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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!

TAYLOR AC (ATHLETIC CLUB?)


   Ever since my twenty-first birthday, I have been a firm believer that making a big deal out of your birthday is for kids.  If you are seven, it is understandable to want to be the center of attention for the great achievement of being born on a specific day.  Once you start shaving, get over it.

   That is one reason why I met my son Max’s third, thirty year old birthday celebration with bridled (as opposed to unbridled) enthusiasm.  We had already enjoyed a family celebration on Sunday.  On Tuesday, his real birthday, he went out with besties Luke and Carly for a special dinner at Ford’s Garage. As Friday dawned, it was time for the real debauchery with a wider circle of friends and family at Taylor AC bar located in deepest Taylor.

   Before I could whet my whistle at Max III, I had hurdles to overcome.  Work, and the possibility that a work related emergency could arise, needed to be conquered.  No problem there.  In fact, I was able to get out of work about two hours early and face my second hurdle, a five hour round trip drive to Mt. Pleasant and Central Michigan University to pick up young scholar Jackson.  The previous days serious snow was over, but winter spit on me the entire trip.  The solo trip to get The Kid was dreadful, the trip back with my opinionated son much more entertaining.

   We arrived home in Allen Park at 7:30.  Plenty of time to jam some pizza in our faces before the 9 pm tip off at Taylor AC.  As my brother Tony likes to preach, you should always lay down a base before serious boozing.  Tony would also refer to the pizza being wolfed down as an appropriate “spackle” for what was to come.

   I jammed son Jackson, wife Andrea, sage/brother Tony and his wife Beth into my car for the longest short trip of my life.  I am a good driver.  Period.  To be subject to second guessing and carping about lane selection, car temperature and fan direction is way out of line.  As is my style, I quietly endured and soon arrived at Taylor AC bar on the south side of Ecorse Road just west of Beech Daly.  It is easy to spot this well lit dive and parking is a breeze on either side of the building.

    As soon as we opened the door, I saw the birthday boy, three days removed, presiding over a bunch of small tables pushed together to make one long banquet fiesta.  I immediately recognized Carly and Luke, two exceptionally nice kids and big fans of a good time.  I then met Charley, Carly’s guy who sat to my immediate right (this becomes important later in the blog).  There were others of course and I was properly introduced but I cannot recall names.  Relax, they don’t recall mine either.

   I knew things would kick up a notch when Andrea’s youngest brother Bill and his very significant other Wendy soon arrived.  That they arrived bearing a gift for Max was not surprising.  That the bottle of Deep Eddy Lemon Vodka was sealed at night’s end, surprising.

   I took in Taylor AC.  A deep joint, larger inside than the outer cement rectangle indicates.  A kitchen and dart board immediately inside the front door, long bar to the right and a sea of tables to the left.  There was a jukebox in the middle of these tables, a steady stream of amateur disc jockeys feeding the glowing monster.  I heard country, classic rock, R and B and some surprisingly great stuff ( those selected by Tony and I).  I was informed by Jackson that the juke would not allow you to select rap.  If attempted, your money is spit back, your photo is quickly taken and posted above the bar so that you will be remembered as a deviant for time immemorial. 

   The crowd is a monochromatic white, any diversity comes from age.  Serious boozers from twenty one to me are welcome.  Don’t bother dressing to impress, unless you want to be singled out as an outsider.  

   Once seated, I ordered a half pitcher of Sam Adams to start.  It had been a tough week of work capped by a long ride in difficult conditions to pick up my boy.  I was ready to have some fun, secure in the knowledge that Andrea would handle the drive home duties.  

   This assumption was dashed twenty minutes after arriving.  

   By the time I finished my first glass of beer, Andrea had wolfed down her second Captain and Coke and was gesturing for her third.  When she yelled across the table to Bill that she was drinking what their late/beloved Aunt Shirley liked to drink and that they made them strong at the Taylor AC, I knew that my dream of joining those drinking unfettered was over.  

   I had become the designated driver and would sit on the sidelines watching others sip and slip into oblivion.  Taylor AC is just that kind of bar, much like the old Gem Bar in Dearborn.  Our waitress Amanda, a fellow Allen Parker, made sure that the table was always oiled and did it in a saucy style. This crew did not need much help going over the top, but whatever assistance was needed, Amanda provided it.

   I watched.  As the boozing progressed, little pieces of the party moved around the bar and mixed with the regulars.  Lots of laughing, voices getting louder and louder.  The smokers beefed about going outside to puff, but stayed out longer and longer.  The odor of what was being smoked seemed to change as the night went on.

   You know it’s a good time when you are surprised by Last Call.  The birthday boy sat pretty much in the same spot the entire night, like a king on his throne as Bill suggested.  When someone noted that it was a good turnout and what a shame it was that Max’s sister Rachel and hubby Matt could not make it because they were sick, I saw some tears on my son’s face.  To say he and Ray are tight is an understatement.  Even without the drinking, Max would have been emotional.  That is who he is and one of the biggest reasons I love that kid.  Tony and I tried to help by acknowledging that this kind of feeling sneaks up on us also, especially when it comes to our Mom.  Gas on the fire.  Max, still quietly wiping away tears said, “Oh Grandma” and trailed off.  I put my arm on the big man’s shoulder, while he quietly repeated “I can’t...I can’t...”

   Looks like I was wrong about multiple birthday celebrations.  Nothing wrong with celebrating life and having as much fun as possible.  Doing so at the Taylor AC:  recommended.

Cheers!  Jim

Epilogue:  Whilst at the bar, I was experiencing an inner ear issue.  I could not get too aggressive.  Digging in your ear is frowned upon, even in Taylor.  The next day, I asked Andrea to look in my ear and see what was up.  I had no doubt that she would rise to this occasion.  She loves this kind of grossness.  Armed with a flashlight, tweezers and Kleenex, Andrea informed me to sit on the sofa, nasty ear facing her.  A sound of excitement.  Fumbling for the tweezers.  “Hold still”.  Seconds later, Andrea presented me with a hard, bronze wax disc with a couple of rogue hairs jutting wildly from side to side.  I would like to take this opportunity to apologize to Charley, who sat to my immediate right (see), and any other unfortunate reveler who had the misfortune of seeing inside the hairy mess that was/is my right ear.
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