It dawned on me early this week that If you write a review, you believe that your opinion matters more or is more valid than others.
It further dawned on me that I have no problem with that. Yes, my opinion on bar life is more valid than yours, more interesting too. But why limit it to that? My opinion on most things in life is more valid and more interesting than yours. With that in mind, these random recommendations can elevate your life toward my rarified air:
Go to the library more and the bookstore less. Why buy a book, when it can be lent to you for free. Stacks of expensive once read books at home do not make you smarter, and they won’t sell at the inevitable down the road garage sale... Purchase Rent-A-Crowd by The Len Price Three, a powerful garage rock band being compared to the Who and Kinks. Every track is a catchy piece of England...Use Frank’s Red Hot Buffalo Wing Sauce on everything. It is a frisky combination of heat and vinegar...Eat at Slow’s on Michigan Avenue in Detroit. The pulled pork and brisket sandwiches are great, though it wouldn’t kill them to include chips or fries with the sandwich...Go to Eastern Market. If not for the great deals on fruit and veggies, then for the people watching. Lots of interesting faces and stories on both sides of the vending tables...Beer is better and more predictable than wine. For years I have tried to embrace wine because I thought I had to. I now realize that the hit and miss nature of wine suffers in comparison to the steadiness of a red tinted beer...Nap when you can. Always on the couch, with an afghan and the window cracked...Subscribe to Sirius/XM radio. Howard Stern is a genius, and if you haven’t listened or listened only a little, then do not judge. The music channels are also a revelation, especially Little Steven’s Underground Garage...Mac is the way to go on the computer. The cost is annoying, but the product is as promised. You know the way you think a computer should work, that’s how the Mac operates...If you ever engage in an internal debate over wether or not you want to attend an event or go someplace, the answer is always to go. More often than not, you end up having fun. And if you don’t have fun, a shit evening is a killer story down the line.
Going out on Friday night is always the right thing to do, and so drinking partner and bon vivant Tony and I headed to downtown Birmingham and Edison’s. This pub is on Merrill Street, west of Old Woodward in the basement (or lower level as it is known in Oakland County) of the 220 Restaurant.
A Three Stooges episode entitled “Hoi Polloi” immediately came to mind. The Stooges were looking to be integrated into High Society and took various classes in reading, manners, and dancing so they could blend in. Not surprisingly, things did not go well and the requisite pie fight ensued. Now here we were, heading into High Society without the intense preparations the Stooges took on. Could a pie fight be far away? (I’m not sure which Stooge Tony is, but I like to think of myself as Larry, underrated in the humor department and a great head of hair).
Tony and I were ready to mingle with the blue bloods of Oakland County as we made our way into the high rent district that is downtown Birmingham. No issue with parking, which can be had on the metered street or in the large public garage just west of the bar (no fee for the first two hours, though most who attend this joint aren’t bothered by paltry annoyances like parking charges). Once you navigate the steep steps heading down to the lower level, you will be pleasantly surprised to find no cover to enter and no fat ass bouncer or steroid addled door man eyeballing your gear.
Getting a drink is always the first order of business and it seemed like it would be a bitch. The place was packed, and the crowd around the circular bar stood at least two deep. For some reason, I relished the idea of muscling into this bunch and scoring a Labatt and Miller Light. I was disappointed when a nice fellow noticed my plight and motioned for me to get in next to him and place my order. The attentive big man behind the bar took care of me right away and announced “$10.50”. I wondered if this included a drink for the nice fellow who let me in, but alas, it was for two beers only.
So that’s how they weed out the working class. Not with expensive cover charges or restrictive dress codes, but with expensive boozing.
Tony and I clinked bottles and saluted each other before taking in the scene. I liked the room immediately. It was dark, busy and had a friendly vibe. I could hear a band playing in the far corner, but could not see them as they played on the same level with the crowd and the dance floor in front of the band was thick with revelers. As noted earlier, the round bar was packed, and the tables around the bar were also jammed, forcing many to stand in the aisles and do their drinking. It made for a hectic (in an orderly, Republican way) atmosphere.
