Bar #49: Moe's Tavern (formerly Relax Lounge)

2937 N. Milwaukee Ave.

10:30pm, Thursday, March 29

Price of Old Style: $3.50 bottles

I used to drive past Relax lounge all the time when I lived in Logan Square, but it seemed like a shady dive bar, so I never went in.  Now that I have been doing this blog, I was excited to finally get to Relax,  but alas, it closed and now Moe's Tavern is in it's place.  Doh!

Nothing unique about this place - it's obviously a ripoff of Moe's from "The Simpson's", down to the Simpson art on the awning and windows.  They don't have Duff beer (actually a decent selection of craft beers), but you can order a Flaming Moe!

The interior is really stale...it seems like an office in a strip mall that was converted into a bar.  This couldn't have been how Relax was...Moe's was just very BORING and too clean--it had no character.  Christ, it had CARPET!  There was a cute bartender, but that couldn't help Moe's, as there were only 3 other people in the bar.

So, after doing some research...it appears that Moe's was served with a cease-and-desist order from Twentieth Century Fox for copyright infringement.  It appears they haven't taken it too seriously, as some "minor" changes were made to the mural on the wall.  A great bar gets it character from it's bartenders, customers, and overall atmosphere.  Moe's has a long way to go, as the only character it has is in the form of a 20 year-old cartoon.

BEFORE

AFTER

Bar #8: Babe's On Milwaukee

10:30pm, Wednesday, June 8

4416 N. Milwaukee Ave.

Price of Old Style: $1.75 12 oz. mugs

Sometimes the quality of your evening out depends on who you sit/stand next to in a bar. I know friends that have met their future spouse in a bar, and friends that have gotten into rough fights in a bar. Right place, right time...wrong place, wrong time. Babe's is not a very interesting bar, but the man who I sat

next to changed all that. For blogging purposes, I was in the right place at the right time, but for the safety of myself and my family, I could have been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Let's call him Aiden (not his real name, but the only name stuck in my head from the last post--I'm seriously terrified that he may come across this blog, track me down and kill me). My bro and I sit at the bar and order our Old Style. There is this guy next to us with a Kansas City Royals hat on, that, within 2 minutes, turns to me and says,

"Do you play tennis?"

"Um, on occasion..."

"Do you know you look like Jim Courier?"

Now, I have heard this many times before, and even a few days earlier mentioned this to my wife as Mr. Courier was at the French Open presenting the trophies to Nadal and Federer. I tell this guy I have heard this many times, and he seems very offended. I try to start conversation...notice the Royals hat and tell him I've been to Kaufmann Stadium and really like it.

"When did you go?", he asks.

"About 10 years ago--they didn't have as many seats in the bleachers as they do now."

"Really, what did it look like back then?" (not really asking me but quizzing me)

"Well, there were the fountains, and the three retired numbers on the scoreboard..."

"What numbers?"

"10--"

"Who wore #10?"

"George Brett?"

"NO!!! Dick Howser wore #10...everyone knows Brett wore #5...what was the other number?"

"20, which was Frank White" (whew...lucky I knew that one)

So, Aiden asks me if we've ever been here before (my brother has made the wise decision to not say a word up to this point). We tell him we haven't and he tells us the same - sure, buddy. Then this exchange happens:

"So I write surveys for a living (?), mind if I ask you a survey question?"

"Sure, go ahead..."

"Who do you love more, your wife or your daughter?"

(WHY DID I MENTION I HAVE A WIFE AND KID???? STUPID!)

"Serious?", as in, what the hell survey is this question coming from, you weirdo...

"Yes?"

"My daughter?"

"Your daughter? You love your daughter more than your wife?"

I turn to my brother, who is basically looking the other way and whistling at this point. Aiden then proceeds to lecture me on why this is the wrong answer, ending with,

"If my mother told me she loved me more than she loved my dad, I would never speak to her again..."

I'm pretty much fed up with this guy by now, but I make the dumb move of turning the tables on him:

"Let me ask you a question...who do you love the most?"

"I think that's a pretty personal question," he says.

"Are you f--king kidding me? What did you just ask me??!?!"

"Ok--an Irish girl..."

"Does she live in the city?"

"Yes."

"Does she know you love her?"

"Yes."

"Does she love you?"

"No."

Uh-oh. There it is... This was a bad idea, and I spend the next few minutes trying to convince him that things may change, and then pretty much end the conversation by turning to my brother, thanking him for the support.

"Hey, I at least got a picture of him..."

So, of course, before we leave, Aiden asks, "Who do you think I look like?"

Thoughts?

Bar #7: Jefferson Inn

9:30pm, Wednesday, June 8

4874 N. Milwaukee Ave.

Price of Old Style: $2.75 drafts

The Jefferson Inn is a cozy little place on North Milwaukee Avenue. It's a few places down from the Gale Street Inn, which has some of the best ribs in the city, and next door to Edward Fox photography. I'm not sure of the quality of the pictures that Mr. Fox takes, but there's a statue of him outside the door (update: Ed Fox is long gone...the studio has been around since 1902).

Back to the bar, my brother and I walk in and it's pretty dead. Two women sitting at the bar in the front and that's it. There are a few booths next to the bar, and the back room is up a few steps, and also has a few nice booths, a flatscreen, and electronic darts. Looks like a good place to chill out with friends.

We order our Old Styles and the bartender asks us our names. She's probably in her late 20's/early 30's and is one of the most disproportionate people I have ever seen. She's barely fitting in the shirt she's wearing, with her boobs pushed up to her chin, but her curves end after her waist...no butt whatsoever. Sorry about the bartender critique - this won't be a regular feature of the blog - but this had to be noted. Anyway, she doesn't believe me that my name is Adam, because guys tell her that all the time. Why? Because her name is Eva. Oh, of course! I guess people at dive bars read a different Bible, or maybe they updated the names in the New-New version to make them trendy. If that was so, it would be Aiden, not Adam, and Eva.

Popcorn. There is popcorn behind the bar. Eva quickly fills us a bowl before we even ask - ok, this girl's alright. She convinces us that the bar will pick up after 10pm. We sure hope so, because America's Got Talent is on TV, and we're actually getting into it. Ten o'clock rolls around, and sure enough, people start filling up the place. A good number have just gotten off work at Gale Street Inn, and shots are being ordered. Must have been a rough night at work. No--the shots are being ordered by this guy that just walked in, and seems like a very happy drunk. He's an Indian dude, and reminds me a lot of Rajesh from Big Bang Theory (who can't talk to women unless he's drunk). Raj orders drinks for everyone in the bar, except for us (WTF - getting screwed by the regulars again), and then proclaims a number of times, "Oh man, who the f--k is gonna pay for all this?" We're done with our beers by now, and make our way out. We need to pass Raj to leave the bar, and we wonder if he'll offer us a drink. Nope - all we get is a "See you later, guys!" and a smile. No big deal for us...we had one more bar to hit, and man was it a doozy.