What do Guy Ritchie, Martin Scorsese and Quentin Tarantino have in common, besides being three guys who have never been in my kitchen? All three excel at incorporating the perfect song into the perfect spot in their movies.
As a big music and movie fan, I sometimes wonder what song should be playing during the soundtrack of my life (I also think a lot about food). I posed the question to running buddy Tony and the following are our personal selections:
The Gray Album by Jim Morrison
Monday: Born To Lose by Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers
Tuesday: Broken Man by Von Bondies
Wednesday: Serves You Right To Suffer (live) by J Geils Band
Thursday: I’m So Tired by The Beatles
Friday Morning: Get Up Offa That Thing by James Brown
Friday at Work: I Don’t Care by Ramones
Friday Drive Home: Burning Love by Elvis
Friday Nap: Angel Eyes (live) by Sinatra with Count Basie
Friday Getting Ready: I’m Ready by Muddy Waters
Friday Drive To the Pub: Long Live Rock by The Who
Friday Walking in Pub: Over Under Sideways Down by Yardbirds
Friday In Pub: Got To Give It Up (Part 1) by Marvin Gaye
Friday Heading Home: Happy by Rolling Stones
Saturday: Try a Little Tenderness by Otis Redding
Sunday: Cast No Shadow by Oasis
I feel this would be a great soundtrack CD, a wide variety or artists, some famous and not so famous songs and a ton of atmosphere. “Cars and girls are easy to come by in this day and age. Laughing, joking, drinking, smoking till I’ve spent my wage”-Yardbirds.
Gumshoe Diaries by Tony Morrison
Monday: Time by Pink Floyd (every alarm clock sound on a Monday; “Tickin’ away the moments that make up a dull day”)
Tuesday: Wonderwall by Oasis (me and Bessie’s song; always the second song played on the jukebox, usually at Three Dicks Bar in Allen Park)
Wednesday: I’m So tired by The Beatles (“I drink, I smoke, I curse Sir Walter Raleigh for being such a stupid git”)
Thursday: Problems by The Sex Pistols (downside to the week, but not the end; “Too many problems, so why am I here”)
Friday Morning: Johnny B Goode (live) by Johnny Winter (every Friday should start with an Albino yelling “Rock N Roll”)
Friday At Work: Territorial Pissings by Nirvana (just ‘cause you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after you)
Friday Drive Home: Go Go Boys by The Toilet Boys (Miss Guy once thrust his package at me)
Friday Nap: Pictures of Lily by the Who (‘nuff said)
Friday Getting Ready: Superfly by Curtis Mayfield ( ‘cause I’m a dude with a plan to stick it to the man)
Friday Drive To The Pub: (Ain’t Nothing But A) Houseparty by J. Geils Band (coolest front man, shagging Faye Dunaway back in the day)
Friday Walking in Pub: Gimme Shelter by Rolling Stones (a Scorsese moment)
Friday In Pub: Commando by Ramones (first rule: annoy the locals)
Friday Going Home: Blue Orchid by the White Stripes (always soothes the savage, drunken beast)
Saturday: The Victors by The Michigan Marching Band (Fuck MSU, Notre Dame and OSU)
Sunday: Sunday Morning Coming Down by Johnny Cash (have a morning beer and smoke, repeat as needed)
Friday night began with a long drive to Chatters Bar in Westland on Wayne Road north of Warren. On the way, Tony and I were surprised to see PY Stix, a bar that has become a running punch line in our banter as in “If we can’t think of a place to go, we’ll end up at PY Stix.” This came about because we looked at their web site and thought it looked like the most contrived, horseshit excuse for a bar possible. Anyway, we motored past PY and found Chatters.
Parking was a bit tough, the lot is tiny and extends into the darkness behind a nearby party store, where electrical wires hang randomly in the air. We made our way into the bar without paying cover (odd when there is a live band), and I managed to score a couple of beers for a somewhat expensive $7, thus explaining how you manage to exist without cover.
Tony had the drop on me and was able to scan the room while I was fighting the bar rabble for beers. He gestured to the crowd and pronounced the place Jimmy Dean (aka sausage). Sure enough, I did see a lot of biker dudes and old timers (my age) getting their drink on. But, I was able to make out some high hair and pleather dresses dotting the landscape. This coupled with the fact that cold beer was being sold was enough to keep me in the house. Tony and I took in the action from a wall to one side of the dance floor. This place was packed, hot and noisy.
