"A contender if not now then tomorrow for the title Best Writer in America."

In an effort to stem the tide of bad luck and bad news that has plagued me the past several weeks (car stereo stolen, car failure, multiple bike flat tires, friend moving out of town, loss of accounting client, scramble to make April 15th estimated tax payment, cash-strapped, slow go on my kinda-secret big-ass writing project, etc. etc.), I realized that only a grand gesture could turn my frown upside down.

Hence the First Annual Lester Bangs Lyndale Bar Crawl. About 4:30 yesterday afternoon – Bangs (my favorite writer ever) died on April 30th, 1982 – I hopped on a bus destined for Lyndale and Franklin armed only with some cash and a copy of Psychotic Reactions and Carburetor Dung (my favorite book ever.) The plan was to work my southward (and homeward) with a stop for a beer and Bangs-reading at a half-dozen or so bars. The day was perfect for this – cloudy and cool with little chance of breaking out in a sweat or being tempted to sit outside. This was definitely a day to cozy up indoors with a cold one and a book.

The readings were (the order is approximate, due to a last-second jacket change I left my pen and notepad at home – probably for the best, this was to be a crawl of reading and not writing):

"The Guess Who: Live at the Paramount"
"Peter Laughner"
"Thinking the Unthinkable About John Lennon"
"My Night of Ecstasy with the J. Geils Band"
"Slade: Sladest"
"Review of Peter Guralnick's Lost Highway: Journeys & Arrivals of American Musicians"
"Black Oak Arkansas: Keep the Faith"
"Chicago at Carnegie Hall, Volumes I, II, III & IV"
"Richard Hell: Death Means Never Having to Say You're Incomplete"
"White Witch"
"from Notes on PIL's Metal Box"
"The Greatest Album Ever Made"
"New Year's Eve"
"Jethro Tull in Vietnam"

The bars were:

Mortimer's – I knew the crawl was going to be a good one when I ordered a Premium tap and the bartender said it was two-for-ones. "You're stuck here until six," he said. That was not to be the case.

Red Dragon – The bartender here was a tall tall tall blonde who was quite funny. I contemplated writing a poem on the spot titled "Ode to the Daytime Bartender." It was the last day of National Poetry Month, after all, and I had no poems to show for it this year.

I entered the Leaning Tower of Pizza and was kinda relieved to see all the seats at the bar was full. The last time I had been in this place was a few years ago where I sat in the restaurant for ten minutes, was never served or approached by the wait staff, and left. Why I re-entered this place, I don't know.

Bulldog – I had never been here but was greeted by the bartender like I was Norm Peterson. Damn, it's May now but I should still write that poem! I didn't get much reading here as the guy who was seated next to me was talkative. He was supposed to have his daughter this afternoon but had a couple of beers here and called his ex-wife and said he had a migraine. Then he commenced to drinking some more. He told me this before he tried to set me up with his ex. "She's beautiful, so beautiful," he said.

CC Club – Oh, how the mighty have fallen. This used to be my #1 bar, but this was probably the third time I've been here in the past year. Got some solid reading done here.

I tried to enter the VFW – I had also never been here also – but ran into a door that said "Members Only." That was probably for the best, as I don't feel comfortable being in VFWs unless I'm with someone a generation or two ahead of me, and preferably someone who's been in the service.

Herkimer – Also got some great reading done here, despite the eye candy distractions.

Country Bar – Ah, the Country Bar. I looked forward to having a Grain Belt bottle (a beer which had escaped me during the crawl) and reading "Jethro Tull in Vietnam" on this, the 30th anniversary of the fall of Saigon. After getting quizzed from the regulars about my book (they all professed to have first-hand knowledge of psychotic reactions.) I ordered a beer from my favorite gal and took a seat at a back table. Tuomala, I thought, this bar crawl has been awesome – it's time to celebrate. I asked the bartender if she wanted to do a shot with me. She immediately said "yes" and said she'd bring the shots out to me. She did so and gave me a discount. I tipped her well and buried myself in the Bangs:

In "Jethro Tull in Vietnam," Bangs discovers that Jethro Tull sounds exactly like some Vietnamese folk music he has heard. He fantasizes (but doesn't write it as such) about flying to Saigon to ask South Vietnam's President Thieu about this resemblance. Thieu listens to some of Tull's Thick as a Brick and then speaks:

"It has always amazed me how you Americans can feed yourself the worst kind of garbage and still survive, but now at last I think I understand. I don't like Jethro Tull either – I never have, not even when all my friends were bending my ear with This Was – but not, perhaps, for the same reasons which have driven you to such extremes.

"I don't like them because you are right. They do sound like Vietnamese folk music, and I'm no folkie!"

Awesome stuff. I ordered one last beer and my gal, without prompting, brought out two more shots for us. Compliments of her. Sigh.

The walk home damn near was a crawl. I woke up this afternoon with a huge grin. God bless you Lester Bangs. The Lord be with you, daytime bartenders.