Friday Night Bug Juice

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Welcome to Friday Night Bug Juice, a Metro Detroit bar review site. We're here to give you a look into the dive bars of the Detroit area, so you can hopefully spend your cash wisely, and get a little insight into the lives of a couple of hapless irish louts.

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Welcome to the section of our site where you can learn everything you ever wanted to know and way too much more about the gang that works hard ruining their livers to bring you all you need to know about the dive bars of the Metro Detroit area!

ROCKSTARZ / PAPA JOE's

This is not the blog portion of the review I had originally written. That one has been shit-canned by popular demand. I tried to write a serious piece about Halloween, weaving images of fall in with the day’s events and tying it all up in a metaphor about the onset of winter and the inevitability of death.

As my son Jackson would say, “An epic failure.”

When I finish writing a review, I take a day or two to polish it (surprise!). I then print the piece and give it to my wife and brother to look over and critique. I can never be in the same room with them when this reading takes place, but I am nearby and listen closely for some kind of reaction. If two of the people who love you most in life give you the verbal equivalent of a shrug of the shoulders, it may be time for a rewrite.

It’s happened before, though this was the first effort panned due to the pure inability of the writer. I wrote one blog about today’s difficult economic times and the small and not so small ways that my family’s life has been affected, a topic my wife was not anxious to see made public. I also began one review chronicling a bad trip taken in my party days, a topic my brother felt was too dark and would best be kept in the archives.

Still, the first take for this week’s review, (you know, the one I ditched due to my inabilities as a writer) is my first genuine “epic failure”. I have learned a valuable lesson from this mishap. A great man once mumbled, “A man’s got to know his limitations.” I know mine. Stick to party stories and dick jokes and leave the serious stuff for serious people.

Tony and I are always serious about Friday night drinking, so we headed to Rockstarz on the south side of Ford Road west of Wayne Road in Garden City. A couple of days earlier, when I informed my son Max that this was the choice, he recalled his night at the pub, wrinkled up his nose and expressed serious doubts about our selection. “It’s really young,” he offered, punching the word young. Young is nothing new for these fossils, so Tony and I fought a cold rain and found a parking lot on the west side of the building. Not a parking spot, a parking lot...and one with no exit. Backing out onto Ford Road through a clueless bunch of kids is a delight, so we decided to do it twice when the lot on the east side of the building was found to be similarly fucked.

We finally docked across the street and made our way in, no cover to enter. This place is listed as a Karaoke bar, but the sound we heard upon entering was so vile it could only be made by a professional. The DJ was spinning metal, but not Priest, Metallica, or Blue Cheer (you know, good metal). This was a drone of guitar and some asshole putting the mic deep into his sewer and growling, a real toe tapper. It went on forever, about the same amount of time it took to score a beer. I’m not a big fan of a guy behind the bar, much less a greaser ignoring my needs. After much thirsty frustration, I visited the beer tub lady near the front door, but could not get a Michelob Light for little bro, Bud products only. And as Tony soon found out, warm Bud products only. Yummy!

We groused about the service, the unending crap being spun by the DJ, the lack of karaoke at a karaoke bar, the warmness of the beer ( we never got around to noticing the age of the patrons). Still, we were in need so I convinced Tony to hang for a second drink while we figured out where to go. After ten additional minutes of no service, we cut our losses, saluted the bar with a middle finger (figuratively, we could get our asses kicked if we really did it) and decided to figure out our next move in the car. We wouldn’t get a beer there either, but the music would be better.

About a half mile west of Rockstarz, on the same side of Ford Road we had noticed Papa Joe’s Bar and Grill. Neither of us knew what to expect, but it was close, there were cars in the lot and we felt comfortable that it could not possibly be as annoying as our previous mistake. A large parking lot surrounded the bar, one that allowed you room to maneuver and exit, score one for Papa.

