Friday Night Bug Juice

CONTACT

Drop us a line!

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.

ABOUT

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!

THURSTON AND LOVEY VS NORTON AND TRIXIE


Bigot:  A person intolerantly devoted to his own opinions and prejudices; especially one who treats members of a specific group with hatred or intolerance.

I am a bigot.

I am intolerant and prejudiced and feel a great deal of hatred toward the wealthy.

I mention this because I have recently returned from a family vacation Up North.  We rented a house in Northport, at the tip of the Leelanau Peninsula.  It was not the first time we rented a vacation spot in that area, having rented in Empire two of the last three years.  It was not even the first time we have spent time in Northport, having walked their shops and parks during vacations past.

This time was different and I am fairly certain that it was the Peninsula in general and Northport specifically that changed.  This area has always straddled the line between courting regular families and wealthy ones. Glen Arbor and Leland have always leaned wealthy, Empire and Northport more middle class.  I am sorry to report that we have lost Northport.  

Welcome to Birmingham North.

This is how I know we have lost Northport:

The easiest way to spot these wealthy vacationers is their uniform.  The foundation is the leather tie shoe worn sans socks, known as the topsider ( I had to google “boating shoe” to discover this term).  Next comes the solid earth tone bermuda shorts worn  crisply with belt.  The top is a polo shirt tucked into the shorts, possibly worn in conjunction with a crested solid color sweater.  This goes for both sexes.

Identifying the rich horde through their actions is almost as easy as using their plumage.

I take you to Fisher’s Happy Hour Tavern, just outside Northport.  When you walk into this crowded eatery, there is a narrow porch running the width of the dining room where you wait for your table.  The hostess is replaced by a dry erase board, where you are instructed to write down your name and the amount of people in your party.  As the parties are called, the waitress quickly erases the name from the board and moves on. 

Because it is crowded and because a dry erase board is by nature messy, the board itself gets smeared.  Patrons will sometimes police the board, completing half hearted erasures or writing in partially erased letters.  I was not surprised to see my wife Andrea take her turn at tidying the board, as this kind of messiness and her love of penmanship made fussing with the board irresistible.

My son Jackson and I were sitting in a cramped two person booth watching the wealthy bossing around the waitstaff. I had just completed instructing him to “never take any crap from someone because they have money” when the fat fuck in the booth next to me bellowed out “Why did you erase our name?”  I was shocked to see that this was directed at Andrea, but she was more than up for it.

“I didn’t erase your name.”  Very controlled.

“Well, it’s not up there.”

“The waitress is erasing names.”

“I don’t mean to be rude, but our name isn’t up there anymore.”

I had more than enough of his bullshit.

“She said she didn’t erase your name, now look elsewhere.”

If I had more time, I might have sprinkled in some cursing or got more puffy, but Mr. Rich got the idea and waddled into the dining room for answers.  When he came out, he stopped briefly and apologized.  It wasn’t exactly a Good Will Hunting showdown, but it felt good.

Once inside the dining area, we watched a large table of wealthies acting poorly.  Included in this behavior were two men talking about a “piece of ass” in front of their spouses, a whining/juice spilling child old enough to know better playing on the floor and a table full of adults old enough to know better excusing her poor behavior until her Mom got up and left in a huff.

Later in the week, after daughter Rachel had joined the vacation revelry, Jackson and I decided to go for a ride around the peninsula while the ladies shopped.  My son is a quality, but novice driver, and I worried about him pulling into the busy Suttons Bay traffic.  He saw his opening and started out into M-22.  The asshole behind him did the same thing at the same time and instead of letting The Kid ease out in front of him and be cool, he bum rushed our car and laid on the horn.  Jackson was a bit rattled, but I calmed him and told him he had done nothing wrong, that the guy in the little red BMW was at fault.

As we progressed through the bustling downtown, I heard a honk from behind and looked in my side view mirror in time to see this little shit pointing to his head and acting tough.  Fuck that.  I started to unbuckle and open the passenger side door until I heard a horrified Jackson say “Daddy, don’t”.  I was pleased to see the turd behind us react to my displeasure by taking evasive action and jetting down a side street.  Jack then reminded me that the first rule of stopping road rage is to stay in your car.  Good tip!

The remainder of our time in Northport was spent quietly.  I say quietly because not one person we came in contact with engaged us in conversation.  And, previous evidence aside, we are a very friendly family.  Really.

I might also point out that visions of grandeur in previously sleepy Northport has meant that the “downtown” area is always busy.  This means that driving, parking and getting a bite to eat are a chore. 

I compare Northport with two days spent in the sleepy, possibly stoned town of Empire.  I fucking love Empire.  It is rumpled, tie-dyed, impaired, casual, sandy, talkative, dread locked.  The uniform of the day is a wet bathing suit, flip-flops and a t-shirt.  I have lots of all of those items, and consider myself pretty sharp in this milieu.

We ate a late lunch at the appropriately named Friendly’s and were served by the most mild mannered waitress of all time.  She was young, wore dreads and could not have been more laid back.  After each of our beer and food choices, she would quietly comment “nice” or “good choice” or “perfect”.  It was the type of comment one might make if one had recently hit a fatty and someone was talking food.  Just guessing.

Once we left Friendly’s, it was on to Tiffany’s for an ice cream.  The floor inside had almost as much sand as the beach, it was manned by three kids who looked like they were here on a break from skateboarding, and the ice cream was fantastic and piled high. A quick note about daughter Rachel and Tiffany’s:  When we first walked in, Ray said she was too full from lunch for ice cream.  We walked two blocks in five minutes before she proclaimed she was now ready and sauntered back for a cup of Eskimo Kiss.  That’s my girl!

During our walk, we stopped and looked at a home with a variety of gnomes and college football memorabilia dotting the landscape.  The homeowner and her friend chatted us up instantly, talking football rivalries, bar food and all things Empire.  We continued our walk and looked at the two houses we rented in years gone by, the vacant lot home to a score of Empire cats, and the hippie pad on Front Street selling homemade granola (I have a feeling you better be settled in when you nibble on that granola).

While piling back into the car for the ride back to Northport, we decided as a family that we could not possibly say good-bye to all that the Leelanau Peninsula has to offer.  We would, however, say good-bye to the uppity, self important, loathsome rich pricks in the cities to the north and stick with our people in Empire. 

Cheers! Jim
READ MORE
 
back to top