Looking at the patrons, a debate sprung up between Tony and I. Did we fit in, as I believed, or did we stand out like the Stooges, as Tony opined.
I started by saying, “We are wearing boots, they are wearing boots.” Tony nodded in agreement. “We have on jeans, they have on jeans.” Tony interrupted, “I have on $20 Wrangler jeans, and yours have a wear hole in the crotch.” Good point, but I continued. “They have on shirts, we have on shirts.” Tony again, “I have on a hoodie bought on sale at Sears for $5 and you are wearing an Irish soccer jersey.” Another good point, but still I pressed on. “We are wearing leather coats, they are wearing leather coats.” Tony started to irritate me. “You bought your coat at Kohl’s and I got mine at a resale shop.” He was on a roll now and continued. “We are the only ones in the joint with facial hair, my iron jaw and your seventies fu manchu. Not only is our hair not carefully cut and styled, you have none and mine is all over the place.”
Fuck, I lose.
I started to revel in the differences and glanced about for some pies to throw. Having found none, we decided to walk around and get knee deep in it. I found that, outward appearances aside, this bunch was not a lot different than those at the various dives previously reviewed. There is a lot of drinking, laughing and attempts to hook up. Exactly the kind of behavior you might find in Westland. I did hear one dandy mention to his gal that, “I have to go pee-pee,” a comment that if overheard in a Westland bar could get your ass kicked.
The band making the noise this night was Bazooka Charlies and they did a good job of keeping the dance floor filled past capacity. The television screens seemed to go unnoticed until the final two minutes of the Michigan State hoops game, and at that time the place went wild cheering Sparty on to victory.
You can have a good time at Edison’s, as long as you have deep pockets. The crowd, definitely older and upscale, is a fun one and not worthy of a pie in the face.
From Edison’s, Tony and I ventured south on Woodward to Bosco’s. Don’t feel bad if you have never noticed this place. It is so cool, they don’t bother putting the name on the building. If you must go there, look for the white opaque store front on the east side of Woodward, north of Nine Mile and just a few feet north of Magic Bag. You can park behind the bar, but be prepared for a zoo as many are vying for a few.
This was not the first time little brother and I have been in Bosco’s, and we have never had a good time. We recently saw the place recommended in Playboy (I only look at it for the articles) as the bar to go to if you are in Detroit for the Final Four and are looking for a place to mingle. Perhaps a fresh look was needed.
It was not.
There is no fee to enter, but the good ends there. The place is way too well lit, and way too clean. I don’t know how to behave at a bar that has no cheesy Bud mirrors or sports pennants on the wall. When I asked glamor boy behind the bar for a Labatt and Miller Light, he said they don’t serve Miller Light. Too common I suppose. I settled on a Labatt Light, imported you know.
There is a long wall of booth seating that goes largely ignored by the patrons who choose to sit on top of the banquettes instead of in the seats. These posers sit there in their alt gear looking at the rest of the crowd, whispering and judging. They look like the art clique from high school that hated the J Geils Band and insisted that Pink Floyd Ummagumma was the only record that mattered. I had an intense desire to start slapping the faces at one end of the snooty line and run to the other end until each privileged face was reddened.
Need I tell you that the music at this place is shit, and that not one ass has ever shook to it in my presence. Dancing is so bourgeois. As far as I can tell, the main activity at this place is outlining how shit everybody else is.
Fuck Bosco’s!
Tony and I decided to cleanse our pallets by having a late beer at old favorite Rosie O’Gradys. It ended up not being our final beer, however, as gay bar Soho called out to us on the way to our truck. I feasted on bottled water here and my cohort finished the night with a Tanqueray and Tonic. Neither of us got laid.
Cheers!
