Posted on — 1 Comment

October 26, 2001

Lisa, Miles, and me at Dimarco's, 10-26-01

The day gets off to a highly memorable start. Country music station WCOL (92.3 FM) has a bizarre stunt up their sleeves this morning: having already purchased this year’s top prize winning pumpkin from Circleville’s annual festival ($897, or one dollar per pound), they drop it from a 150 foot high crane, onto a banner bearing the image of Osama bin Laden’s face. This transpires at Hoffman Farm Market, with the station auctioning off the rights to flip the switch. All proceeds go to Stefanie Spielman’s Breast Cancer Research Fund.

Elsewhere on the dial, local band Moviola is on WCBE performing live, and they record this take of Oregonia:

A little later in the day, Grandview Heights Public Library screens The Sixth Sense for students in grades 6 through 12.

Rebecca Ibel Gallery begins the exhibit Timothy Buckwalter and Curtis Fairman: Paintings and Objects, which will run through November 24. There’s a reception tonight from 5-7pm.

Immke’s Crestview Cadillac closes from 5-9pm for a wake in honor of Jerry Beck, a former local late night movie host who died on the 21st. The public is welcome, though in an article from yesterday’s Other Paper, Beck’s son J.R. cautions that, “people who show up in ties will be asked to take them off or go home.” So this is a more upbeat, celebratory remembrance, with J.R.’s own band providing live entertainment.

II.

I come home at about 9:15 after a 12 hour workday, with a morning shift at Kroger and a closing one at Wild Oats. And really don’t feel like doing anything, but Damon’s just lying around the house blowing Maryland off – she wanted him to meet her for a drink – and we decide to meet Maria & the others for a Halloween night at DiMarco’s. But first, a run up to Meijer’s for our props. Damon can’t decide on a costume and buys a witch hat, a cab driver’s hat, an Elvis wig. I’d known all along what I wanted to be and buy a bathrobe ($20), a pipe ($22), and some tobacco. Boy, these laughs don’t come cheap. Cold as hell out, too, but I’m determined to wear only these items out on the town.

                Back home and Damon takes a shower, I’m trying to figure out how to light a pipe and keep it going. I warm up the car before we brave the cold for real in these outfits. Finally, close to 11, we leave the house and head across town. Damon is cracking me up in the outfit he eventually decided on, which involves none of the items he just bought – red full body pajamas, cowboy boots and a cowboy hat. Utterly hysterical. Along the way, we stop at a gas station so he can buy cigarettes, and the attendant tells him, “hey, you look exactly like this one guy from The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas.” So all night long from this point forward I’m calling him Burt Reynolds.

                At the bar and there’s no sign of Maria & the others, not yet, so Damon & I grab a corner booth. He was worried slightly about walking into the bar & looking silly, but I figured who cares if we’re the only ones dressed up. And anyway we can immediately see this isn’t the case at all – the instant we walk in some chick dressed like a sailor corners us, takes our picture. “You look comfortable,” Jan the barmaid tells me before we grab our beers and table.

                This nice looking blonde in her late 30s sits down beside me, introduces herself as Linda. She and her boyfriend Bob have the best costumes in the place, they are dressed like hot air balloons. Only trouble is they have to take the whole thing off every time they head to the restroom, but this is the price you pay for comedy magic. Coming a close second to them is this kid who covered himself in hair spray and glue and rolled around in a pile of grass – he is literally covered head to toe in it. I dub him Swamp Thing.

                Maria & Stephanie roll in next, they’re dressed like a hippie and a kitten, respectively. As they are sitting down, a thought occurs to me, not necessarily directed only at catwoman here, but regarding this entire phenomenon of what is a highly popular Halloween outfit: what do leather pants have to do with being a kitten, anyway?

                “I don’t know,” Stephanie admits with a laugh.

