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I knew I was knocked up. It was only days ago that I resembled a dog marking its territory as I peed on no less than seven pregnancy tests, all of which popped up positive. If what they say is true and knowing is half the battle than the other half is having your doctor manipulate a lubed up wand in your hooha.
“You’re definitely pregnant. I would estimate almost seven weeks.”
I looked suspiciously at my boyfriend who was crumpled on the floor having just passed out during the ultrasound. “He should be a heap of help during actual labor” I thought to myself.
Just two weeks ago I spoke of a venue that was the epitome of the word lounge: plush seating, low lighting and a mood mellow enough you’ll contemplate whipping up a batch of special brownies. What I didn’t expect was to encounter a polar opposite under the same title so soon.
Walker’s Point is saturated with places to grab a drink, and there’s an establishment for every man, woman and those in between. Fat Daddy’s (120 W. National) appeals to competitive drinkers with outdoor volleyball. Montage (801 S. Second) offers drag shows to those with a sequin fetish, and Envy (715 S. Fifth) is going for that posh club angle. Offering free shuttle rides to the Feb. 25 Dropkick Murphys concert and a combat boot imprint logo,Sabbatic (700 S. Second) is a self-proclaimed punk rock bar and fairly new to the circuit. I thought their vision to be a bit off.
I love this job. Let me rephrase that, I love this gig. The word job has implications of responsibility and of that, I’m not a big fan.
Writing these reviews has allowed me to meet some fairly interesting characters, the type you usually run into in a dark alley under a full moon.
It was walking into Serum (785 N. Jefferson St.) to get some one-on-one time with Gil, winner of the Drambuie Nail or Fail contest, that I met my match. He welcomed us into what he referred to as his playground and asked us what we normally drink. To which we said, a healthy combination of Red Bull vodka and Coors Light. Both of which he scoffed at and then disappeared behind a makeshift workstation that reminded me of paper folders children prop up during test taking to hinder cheating. He struck me as a mad scientist, testing the boundaries through potion making, but lacking in the world domination agenda, only seeking to please his patrons and form a band of loyal
followers that appreciate his craft.
My disdain for compulsory schooling is not a secret. History, and a few equally hostile former educators tell us it was originally designed as a system to support the purpose of building a nation comprised of individuals dedicated to docile citizenship with systematic goals such as; to establish reflexive obedience, promote sameness and diagnose social roles by labeling individuals with grades. It is now discriminatory structure where students are required to demonstrate proficiency in obscure information and then segregated into groups based on their ability to robotically regurgitate content narrated to them by teachers who are often too overworked and underpaid to make the type of difference that the romanticized version of themselves set out to make when they initially entered the realm of compulsory schooling. Why then did I decide in my 30’s to return to the system and the torture I described above just to receive a certificate that demonstrates my ability to be a robot? Because I’m a masochist. Or an idealist. Or I am desperate to prove my son and myself that you can accomplish anything at anytime in your life.
Showtime Sports Bar was once housed in a prime space. It was across the road from that complex that plays host to the type of events that unleash sports enthusiasts on Milwaukee streets on a near nightly basis. Where is it now? Next door to Silk on Silver Spring Road (previously Bada Bing) serving beer and popcorn to the guys sick of watching scantily clad women dance around in less than their underwear, as if that’s possible.
For those who don’t reside under a rather large rock or have found themselves stranded on a desert island, you’ve bore witness to the onslaught of media coverage surrounding Phusion Projects, LLC and its caffeinated malt beverage, Four Loko. The company is facing wrongful death litigation and massive heat from the FDA for its potentially dangerous combination of alcohol and stimulants; caffeine, guarana and taurine to be precise. Not that the investigations concerning caffeinated-alcoholic beverages are new on the scene, take for instance MillerCoors and their reformulation of Sparks, and Anheuser-Busch pulling Bud Xtra off the shelves all together, but I’m a glutton for controversy.