We had all but give up on Whitey’s. I had for some time considered to to be “my bar.” It is a wonderful place. Unlike many bar-n-grill types of places, it is spacious. They grill up the best burgers in town. Generally, I like the ambience.


It was one Friday night in July. I was to meet Jay and Jessica there for the usual night of revelry. Usually, I look forward to cracking open that wooden door, stepping out of the heat and sitting down at the bar and having a nice, cold beer. On this early Friday evening, though, I stepped into hell.

They had this deejay there, and the air conditioning was broken. This deejay was playing songs and yelling trivia questions to the audience, which mostly consisted of overly-testosteronated, whooping military types. We sat in one of their booths just to be farther from the blaring speakers, and at one time told the guy that we were finding it hard to have a conversation, and could he turn it down just a bit?

Eventually, they turned the lights down and started moving the pool tables and putting up signs that read: “No Moshing Or Aggressive Behavior.” This, to us, was a sure sign that it was time to split. We did, and we swore that we’d never be back. (We ended up at Galaxy Hut.)

We weren’t, until last night. The plan was to go bar hopping in Clarendon. We’d start with some billiards at Whitey’s, in the early afternoon before the hell began. Well, it never did, or at least, not that I remember. So, we never left.

This morning I’m feeling a bit sluggish, but it’s good to know that the bar formerly known as “my bar” hasn’t entirely lost its mind.

A Horrible Reenactment

September 20, 2002
A Horrible Reenactment
Hey, boy.
Yeah, paw?

Let’s us rush the field and beat the shit outta that bald guy.


Yeah, let’s us rush the field and beat the shit outta that funny lookin’ bald guy.

Why for, paw?

‘Cuz he looks funny. I think he might be mixed.

Mixed, paw? Aw, come on.

Well, mixed or funny or something. He don’t look right.


C’mon, you big sissy. I betcha we can take ‘im.

Yeah, but paw, it’ll be on teevee and all. All my friends’ll see.

Boy, tell you what. You jump out with me an’ beat the shit outta that bald guy, and I’ll buy you a six pack of the Rock when we git home.



How ’bout a pack o’ cigarettes?

Mmmmmmm, boy, you drive a hard bargain.

And rubbbers, paw. I really need some rubbers. You know how Colleen is about me wearin’ them rubbers when we’re a’ bumpin’ rugs. Will you buy me some rubbers, paw?

If you go down into that field with me and beat the shit outta that bald guy, I’ll buy you some rubbers, boy.

All right, paw. You got it.

Okay, boy! I knew you had it in you! Let’s go get that mixed motherscratcher.

Yeah! Hey, paw?

Yeah, boy?

I love you.

Shuddup, boy.


Another Way To Look At It
My Dad, on the bizarre attack on Royals coach Tom Gamboa: I think the good news is that there are still some fans left out there who care… who really really really care!!