                Maria’s hippie outfit is surprisingly effective, she looks like she might have actually been one in another lifetime. Yellow vest, yellow headband, yellow granny glasses, it suits her to a tee. And then Miles strolls onto the scene, dressed as a doctor, with Amber and Lisa in tow – they’d all been Polo’s across the street. I couldn’t tell you what these two women are supposed to be, only that it involves quite a bit of tight black clothing. You can probably chalk it up as yet more promiscuous feline attire, for those who think Halloween should be renamed Dress Like A Slut Night. Not that I can really talk with this bathrobe business myself.

                Lisa introduces me to her friend, also named Maria, a blonde in her early 30s whom I’d already been checking out all night before they arrived – she’s dressed like a cowgirl in this frilly skirt and keeps “accidentally” showing skin. Cowgirl whips open my bathrobe, but I have boxers on underneath, suspecting that this sort of thing might happen. Then cowgirl’s sister walks by and they both stand there, commenting on my attributes.

                “Looks pretty good even with boxers on,” the cowgirl says.

                “Yep,” her sister agrees.

                Then Lisa breezes over and puts an abrupt end to the festivities, snatching the bathrobe shut and whisking me away from this frisky duo.   

                “I can’t believe they did that,” she tells me.

                The costume contest is up next, couples first. Lisa and Amber enter as a team, and give it their level best by crawling sexily across the floor, to no avail. They most likely have my vote, anyway, so that’s something. Meanwhile, although attempting to talk Miles and Stephanie into entering (as “the pervert and the whore”), they’re not interested. Although in reality it doesn’t matter much, for as expected, Linda and Bob take down top prize with their hot air balloons.

                Following this comes the individual competition. Damon and I both give this one a shot, but Swamp Thing easily has us beat, and brings home the gold. This despite the best efforts of a scorching hot blonde who stands on a chair, removes the bikini top she’s wearing, and shakes her tits around in an effort to woo the judges, or anybody else for that matter. Then gets back up and does it again for an encore.

                Miles just so happens to be standing right in front of her when it happens, his eyes bugging out of his head. “That’s a field goal!” he announces, holding his arms straight upward like a football referee.

                Damon thinks it’s awesome that her little stunt failed to win, though. “How many times have we been in a bar and seen these chicks flash their tits and win everything?” he observes, and I agree.   

                Later, in the bathroom, a couple guys who are also in here are complimenting my “Hugh Hefner” costume, which is in fact what I’d been vaguely shooting for – I even have a vibrator stuffed in my pocket.  “I think you got screwed,” the one says, “should’ve won 3rd place at least.”

                “At least,” I concur, though mostly joking.

                “What about that blonde who flashed her tits, though, eh?” his buddy remarks.

                “Yeah, that was Miss December,” I crack, and they laugh along with me in exiting the facilities.

                Somewhere along the line Amber gets pissed off about something and splits. Lisa’s giving me hell for, well, honestly, I can’t really say what, she just hates my general attitude. But in my defense, a lot of guys couldn’t stomach her clinginess, and even a tolerant shrug-things-off person like me is starting to wonder how much longer he can hang in there. I tell her she needs to find a “side project.”

                “No, I’m not like you,” she says.

                “Come on, Lisa, you should be more like Pockets,” (sister) Maria tells her, and then starts rattling off some names, at least one I can’t even believe she knows. I always feel like nobody ever notices anything, that nobody is really paying me any mind whatsoever, although maybe that’s not always true. If nothing else Maria has a good memory and observes plenty.

                “Let’s see, he’s got you, Jill, Amber, Robin, uh…,” she taunts Lisa with a smile. Then adds, in jest, “Susie, Sally…who else?”

                “Now, now,” I interject, “let’s not be airing my laundry publicly.”

                Damon sits here looking kind of bored most of the night, somehow. I think he’s just in a no man’s land situation with Maryland where they are technically a couple yet on the outs all the time anyway. Obviously he does well when he wants to, but lately it’s turned into this scenario much of the time. He’s determined to make it work with her, though we admittedly all think he’s somewhat nuts for sticking around this long. And not attempting to work the magic with any other ladies as a result – even on nights like tonight, where Maria’s trying to talk him into putting the moves on Stephanie.