The band doing the ear splitting that night was Shakedown, a four piece classic heavy metal bunch. During their first set, not one person was seen on the dance floor. Too early, or is dancing to Saxon really that tough? When the DJ took over, the dance floor swelled. Well, it sagged actually, under the influence of Westland’s largest.
We saw: Catherine Zeta Taylor, a cross between Catherine Zeta Jones and any tough broad from Taylor. Howeena Stern, a female Howard Stern dancing with other girls straight from the Amazon. Disabled Busey, a super drunk Sober House look alike who waived his arm crutches around on the dance floor, a crazed conductor with pit stains.
Somehow, it all worked. The band retook the stage, and managed to keep the dance floor sweaty. These people were ready to party, and the danceability of Megadeth was not going to slow them down. Out of the blue, possibly fueled by his first Tanqueray and Tonic, Tony suggested that we pull up stakes and visit our punch line, PY Stix.
This kind of bold, out of the box thinking is what Friday Night Bug Juice is all about. I needed no further prompting, drained my beer, bumped into a big broad and made my way out the door into the welcome cold.
In no time, we found ourselves pulling into PY Stix on Farmington Road in Livonia, south of 96. We parked in a crowded lot that featured two limos and a definite higher class of car.
Once inside, the big goof at the door appraised Tony and I, announcing that it would cost $6 apiece for two old shitkickers to enter his world of fun. Expecting us duffers to be discouraged, he did an old fashioned double take when I forked over the $12, and managed to offer a lame, “Have a good time gentlemen.”
The main bar was crowded with people standing on their bar stools. I’ve seen that fun before, but usually the patrons on the chairs are dancing, gyrating or singing like fools. These folks were standing there talking normally ( spinning class, hybrid cars and how Starbucks sucks today were overheard topics). Tony and I went to the rear bar and placed our order, Miller Light for me and a double Tanqueray and Tonic for my man (Danger, Will Robinson). I thought Mr. Happy behind the bar was talking to someone else when I heard him tell Tony that $14.25 was due. You don’t expect to pay that much unless pampered rockers, overpaid ballplayers or saline juggs are in sight.
Slightly stunned, we made our way to the main bar. I sat on an open stool, back to the bartenders and started to acclimate my bloodshot eyes to the room. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to face the young pup behind the bar (he had a haircut that pushed his hair up from both sides of his head to a perfect wave on top). “I think the people that were sitting there just went to the bathroom and will be back in a couple of minutes,” he offered, gesturing at my seat.
Bullshit and fuck you. Normally, I am too surprised or “happy” to make a fuss over a comment like that. This time, I gave him my best “pissed off old fuck who can kick your ass...as long as Tony is kicking with me” look and told him that if they came back, we would give up our seats at that time. We held each others stare an extra moment until he shrugged and walked away. I understand that Tony and I weren’t sexy or crazy enough to sit at his beloved bar, but I was comfy and my back hurt (from working out, you dick).
I knew that this next bar moment would happen someday, but it caught me off guard anyway. While scanning the crowd, my eyes landed on a familiar face. Carly, my son Max’s best friend, was against the far wall having a drink and enjoying the whole PY Stix experience. Great, I’m officially hanging out at the same place as my kid’s friends.
In truth, Carly is very cool, and I was happy to see her. We hugged (sorry if that was creepy) and made our way to the back bar where she ordered a Labatts (I said she was cool). I told Carly about my earlier moment of annoyance, and my reluctance to enjoy myself. A lot of kids her age, when confronted by the irritated father of a friend, would politely agree, but Carly made her position known. She beat out a rhythm on the bar with her PY Stix issued drumsticks, informed me that I had just missed the bottle and fire display from the bar crew, and concluded by saying that she was going to bring Max here when he came home from CMU. You go, girl!
I then told her that she didn’t need to hang with the seniors anymore, and she agreed to go back to her friend as long as we said goodbye before leaving (how adult). Tony and I stuck around long enough to notice that lots of celebrations take place here, and that there appeared to be many regulars who know and anticipate the rituals of PY Stix.
I did seek out and hug Carly before leaving (sorry, again) and decided that while PY might not be for me (too fucking busy, and I like to sit on the barstools, not stand), I could see its merits. Thanks, Carly.
Cheers!
