it only seems fair to post something about my favorite dive bar on 82nd Ave. it's called the steinhaus, and i've mentioned it before. it's a stone's throw away from the trailer court, or the length of half a camel light 99, if you're want to document the length in cigarette form.
before today, i thought the best part about the steinhaus was the strong and cheap drinks they pour. it turns out, it gets even better. apparently, on "taco tuesdays" you can purchase two tacos for one thin dollar. we're talking WT tacos with hard shells, greasy beef, bright yellow cheese, and iceburg lettuce, all with a plastic ramiken of pace picante salsa. it doesn't get much better than this. i'm full as christmas goose, and it cost me half the price of a bus ticket! ah, heaven.
so, i'm sitting here. in the steinhaus.
the subject of today's blog is sponsored by the drunk-ass cackling lady siting on the other side of the bar. i feel like i'm really missing out on something, comedically, by hanging out in the pool room. what the fuck is so funny? i hear the word plantain. surely they aren't laughing about that wonderfully bitter relative of the banana. i mean, maybe? wait. now she's talking about her daughter's wedding. i ought to perk up... god her laugh is amazing..
john the bartender just walked in. unlike colin, john is afraid of the bottle. his pours are weak, and he has the disposition of a bartender working on mississippi or alberta street. the "thoughful pour", where the bartender considers what the patron is paying for with their $3-$5 dollars. bullshit, in my book.
you work in a dive bar, john. pour drinks like you work in one.
i suppose at this point it can't get much more exciting. i hear high-five's in the distance, more cackling, and the sound of a silent jukebox that yearns for my money. i think i'll wander over there and drop a few coins in for my pleasure...
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