                To his credit, though, Damon airs some legitimate reservations wondering how much does this chick get around, anyway? And this is coming from somebody who doesn’t even know her! Maria attempts to defuse this by insisting Stephanie is “not a whore” but then the next thing we know…Stephanie’s sitting up at the bar, making out with this Joe guy she just met. He’s wearing a yellow hooded sweatshirt and is 21 years old to her 29. Still, though I’m not interested in her, either, my basic attitude would be: you go, girl! Although it’s true she does end up screwing some new guy pretty much every time we go out.

                Maria goes home and Miles, wasted as he is, follows her over there to sleep on the couch. The rest of us – Lisa, Damon, Stephanie, Joe, and a friend of his who is introduced as Tom Mason, we hop in my car and drive across town, to our apartment. Along the way, I keep asking them, “are you ready to party in the sandbox?’ but they don’t know what I’m talking about, not until we set foot in the place.

                Once we get here, though, our front door won’t open, strangely enough. All we can figure is some sand crystals probably got stuck inside the lock somewhere. So we all have to go around back and enter through the kitchen. Damon heads straight up to bed, more of this bummed out seeming kick that he’s on. Or maybe more bored than bummed out, I can’t tell. Anyway, Joe and Tom and Steph are flipping out in a good way about the sand, then we set up the volleyball net and play a game of strip v-ball. Somehow I am the only one who winds up fully naked, though. Then again, I started with a lot less clothes than everyone. By this point, it’s Joe and Steph against Lisa and me, as Tom has passed out on the nearby couch. Then I’m down to removing this gold necklace that Jill bought me three years ago.

                “Who got you that?” Lisa asks.

                “Jill,” I say, “first time I’ve taken it off in forever.”

                “Oh,” she sneers, “means that much to you, does it?”

                “Yeah,” I admit, “it does.”

                So of course she’s bitching about this the rest of the night. We play a quick game of euchre, then prepare to leave. Lisa, who scrubbed out the toilet and sprayed a bunch of grime eating cleaner in my tub while she was here, did a few dishes even, now rounds up every dirty scrap of my clothing she can find and enlists Stephanie to help her. Some of the questions I’m hearing are hilarious, though, as I change out of the bathrobe getup into more conventional clothes.

                “How can this Indians shirt still be sitting here?” Lisa wonders, an article she washed months earlier, which remains folded up on a chair in the kitchen. But, I mean, I know Damon’s often telling people that unless they were actually living here, they would have no earthly idea about the nonstop chaotic happenings…and I think there’s probably a lot of truth to that.

                “And how is it the last time you spent the night at my house, you got up to go to work and left one sock behind?” she questions, “how does that happen, exactly?”

                But I have no answers for that one. It would help narrow it down a bit if I knew what day she was talking about, sure. Speaking of socks, a highly improbable though symbolically hilarious moment occurs, balancing these matters in a neat symmetry, as Lisa’s carrying an armload of laundry, and drops but a single sock on the sidewalk. Then tells Stephanie to go back and get it.

                “Ah, don’t worry about it,” I remark, “it’s not important.”

                Joe laughs, and says, “I like your attitude. It’s not important.”

                Earlier, he and Tom were really digging our living room sand, too. Discussing how, despite being admitted clean freaks, they just have to set up something like this themselves. I’m giving them some pointers/encouragement, though it remains to be seen if they’ll follow through with this.

                Back across town, and at least this return voyage has one less body among its cargo. Whereas earlier, they’d been crammed into the back with Damon smooshed against one window, Stephanie on Joe’s lap making out with him, and Tom holding this cooler I had sitting back there, now it’s a little more roomy. And the two lovebirds make full use of it, as they continue kissing one another.

                We drop Tom off at his place on Kenny – at Governours Square – and continue on to Lisa’s. Now that Michael has disappeared (allegedly on drugs and stole two of their VCRs), the basement is abandoned. So Joe and Stephanie claim that, while Lisa and I head up to her room.

III.

And so what else was going on around town on this epic, highly memorable night? Let’s have a look, shall we.