-Jim
Edison's: 220 E. Merrill St. Birmingham, MI 48009
The Bosco: 22930 Woodward Ave. Ferndale, MI 48220
It further dawned on me that I have no problem with that. Yes, my opinion on bar life is more valid than yours, more interesting too. But why limit it to that? My opinion on most things in life is more valid and more interesting than yours. With that in mind, these random recommendations can elevate your life toward my rarified air:
Go to the library more and the bookstore less. Why buy a book, when it can be lent to you for free. Stacks of expensive once read books at home do not make you smarter, and they won’t sell at the inevitable down the road garage sale... Purchase Rent-A-Crowd by The Len Price Three, a powerful garage rock band being compared to the Who and Kinks. Every track is a catchy piece of England...Use Frank’s Red Hot Buffalo Wing Sauce on everything. It is a frisky combination of heat and vinegar...Eat at Slow’s on Michigan Avenue in Detroit. The pulled pork and brisket sandwiches are great, though it wouldn’t kill them to include chips or fries with the sandwich...Go to Eastern Market. If not for the great deals on fruit and veggies, then for the people watching. Lots of interesting faces and stories on both sides of the vending tables...Beer is better and more predictable than wine. For years I have tried to embrace wine because I thought I had to. I now realize that the hit and miss nature of wine suffers in comparison to the steadiness of a red tinted beer...Nap when you can. Always on the couch, with an afghan and the window cracked...Subscribe to Sirius/XM radio. Howard Stern is a genius, and if you haven’t listened or listened only a little, then do not judge. The music channels are also a revelation, especially Little Steven’s Underground Garage...Mac is the way to go on the computer. The cost is annoying, but the product is as promised. You know the way you think a computer should work, that’s how the Mac operates...If you ever engage in an internal debate over wether or not you want to attend an event or go someplace, the answer is always to go. More often than not, you end up having fun. And if you don’t have fun, a shit evening is a killer story down the line.
Going out on Friday night is always the right thing to do, and so drinking partner and bon vivant Tony and I headed to downtown Birmingham and Edison’s. This pub is on Merrill Street, west of Old Woodward in the basement (or lower level as it is known in Oakland County) of the 220 Restaurant.
A Three Stooges episode entitled “Hoi Polloi” immediately came to mind. The Stooges were looking to be integrated into High Society and took various classes in reading, manners, and dancing so they could blend in. Not surprisingly, things did not go well and the requisite pie fight ensued. Now here we were, heading into High Society without the intense preparations the Stooges took on. Could a pie fight be far away? (I’m not sure which Stooge Tony is, but I like to think of myself as Larry, underrated in the humor department and a great head of hair).
Tony and I were ready to mingle with the blue bloods of Oakland County as we made our way into the high rent district that is downtown Birmingham. No issue with parking, which can be had on the metered street or in the large public garage just west of the bar (no fee for the first two hours, though most who attend this joint aren’t bothered by paltry annoyances like parking charges). Once you navigate the steep steps heading down to the lower level, you will be pleasantly surprised to find no cover to enter and no fat ass bouncer or steroid addled door man eyeballing your gear.
Getting a drink is always the first order of business and it seemed like it would be a bitch. The place was packed, and the crowd around the circular bar stood at least two deep. For some reason, I relished the idea of muscling into this bunch and scoring a Labatt and Miller Light. I was disappointed when a nice fellow noticed my plight and motioned for me to get in next to him and place my order. The attentive big man behind the bar took care of me right away and announced “$10.50”. I wondered if this included a drink for the nice fellow who let me in, but alas, it was for two beers only.
So that’s how they weed out the working class. Not with expensive cover charges or restrictive dress codes, but with expensive boozing.
Tony and I clinked bottles and saluted each other before taking in the scene. I liked the room immediately. It was dark, busy and had a friendly vibe. I could hear a band playing in the far corner, but could not see them as they played on the same level with the crowd and the dance floor in front of the band was thick with revelers. As noted earlier, the round bar was packed, and the tables around the bar were also jammed, forcing many to stand in the aisles and do their drinking. It made for a hectic (in an orderly, Republican way) atmosphere.
