This is NOT Over

Friday Feb 2, 1990 I Want This Guy Outta My Bar, NOW!

Before I get to the weirdness that went down at the Paradise Club let me talk about the earlier weirdness of the evening which was far weirder than the standard weirdness which occurred later.

And I know, none of that weirdness is weirder than me.

Dan invited me to see where he is staying. I didn't even think to ask where he was living after our dinner and drinks at Scalawags. I should've wondered how he would get to his temporary place in DeKalb from this restaurant Susan introduced me to in Sycamore. He met me in the lobby of the F Hotel in downtown Sycamore and invited me up to see his room.

It was nice.

Then Danny asked me if I noticed anything weird about my KSR scholarship payments. KSR is basically this insurance/retirement/parish slush fund from back home and it's the only scholarship I retained through all the crappy semesters. I told him the payments have risen since I have been at NIU and the first January payment I received was the biggest one yet.

He nodded. I think he expected me to say something like that. He told me his payments rose steadily while he was at Northwestern. Then after receiving an award for a paper he wrote on Jure Grando, he received a letter from the Slovenian Women's Workshop and a phone call from Uncle Larry (technically he was Ronnie, Jimmy and Meg's grandfather but everyone called him Uncle Larry)

Sometime I might say a bunch more about Larry Zupec but for now I was struck stupid by the fact that Danny could write one lousy paper (I read it, actually it was pretty fucking good)...

and he got, what amounts to a fellowship, allowing him to take a year off and hole up in this place with books, shit on Carniola in the old country and who knows what else. Bastard!

I told him I was jealous. He thanked me. Then I said, "What do ya got to drink around here Poindexter?"

After drinks with Danny he drove me to Amnesia to meet up with Bill and Shawn. I invited him to come along and drink with us but he declined. I guess he is serious about earning Uncle Larry's fake fellowship or whatever the fuck it is.

This life can be strange.

But it all made sense 15 beers later. And then it was over to the Paradise Club.

Now I have a big problem with the Paradise Club. It is a bar in a Best Western that was, for as long as I have been in this town (Fall of 1987) a holdover from the disco era. They even left the shinny ball up (or it was too dangerous to try and take it down or it was the only thing up to code in the whole joint…I dunno).

Holdover disco joint with anonymous townies and little or no attention from the local constabulary (since they stopped hassling homosexuals in DeKalb in the early 80's)

That last shit in the parentheses is true. I have a beautiful friend who faced a lot of shit in this town. Progressive college town my dumb, white ass.

Oh, so holdover disco joint, anonymous townies, no cops and enterprising kids like me and my friends from the Fish House is a recipe for free trade in an unfettered and festive environment.

Now these scurrilous fucks who own the bar are planning to turn the Paradise Club into one of these new fake, Jamaican or Island-themed bars!

The nerve! Who are they to turn their bar into anything?! A few glasses of beer in at the Paradise Club and I proceeded to tell the biggest and stupidest looking of the bouncers that their employers would be sorry about the change and they were making a big mistake.

After I was sure I convinced them to abandon all their plans I returned to my seat where I promptly slid off (I think the stool was wet from suds) and fell on the fucking floor.

My new, surly, bouncer friend stood over me and said, "I think it's you who made the mistake." He motioned for his coworkers to come over and continued, "I want this guy outta my bar, NOW!"

I basically repeated my previous arguments as they ejected me from the premises.

"You'll be sorry. You're making a big mistake."

Of course they didn't realize what a big mistake they were making until after they threw me out.

I bet they realize the error of their ways now.

It is not to late. I can forgive them. They just can't turn the Paradise Club into the cover of a box of Fruit Loops. Where will we sell our magical Lucky Charms?