The Poet’s Guild: House of Toast group featuring M.J. Abell, Fred Andrle, Charlene Fix, Linda Fuller-Smith, Jennifer Priest Mitchell, Jerry Roscoe, Jacqueline Smith, and Mary Ann Titus is held at the Northwood/High Building, 7pm

The Jarmusch screenings continue at the Wexner Center, beginning at 7pm. Year Of The Horse kicks things off, followed by Thelonious Monk: Straight No Chaser from director Charlotte Zwerin.

At Columbus State Community College, it’s an open mic coffeehouse in Nestor Hall West Lounge, beginning at 7pm.

Battelle Hall has soprano Karen Eckenroth performing with pianist Michael Lester. 8pm in the Riley Auditorium.

Columbus Museum of Art welcomes guest Wayne Miller of Franklin University, to host a screening of Hitchcock’s Shadow of a Doubt, as part of the OSU Photography and Cinema Fall Film Series.

Benjamin Bagby’s Beowulf is staged at Capital University’s Mees Hall, 8:15pm.

CCAD has a Big Boo II fundraising costume party at Fabric. Held 8pm to midnight, tickets are $35 apiece or ten for $300. One memorable ad says, “Funds. Consciousness. Hell. We’ll raise all three at our costume party.”

MadLab theatre debuts Grand Guignol, a rapidly firing onslaught of fifteen short, mostly demented plays performed by the same six actors: Melisa Vartorlella, Morgan Stuntz, Jason Dahmer, Andy Batt, Adrian Brown, and Ric Shoemaker. Repeat stagings are scheduled for October 27, November 1-3. There are 14 playlets, among them Shopping (some hooker-pimp drama about medical supplies), Rufie, Confessional, and a chorus line of ghastly creatures. Also, acting as some sort of Cryptkeeper-Rod Serling connective tissue type character, a janitor played by Ric Shoemaker comes out after each skit to clean up and dispense commentary.

At Andyman’s Treehouse, it’s the 3rd Annual Halloween Benefit. Your $7 door charge goes to the Andymanathon charity. Fletch, X-Rated Cowboys, Keith Jenkins, The Vague, Elliot 12Trees and Friends, 3 Dollar Shirt: A Tribute To Flannel, Bobby Cloyd, Aaron Pauley, and Jamie Walker are all supposed to play (in costume, too, theoretically), even though it doesn’t start until 10pm.

Columbus Landmarks Foundation Ghost Tours kick off their walking tours beginning at 6pm, at Town Addiction on E. Town Street.

A Halloween throwdown at Ruby Tuesday features Bloody Matt Dillons, Rancid Yak Butter Tea Party, Grafton, Lylo Americans, The Husher, One.point.three. For a complete rundown of Ruby’s events for the year, please visit that page.

Oldfield’s on High has its first of back-to-back Columbusmusic.com showcase nights. Maery Lanahan, Gravy, Alton and Friends, and Guest are the featured artists tonight.

Elsewhere, 501 Bar has Blue Level and Grinders playing. Sirens are at Adobe Gila’s. Alrosa Villa has Mushroomhead, Workhorse, Supafreak, Grit and Influence. Conspiracy are at Barrister Hall. Bexley’s Monk has Dave Powers. Big Daddy’s has Tree Huggin Hippies. Reagonomics are at Brickyard. Bumper’s has Bill Dutcher. Clarmont has Jack Widner again. Columbus Music Hall has Willie Porter. At Dolphin Lounge, it’s open stage night with Peter Conrad. Dub Pub has Prime Suspect. Flannagan’s has the Menus. Grandview Cafe has Whiskey Saints. Harvest Moon Coffeehouse has Adam’s Choice. Arian Lloyd Avery is at Hearth & Eagle. Hilton Club has Kim Pensyl Jazz Quartet. Hilton Lounge has Richar Lopex. J. Lindsay’s has JuJu Bees. Overdrive are at JR Buzzard’s. Larry B’s has Annie’s Orphans at 9pm, and free pizza before that from 5-7. At Ludlow’s it’s Boogie Fever Ball with Shuckin Bubba Deluxe. Merry Melody’s has SOB. Mickey Stephan is again at Mitchell’s Crosswoods. Mulligan’s has Paradise Island. At On The Rocks, it’s Rock House. Pauley’s Westburgh Pub has DJ Smooth Mike. Rhino’s Chop House has Kontras. Scarlet and Gray Cafe has Fire. Scottie MacBean’s has BugHounds. Willie Pooch & The Upsetters are at Short North Tavern. At Slapsy Maxie’s it’s Mother Hubbard and Thrift. Snaps & Taps has Amalgamated Funk. Thirsty Ear has Delyn Christian and the DCB. Tommy Keegan’s has Fat Dog. At Top Steakhouse, it’s Jerry Wolf.

