IN THE BEGINNING...

1998 HEADLINES:

*President Clinton “did not have sex with that woman” Monica Lewinsky, yet still manages to leave his semen on her XXL dress and plunges the country into a Puritanical witch hunt.

*Speaking of going down, Titanic is big at the box office and in the Oscars.

*Google is born.  You will soon be able to find a web site written by two immature brothers who think that going to a bar on Friday nights is interesting to others.

*Sonny Bono, Wendy O Williams and Linda McCartney die (a tough year for shit singers).

*Tony and Jim go out drinking on Friday night for the first time.

    We have not always been the smooth, debonair, bon vivants that currently haunt Edison’s in Birmingham on a weekly basis.  No, the early Friday nights actually took place while the sun was up, ended before last call and featured blue balls.  

   In 1998, Tony and I decided that we needed something to celebrate the end of another week of mind numbing labor.  We thought that a vigorous game of racquetball (that’s the blue ball reference) immediately following the closing bell would provide a nice punctuation mark.  Once the sweat was showered away, drinking beer to replenish lost liquids was a natural.  A couple of issues:  It only took a few weeks of racquetball to realize that our uber competitive nature on the court would spell the end of our brotherly love off it.  Also, getting home form the bars at eight o’clock meant boozy interacting with family before snoring on the sofa.  Problems yes, but we liked the drinking too much to entirely scrap the concept.

   We decided to ditch racquetball and take in a high school football game each Friday.  It seemed like the perfect combination of sports, night time and the opportunity to continue boozing.  And, unlike racquetball, we couldn’t see any way to fight with each other over a bunch of kids playing with a pigskin.  Typically, we would leave right after dinner, have a drink or two at a local bar near whichever game we selected, watch the game and go back to the bar for a nightcap.  We soon found ourselves leaving after the third quarter, then at the half and finally after deciding that it was to cold to sit outside watching a bunch of dopey kids play football.  Tweaking Friday night was still needed.

   “Hey Andrea... Tony and I are going to hang out at the bar Friday night.  I’m going to pick him up at 9:30, stay out until closing time, come home reeking, forage around the kitchen like a bear, fall asleep on the sofa and be somewhat useless on Saturday.”

   I get douche chills just writing that.

   Amazingly, that was the shit I threw against the wall, and it stuck.  Tony and I now had a standing date most Friday nights, not every Friday night, but most Friday nights.  I still had to float out my plans on game day, gauge reactions and act accordingly.  I took very little, if any flak, but this phase is still marked by uncertainty.  During these formative years, Our Kid and I were primarily hanging at The All Around Bar in Taylor listening to the classic rock stylings of Razorback and watching Downriver’s great unwashed careen around the dance floor.  Other favorite haunts at that time included J. Dubs, Double Olive and US 12.  Strictly local.

   Using the philosophy that if some is good, more is better, and through sheer repetition, Friday night eventually morphed into a given.   It was no longer, “Are you and Tony going out tonight?”, but “Where are you and Tony going tonight?”  During this golden era, Bug Juice spread its wings and visited Oakland County.  There, we found Utopia, Walden and Xanadu in the original Rosie O’Grady’s in Ferndale.  It was dark, cheap and a bit dirty just like the two brothers sitting at the bar each and every Friday.  Presided over by Lauren and Mike, the dynamic duo of bartending, Rosie’s was the foundation.  After consuming a few rounds with nothing else to do but bullshit with one another, Tony and I capped off the evening at nearby Boogie Fever.  Boog’ was the flash and the ultimate people watching experience, a place where the nickname game took hold.  The Pigeon Sisters, Spaghetti Man, Mountain Girl, Black Lalanne to name a few.  Good Times!

But now the days grow short

I’m in the autumn of the year 

And now I think of my life as vintage wine 

From fine old kegs

From the brim to the dregs

And it poured sweet and clear

It was a very good year

   In 2008, after being rebuffed by Real Detroit magazine, Tony and I decided to start committing our thoughts (?) to paper in the hopes that someone might notice them and get a laugh or two in the process.  Friday Night Bug Juice is big time now.  Blog links in the Downriver News Herald and Dearborn Press and Guide and thirty-five ravenous followers on Facebook.  Women want to be with us, men want to be like us.

  It may be a tad tougher getting off the sofa, take longer to trim the ear hairs and pull on the boots, but I still cherish each Friday night.  The reason is simple really.  It’s the company I keep!

Cheers! Jim