-Jim
Chatters: 7640 N. Wayne Rd. Westland, MI 48185
P.Y. Stix: 11791 Farmington Rd. Livonia, MI 48150
As a big music and movie fan, I sometimes wonder what song should be playing during the soundtrack of my life (I also think a lot about food). I posed the question to running buddy Tony and the following are our personal selections:
The Gray Album by Jim Morrison
Monday: Born To Lose by Johnny Thunders and the Heartbreakers
Tuesday: Broken Man by Von Bondies
Wednesday: Serves You Right To Suffer (live) by J Geils Band
Thursday: I’m So Tired by The Beatles
Friday Morning: Get Up Offa That Thing by James Brown
Friday at Work: I Don’t Care by Ramones
Friday Drive Home: Burning Love by Elvis
Friday Nap: Angel Eyes (live) by Sinatra with Count Basie
Friday Getting Ready: I’m Ready by Muddy Waters
Friday Drive To the Pub: Long Live Rock by The Who
Friday Walking in Pub: Over Under Sideways Down by Yardbirds
Friday In Pub: Got To Give It Up (Part 1) by Marvin Gaye
Friday Heading Home: Happy by Rolling Stones
Saturday: Try a Little Tenderness by Otis Redding
Sunday: Cast No Shadow by Oasis
I feel this would be a great soundtrack CD, a wide variety or artists, some famous and not so famous songs and a ton of atmosphere. “Cars and girls are easy to come by in this day and age. Laughing, joking, drinking, smoking till I’ve spent my wage”-Yardbirds.
Gumshoe Diaries by Tony Morrison
Monday: Time by Pink Floyd (every alarm clock sound on a Monday; “Tickin’ away the moments that make up a dull day”)
Tuesday: Wonderwall by Oasis (me and Bessie’s song; always the second song played on the jukebox, usually at Three Dicks Bar in Allen Park)
Wednesday: I’m So tired by The Beatles (“I drink, I smoke, I curse Sir Walter Raleigh for being such a stupid git”)
Thursday: Problems by The Sex Pistols (downside to the week, but not the end; “Too many problems, so why am I here”)
Friday Morning: Johnny B Goode (live) by Johnny Winter (every Friday should start with an Albino yelling “Rock N Roll”)
Friday At Work: Territorial Pissings by Nirvana (just ‘cause you’re paranoid, don’t mean they’re not after you)
Friday Drive Home: Go Go Boys by The Toilet Boys (Miss Guy once thrust his package at me)
Friday Nap: Pictures of Lily by the Who (‘nuff said)
Friday Getting Ready: Superfly by Curtis Mayfield ( ‘cause I’m a dude with a plan to stick it to the man)
Friday Drive To The Pub: (Ain’t Nothing But A) Houseparty by J. Geils Band (coolest front man, shagging Faye Dunaway back in the day)
Friday Walking in Pub: Gimme Shelter by Rolling Stones (a Scorsese moment)
Friday In Pub: Commando by Ramones (first rule: annoy the locals)
Friday Going Home: Blue Orchid by the White Stripes (always soothes the savage, drunken beast)
Saturday: The Victors by The Michigan Marching Band (Fuck MSU, Notre Dame and OSU)
Sunday: Sunday Morning Coming Down by Johnny Cash (have a morning beer and smoke, repeat as needed)
Friday night began with a long drive to Chatters Bar in Westland on Wayne Road north of Warren. On the way, Tony and I were surprised to see PY Stix, a bar that has become a running punch line in our banter as in “If we can’t think of a place to go, we’ll end up at PY Stix.” This came about because we looked at their web site and thought it looked like the most contrived, horseshit excuse for a bar possible. Anyway, we motored past PY and found Chatters.
Parking was a bit tough, the lot is tiny and extends into the darkness behind a nearby party store, where electrical wires hang randomly in the air. We made our way into the bar without paying cover (odd when there is a live band), and I managed to score a couple of beers for a somewhat expensive $7, thus explaining how you manage to exist without cover.
Tony had the drop on me and was able to scan the room while I was fighting the bar rabble for beers. He gestured to the crowd and pronounced the place Jimmy Dean (aka sausage). Sure enough, I did see a lot of biker dudes and old timers (my age) getting their drink on. But, I was able to make out some high hair and pleather dresses dotting the landscape. This coupled with the fact that cold beer was being sold was enough to keep me in the house. Tony and I took in the action from a wall to one side of the dance floor. This place was packed, hot and noisy.