Palace Theatre has something called Barrage, which is described as “seven violinists, two percussionists, a guitar, bass, and keyboard player” performing jazz, country, swing, Celtic roots, klezmer, and calypso.

Fireball Fundraiser 2001, a live and silent auction, is held by Shadowbox Cabaret and 2Co at the good ol’ Valley Dale Ballroom. It’s a dance party with a Mardi Gras and Carnivale theme, with proceeds benefitting unnamed Short North causes.

Ohio Women’s Show kicks off at Columbus Convention Center. Seminars on health screenings, makeovers, fashion shows, cooking demos, spa treatments, and home decor are among the highlights offered. Running through the 28th.

The Platinum Fox strip club on South Hamilton has Susi’s Birthday Bash.

Posted on — 2 Comments

DiMarco’s

DiMarco's bar Columbus Ohio

Well, I can’t even believe it. But I just found out DiMarco’s is gone, replaced by something called The Crescent Lounge. In what strikes me as comical yet fitting fashion, though, they seem to have kept half of the DiMarco’s marquee sign intact and unchanged – that entire right side, where it says LIVE MUSIC in white letters on a black background, POOL DARTS & PINBALL below it in red on a white background. Funnier still, though passing underneath this sign countless times, and though I can see some Facebook posts talking about live music…if you had asked me, I would have guessed they did not have live music here, because I can’t remember seeing any in the hundreds of hours I’ve spent in this place.

At least Ange’s Pizza next door is still an ongoing operation, and that corrugated blue header that runs atop this tiny strip (it presently includes Quenching Caverns Drive Thru and Northwest Cleaners as well) continues to visually tie this era to that of previous occupants. And what difference does a name make, anyway, right? Though I knew DiMarco’s previous owners, from coming in here often, and am sad they no longer have this, otherwise I’m thinking little has probably changed. Probably the same vibe, and many of the same regulars. Nonetheless, something about a change like this inevitably leads you to a stroll down memory lane…


DiMarco’s is a simple dive bar with a pair of real dartboards along the back wall, one pool table near the front picture window and not much else. Booths around the rim, and wobbly mismatched tables in the middle, square and shoved together in blocks of two or three. Jukebox topheavy with 1980s hair metal the clientele has never stopped listening to, one large screen television between the pool table and the entrance. This place might not have much of that elusive element, class, but enough that nobody’s cracking someone else over the head with a pool cue. Everyone here’s a friend, including the squat blonde middle aged barmaid Jan, quick to smile, her slightly pudgy right hand man Zerby, wiry black curls distributed sparsely across his prematurely balding pate, large black eyeglasses lending him the appearance of an owl. They are always here, I’m told. A schedule as religious as the price slashes they apply each trip to the bar, just because we know Doug and the Yanik sisters.

This has at no point ever been my favorite bar in town, but I sure have spent a ton of time here, nonetheless. Enough friends who lived up this way did consider it their top spot, to where the rest of us wound up here constantly by default. There’s so many random memories swirling around my head about this place, as is often the case, that it’s difficult to determine what episodes or details to share.

I know I’ve spent at least two Halloweens here, including the 2001 edition. As far as other memories are concerned…Roy, Doug Fogle and I once caught a ride here in a pizza delivery girl’s pickup, in an absolute downpour. A bunch of us had been at Polo’s and virtually everyone else in our crew already left on foot for DiMarco’s. By virtue of hanging around just a smidgen too long, the three of us are caught up in this rain, though we don’t know it until stepping out the front door.