No cover to enter, a long bar staffed by an attentive young lady in a saucy Halloween costume, cold beer at a decent price ($6.25 for the pair). Papa’s saves the night! (that’s two exclamation marks in the last few paragraphs, this must be a forceful review!)

Tony and I like to stand while getting our drink on, but the long bar was bit too full. We scanned the place and noticed that it resembled an old Denny’s with a DJ booth and tiny dance floor hastily dropped along one wall, restaurant booths along another and round tables filling in the balance. We tried to stand near a round table in the middle of the bar, soon realized we looked like a couple of assholes and sat down. Secretly, I was relieved, my old bones settling in for a decent soak.

The crowd was a good blend of guys and gals, some in costumes and some dressed to be noticed. This place really did feature karaoke, the highlight of the evening an energetic version of “We Are Family” performed by a gal dressed like a sheriff, an outfit made believable by her broad shoulders and large mitts. The dance floor received a lot of attention, mostly the ladies dancing to both typical DJ stuff and karaoke. Ubiquitous (love that word) televisions and Keno fought the singers and dancers for attention, and lost.

There was nothing outstanding about Papa’s, but it was extremely comfy and soared when compared to Rockstarz. It made Tony and I wonder how many other good pubs are out there, that do not advertise in Real Detroit or online, where a good time can be had at an affordable price. We promise to perform our public service by constantly looking for such places and reporting them to you, our faithful reader (singular).

Cheers!
-Jim

P.S.: The following is the aforementioned blog dumped for its poor quality ( still hard to believe that some are rejected, eh?)

“A multi-colored carpet of leaves covering tall grass and damp sidewalks Wicker and cracked plastic lawn chairs randomly arranged around a front porch decorated orange and black from head to toe. Glasses of wine, bottles of beer, and pumpkin seeds to nibble on. Costumes, partial costumes and coats for the less adventurous. A full moon fighting clouds for notice. Worry about school, career and health set aside for laughing, stories of past Halloweens and reviews of the night’s trick or treaters.

Matt spent a bit on a Clint Eastwood hat, but saved bucks on a poncho by cutting a hole in the center of a six dollar towel and draping it over his shoulders. Max went way out, as a fan of this holiday should, and became a pirate, cheating only by placing his eye patch over trendy glasses. Jack was not sure if going out was in his future, teetering on the “too old to trick or treat” dilemma, before finally caving and dressing like the heavy from Scream. Rachel, always a dandy in hats, looked cute as a western sheriff. Luke visited and was complimented for his hippie wig, but criticized for polyester floral pants and vest. Andrea and I, the oldest of this crew, dressed to fight the elements, forgoing clever for warm.

As the dark took over and the revelers began to dwindle, excitement began to grow for the trip to Tony’s house for the traditional Halloween meal. To be fair, Tony’s involvement in the meal was largely inspirational, the nuts and bolts of the preparation provided by Beth and my Mom. A short drive later, we were seated around the dining room table, nibbling on salty stuff while the sloppy joe and Halloween soup (elbow noodles, stewing beef and ketchup added when in your bowl) were heated up.

My Mom held court about past trials of getting multiple kids ready to “go begging”. Rachel and Matt jokingly fought over the party they were obligated to attend once dinner had settled. Max proudly kept my Mom informed about his upcoming graduation from college and internship. Jack talked about his “job” delivering the News-Herald. Beth fussed over dinner, threatening five dollar pizzas for next year. Everyone argued about favorite candies, costumes, trick or treat etiquette. Sooner than I would like, the table was cleared, party goers said good-bye and heavy eyelids drooped. Kisses, hugs and Jack and Grandma touching fingers to transfer his energy to her, took place in a crowded kitchen.

It was cold, the trip back home largely quiet. Halloween was over, winter was on its way.”


Rockstarz:  33279 Ford Rd. Garden City, MI 48135
0 OUT OF 5


Papa Joe's:  34275 Ford Rd. Westland, MI 48185
3 OUT OF 5
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