The band doing the ear splitting that night was Shakedown, a four piece classic heavy metal bunch. During their first set, not one person was seen on the dance floor. Too early, or is dancing to Saxon really that tough? When the DJ took over, the dance floor swelled. Well, it sagged actually, under the influence of Westland’s largest.
We saw: Catherine Zeta Taylor, a cross between Catherine Zeta Jones and any tough broad from Taylor. Howeena Stern, a female Howard Stern dancing with other girls straight from the Amazon. Disabled Busey, a super drunk Sober House look alike who waived his arm crutches around on the dance floor, a crazed conductor with pit stains.
Somehow, it all worked. The band retook the stage, and managed to keep the dance floor sweaty. These people were ready to party, and the danceability of Megadeth was not going to slow them down. Out of the blue, possibly fueled by his first Tanqueray and Tonic, Tony suggested that we pull up stakes and visit our punch line, PY Stix.
This kind of bold, out of the box thinking is what Friday Night Bug Juice is all about. I needed no further prompting, drained my beer, bumped into a big broad and made my way out the door into the welcome cold.
In no time, we found ourselves pulling into PY Stix on Farmington Road in Livonia, south of 96. We parked in a crowded lot that featured two limos and a definite higher class of car.
Once inside, the big goof at the door appraised Tony and I, announcing that it would cost $6 apiece for two old shitkickers to enter his world of fun. Expecting us duffers to be discouraged, he did an old fashioned double take when I forked over the $12, and managed to offer a lame, “Have a good time gentlemen.”
The main bar was crowded with people standing on their bar stools. I’ve seen that fun before, but usually the patrons on the chairs are dancing, gyrating or singing like fools. These folks were standing there talking normally ( spinning class, hybrid cars and how Starbucks sucks today were overheard topics). Tony and I went to the rear bar and placed our order, Miller Light for me and a double Tanqueray and Tonic for my man (Danger, Will Robinson). I thought Mr. Happy behind the bar was talking to someone else when I heard him tell Tony that $14.25 was due. You don’t expect to pay that much unless pampered rockers, overpaid ballplayers or saline juggs are in sight.
Slightly stunned, we made our way to the main bar. I sat on an open stool, back to the bartenders and started to acclimate my bloodshot eyes to the room. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to face the young pup behind the bar (he had a haircut that pushed his hair up from both sides of his head to a perfect wave on top). “I think the people that were sitting there just went to the bathroom and will be back in a couple of minutes,” he offered, gesturing at my seat.
Bullshit and fuck you. Normally, I am too surprised or “happy” to make a fuss over a comment like that. This time, I gave him my best “pissed off old fuck who can kick your ass...as long as Tony is kicking with me” look and told him that if they came back, we would give up our seats at that time. We held each others stare an extra moment until he shrugged and walked away. I understand that Tony and I weren’t sexy or crazy enough to sit at his beloved bar, but I was comfy and my back hurt (from working out, you dick).
I knew that this next bar moment would happen someday, but it caught me off guard anyway. While scanning the crowd, my eyes landed on a familiar face. Carly, my son Max’s best friend, was against the far wall having a drink and enjoying the whole PY Stix experience. Great, I’m officially hanging out at the same place as my kid’s friends.
In truth, Carly is very cool, and I was happy to see her. We hugged (sorry if that was creepy) and made our way to the back bar where she ordered a Labatts (I said she was cool). I told Carly about my earlier moment of annoyance, and my reluctance to enjoy myself. A lot of kids her age, when confronted by the irritated father of a friend, would politely agree, but Carly made her position known. She beat out a rhythm on the bar with her PY Stix issued drumsticks, informed me that I had just missed the bottle and fire display from the bar crew, and concluded by saying that she was going to bring Max here when he came home from CMU. You go, girl!
I then told her that she didn’t need to hang with the seniors anymore, and she agreed to go back to her friend as long as we said goodbye before leaving (how adult). Tony and I stuck around long enough to notice that lots of celebrations take place here, and that there appeared to be many regulars who know and anticipate the rituals of PY Stix.
I did seek out and hug Carly before leaving (sorry, again) and decided that while PY might not be for me (too fucking busy, and I like to sit on the barstools, not stand), I could see its merits. Thanks, Carly.
Cheers!
-Jim
Chatters: 7640 N. Wayne Rd. Westland, MI 48185
P.Y. Stix: 11791 Farmington Rd. Livonia, MI 48150