“Hey,” Roy says, spotting a pizza joint next door, “let’s wait in there until this lets up.” 

We walk over and begin rattling the locked glass door. The lights are still on, there are two girls working behind the counter, and an Asian couple is milling around in the lobby. So what gives? Finally, the Asian lady strides over and unlocks the door, to the visible consternation of both employees. 

“We’re closed,” one of the girls calls out as our motley trio staggers in. Apparently, the two ladies were making up one last order for this couple, and that was to be the end of their night.  

“Here,” the other, nicer girl offers, a modest looking brown haired chick, “we’ve got two whole pizzas left over – you guys can have them.”  

We thank her in an appropriately profuse fashion, and Roy hands a pie each to Fogle and me. Then he lays three dollar bills on the counter before we leave just as abruptly as we came, and in no better shape. The rain hasn’t abated any yet here the three of us are standing beneath the same awning, except encumbered now with the additional weight of two pizzas.  

The nice girl bursts through the glass door, jogging to a nearby truck, expertly toting a piping hot pizza bag in one hand which bears the well known company logo. One last delivery, it seems, before her night is through, before she can wash her hands of fools like us – that is, until her next shift in hell comes calling. 

“Hey, can you give us a ride up to DiMarco’s?” Roy shouts across the parking lot, long after she’s passed us. She’s standing beside her truck now, fishing for keys, and offers no immediate reaction to the question, or whether she’s even heard it. 

“I’m not supposed to,” she shouts back to us, “but okay. Come on!” 

Sprinting over to join this chick before she changes her mind, Roy jumps into the shotgun seat while Fogle and I are left sitting like a pair of rain drenched idiots in the bed. She tears out of the parking lot and only then do I realize we’re still holding the pizzas, also, too moronic to keep them inside the truck with Roy. Still, weighing the pros and cons of this arrangement stacks up well for us, better than walking, and the cardboard boxes somehow fare better in the rain than we do.  

Two minutes later, we arrive at DiMarco’s. Roy and Fogle sprint inside, while I stop to have a few kind words with our driver. Inviting her to either come in for a drink or else swing by Doug’s apartment later, though she laughs off each suggestion before driving away. I have no choice but to join the others, now, and meet them inside. 

II.

I happen to remember the night Damon first met the Yanik sisters, too, for whatever reason, even though nothing about it is all that remarkable. I think this is because we’d been in town for almost a year, and Alan and I both had already enjoyed some scattered bedroom adventures with Lisa, not to mention partied with these people an unholy amount for months on end. Yet here our third roommate had somehow not even made their acquaintance, not only the sisters but this entire crew.

Then again, our lives are often more compartmentalized than we think. Coworkers we’ve worked beside for years upon years, though they’ve never met our families, to give one example. Or, like how this particular gang never really ventured down to campus or Grandview much, just as my campus and Grandview friends were almost never up here.

Bored on some random winter weeknight, I decide to call them up, having not seen these folks for a number of weeks myself. Since Doug Freshwater moved away and I had temporarily left Kroger, that outrageous era had ended and I hadn’t been on this northwest end of town much. Learning now that a bunch of them are heading to DiMarco’s, Damon and I decide to ride up there ourselves.

Their younger brother Tommy now occupies Doug’s old couch, and Dane, who’s gotten into one bad situation after another over the course of a few weeks, has wound up getting fired from his most recent job, at a department store, for not showing up, and basically just dicking around when he did make it in. Then he busts out the windshield of Maria’s car during a nasty fight, and Mike Nelson drops him to the ground with a haymaker and he’s kicked out of their pad as well, exiled from the charmed circle of friends.  

I introduce Damon to everyone – seated at one table in the dimly lit other half of DiMarco’s, the half away from the bar, is the cool but somewhat spacey Charlie, a part-time drummer, his stringy black musician’s hair now almost as long as Damon’s; the ever talkative and impossibly busty redhead, Jen McBride; Lisa with her admittedly comparable breasts, dark blonde locks currently worn straight and halfway down her back; and her sister Maria, a brunette, whom we are fortunate to catch in a really vocal mood this time around. The two of us squeeze in beside them and brace ourselves for this conversation. 

