imaginable, a man falling asleep sitting up at a table, an eighty-year-old man passed out on the bar with his top hat having fallen off next to his beer, and ninety-year-old man with very few teeth bartending while watching "Cool Hand Luke" on a 13" black-and-white TV. They were the sole occupants of the bar.

Our companion ordered us two Budweisers, against our will. "Dollar twenny fi'," said the ancient pourer.

"So, two-fifty?"

"No... dollar twenny-five... for the both of ya's."

That day, we played the original 45 of "House of the Rising Sun" by the Animals on a jukebox that gave you twelve plays... for a quarter. It had been there for at least forty-five years, although when we arrived last week, we found out that it had been destroyed by Hurricane Katrina.

All those amazing records, probably worth hundreds apiece, washed away like the homes surrounding the brick-made bar...

The bathroom may have actually been the highlight:

And, of course, the stories:

"This guy comes in once and he orders a Manhattan... my uncle looked at him and was just like, 'Alll right, if you say so, buddy.' Does he know where he is? Anyway, the guy who ordered it... he's gotta wait foreva... waits and waits... and finally, my uncle puts it on the bar. 'That'll be five dollas...' The guy pulls out a twenty. My uncle: 'That's it! Get outta here, you asshole!'"
"There used to be a candy machine over there... one time I put my hand in there and didn't come up with any M&M's, I tell ya... you didn't know whether you was gettin' candy or roaches."
An old man sat at the bar all night on Wednesday. He was wearing a Taking Back Sunday T-shirt.
And this... a stuffed turtle, the deceased owner/founder's favorite pet, now all lit up in neon and nailed to a beam:

Send us an e-mail or add a comment nominating your favorite dive bar(s)...

Corrected from earlier version which erroneously identified the neighborhood as the Bywater.