336 MAIN

   Cougar.   One of the most trite and tired words in today’s lexicon (and I’m an expert on trite and tired).  Also the word used in various reviews to describe 336 Main in Plymouth, drawing Tony and I to it’s doors this past Friday.  Not that we are looking for Cougars, dear wives of infinite understanding.  What we have been looking for more often are bars that cater to a slightly older demographic.  Thus 336 Main in Plymouth.

   As background, I felt great that night, it was easy to find the pub in the middle of Downtown Plymouth on S. Main Street north of Ann Arbor Trail,  parking was a cinch on the street, lively crowd milling about, no cover to enter.  All is well, or is it (cue erie organ music)?

   Tony and I copped a table near the entrance and checked the place out.  It was pleasant looking enough.  Tables with a view of trendy Plymouth at the front, a long curved bar along one wall, bar height tables all around, pithy sayings printed on the wall  (“I feel sorry for people who don’t drink.  When they wake up in the morning, that’s as good as they’re going to feel all day”--- Sinatra.   That’s not really on the wall but it’s better than anything they got.  The far end of this dimly lit room featured a small dance floor and live serenading along to pre recorded music ( I didn’t think Lady Gaga could get any better, but I was wrong).  The downstairs also has a bar, and a more intimate club setting.  Translation:  it’s smaller.

   Getting a drink was not tough, if you don’t mind knifing in between the patrons sitting at the bar busy being fascinated with one another.  You might also score a pair of beers for $7 from one of the unfriendly waitresses, smiles and polite conversation extra. 

   

   Once we settled in, it became apparent that the cougar description was off.  I did see people my own age.  They were men.  Men being tricked into giving up their tables by  hordes of young chicks, or old men with pickle noses being pity air kissed on the cheek by young hotties rolling their eyes, or some baldy with loose neck skin...sorry, that was my own reflection in the bar mirror.

   Here is where the review gets tricky.  It’s confession time.  One of the reasons I like to go to the bars on Friday nights is because it makes me feel young.  While most guys my age are sleeping in front of Friday night television, I am getting bladdered at the pub with my best mate.  It’s one of the reasons I work my ass off to stay in shape, why I continue to listen to new music, why I feel fortunate to live in an age where a bald head can be cool.  I fear old age.  I’m fighting to stay young...and I’m losing.

   This fucking bar, with it’s twenty something girls in their uniforms of tight, just below the ass dresses, perilously high heels, ubiquitous cell phone/camera accessories and the drooling dolts who follow them around made me feel old.   I watched them float from table to table posing for “candid” shots.  I saw them hit the dance floor in huge groups pretending not to notice being noticed.  I checked out their fancy drinks, served in oversize glasses.  None of it meant a damned thing to me.

   And, like an aging slugger who can no longer get around on a fastball, I wondered if I was near the end.  Not THE END silly, but the end of Friday Night Bug Juice (who am I kidding, that is THE END).  How long could I keep going out, before it was my pickle nose near the pity air kiss?

   To his ever loving credit, Tony tried to pull me out of my doldrums.  He cracked jokes, made wry comments about the patrons and critiqued the music selection.  It helped, but I was fucking up a precious Friday night and we both knew it.  

   We closed the night at Glass Mug in Taylor, and that was somehow better.  But really, it took me a few days and a lot of help to put 336 Main in perspective.  Andrea, always the ying to my yang, helped me live in the moment and quit thinking so much.  Jackson, who hears everything, worried that the web page might end.  Tony didn’t rush, he waited for me.

   Here’s what I came up with.  I will never fuck up a Friday night, or any other night for that matter, worrying about how I fit in by age, social status or any other measuring stick.  I have earned the bags under my eyes and the age spots on my head by surviving everything that’s come my way.  And, if some snot nosed kid thinks I’m out of place let him get rude with me.  “First they ignore you, then they laugh at you, then they fight you, then you win”---Gandhi.  Put that pithy saying on your fucking wall. 

   As far as the actual review, go with whatever Little Brother says... 

PS  Tony’s take on 336 Main and the evening was supposed to go here.  He informed me that he was having difficulty putting a review together to share with our vast audience.  I was sorry to hear that, but understood and respected his decision.  As far as the bar itself, I am certain that the basics are correct ( directions, parking, pricing, etc).  As to wether or not it is a good destination, I will recuse myself from that opinion.

Cheers! Jim

336 Main

336 S. Main Street

Plymouth, Mi

734-454-6500

INCOMPLETE