Looking at the patrons, a debate sprung up between Tony and I. Did we fit in, as I believed, or did we stand out like the Stooges, as Tony opined.
I started by saying, “We are wearing boots, they are wearing boots.” Tony nodded in agreement. “We have on jeans, they have on jeans.” Tony interrupted, “I have on $20 Wrangler jeans, and yours have a wear hole in the crotch.” Good point, but I continued. “They have on shirts, we have on shirts.” Tony again, “I have on a hoodie bought on sale at Sears for $5 and you are wearing an Irish soccer jersey.” Another good point, but still I pressed on. “We are wearing leather coats, they are wearing leather coats.” Tony started to irritate me. “You bought your coat at Kohl’s and I got mine at a resale shop.” He was on a roll now and continued. “We are the only ones in the joint with facial hair, my iron jaw and your seventies fu manchu. Not only is our hair not carefully cut and styled, you have none and mine is all over the place.”
Fuck, I lose.
I started to revel in the differences and glanced about for some pies to throw. Having found none, we decided to walk around and get knee deep in it. I found that, outward appearances aside, this bunch was not a lot different than those at the various dives previously reviewed. There is a lot of drinking, laughing and attempts to hook up. Exactly the kind of behavior you might find in Westland. I did hear one dandy mention to his gal that, “I have to go pee-pee,” a comment that if overheard in a Westland bar could get your ass kicked.
The band making the noise this night was Bazooka Charlies and they did a good job of keeping the dance floor filled past capacity. The television screens seemed to go unnoticed until the final two minutes of the Michigan State hoops game, and at that time the place went wild cheering Sparty on to victory.
You can have a good time at Edison’s, as long as you have deep pockets. The crowd, definitely older and upscale, is a fun one and not worthy of a pie in the face.
From Edison’s, Tony and I ventured south on Woodward to Bosco’s. Don’t feel bad if you have never noticed this place. It is so cool, they don’t bother putting the name on the building. If you must go there, look for the white opaque store front on the east side of Woodward, north of Nine Mile and just a few feet north of Magic Bag. You can park behind the bar, but be prepared for a zoo as many are vying for a few.
This was not the first time little brother and I have been in Bosco’s, and we have never had a good time. We recently saw the place recommended in Playboy (I only look at it for the articles) as the bar to go to if you are in Detroit for the Final Four and are looking for a place to mingle. Perhaps a fresh look was needed.
It was not.
There is no fee to enter, but the good ends there. The place is way too well lit, and way too clean. I don’t know how to behave at a bar that has no cheesy Bud mirrors or sports pennants on the wall. When I asked glamor boy behind the bar for a Labatt and Miller Light, he said they don’t serve Miller Light. Too common I suppose. I settled on a Labatt Light, imported you know.
There is a long wall of booth seating that goes largely ignored by the patrons who choose to sit on top of the banquettes instead of in the seats. These posers sit there in their alt gear looking at the rest of the crowd, whispering and judging. They look like the art clique from high school that hated the J Geils Band and insisted that Pink Floyd Ummagumma was the only record that mattered. I had an intense desire to start slapping the faces at one end of the snooty line and run to the other end until each privileged face was reddened.
Need I tell you that the music at this place is shit, and that not one ass has ever shook to it in my presence. Dancing is so bourgeois. As far as I can tell, the main activity at this place is outlining how shit everybody else is.
Fuck Bosco’s!
Tony and I decided to cleanse our pallets by having a late beer at old favorite Rosie O’Gradys. It ended up not being our final beer, however, as gay bar Soho called out to us on the way to our truck. I feasted on bottled water here and my cohort finished the night with a Tanqueray and Tonic. Neither of us got laid.
Cheers!
-Jim
Edison's: 220 E. Merrill St. Birmingham, MI 48009
The Bosco: 22930 Woodward Ave. Ferndale, MI 48220