Junior, Tommy, and their preppy jock friend Cooper, who I remember from one other party back in the spring, are playing pool nearby, while the girls relate to us the latest adventures and trending gossip concerning everyone else. Meanwhile, Damon sits looking bored and sipping on a beer, or else trying to strike up a conversation with Lisa and Jen, even though they didn’t know what to make of this longhair character in horn rims. 

Although, it is possible he’s having a better time than it appears. “I knew I’d be in trouble meeting these fat girls with pretty faces,” he whispers to me at one point, after downing a couple brews. Even if Lisa’s ruining the good cheer by bitching incessantly about her roommates. Finally, the clock reaches two thirty and house lights are coming on, as we pay the ever present bartending duo and head for the doors.

“Jesus Christ, Dude!” Damon exclaims with a sigh as we step outside, “they seem like nice girls and all, but man, that one was getting on my nerves.”

“She’s usually not that bad,” I explain, which is true.

“And what about that other one, the redhead, what was her name, Lisa?” 

“No, Lisa was the blonde,” I correct.

“Well, whatever, she was the one sitting on the outside, right? I couldn’t believe she was bitching about everyone not cleaning their rooms! Maaaaaaan, I’d tell that bitch to fuck off!“

“Well, they’re usually not that bad,” I tell him, “especially after you get a couple beers in them. They throw good parties though, and they do have some nice looking friends.” 

III.

They used to keep decks of cards behind the bar here at DiMarco’s, as we played many a game of euchre here. There was a long running tradition of pool tournaments played blatantly for cash in this bar, and nobody batted an eyelash. Then again, I don’t remember ever seeing law enforcement around these parts, and the help situation was always remarkably consistent, with Jan and Zerby here just about every night. So you weren’t going to catch any heat from them, either.

That TouchTunes jukebox at the very least had an REO Speedwagon album on it. This I know because Lisa, who I constantly berated for her somewhat horrible tastes in music, was particularly fond of that one, would play it here often. At some point along the line, though sleeping together off and on for about a decade, we did try actually dating for approximately an eight month stretch there in the middle. One night she was at this juke and that infernal Speedwagon disc was blasting Time For Me To Fly, while Lisa and Jen F stood there still picking out further tunes, and Jen told her, speaking of me, “Lisa, this song is for you. It’s time for you to fly.”

Despite this period (or maybe because of it, as the more Lisa would yell at me, the more inclined I was to laugh in her face), I always was and continue to be thought of as somewhat of a zany, hopeless goofball with this crew. It’s funny how you get off on a certain foot with various scenes, be it socially, or with work, or with family, and nothing much can ever really change this. You begin to realize it’s a combination of elements contributing to this phenomenon: a little bit of people only seeing what they expect to see, a little bit maybe of you falling into your familiar role with each circle, but then also, I half suspect sometimes, it almost seems like life is throwing events in everyone’s lap to bolster these impressions. Even one night here in DiMarco’s where Lisa’s been screaming again and Tommy’s threatening me with, “don’t do anything stupid!” won’t change the dynamic, is pretty much forgotten about five minutes later.

“She doesn’t listen to anything, dude,” I tell him.

“It’s my fuckin sister – you think I don’t know that?” he retorts.

Perhaps riding around with pizzas in the rain isn’t the best idea, if you’re trying to dispel some image. Even so, in the late 90s I was dating this perfectly fine looking brunette named Stacy, however briefly. I’m pretty sure that the first time I ever came out with her around this group, we were at DiMarco’s. At any rate, it was one of the few occasions I was ever with her around this bunch. We’ve been here a while and she says something about wanting to dip over to Polo’s. So the two of us say goodbye to everyone, climb in my car and drive over there. Stacy and I sit at the bar and order one beer…and then she completely disappears. She saw somebody she knew across the bar and was going over to say a quick hello, and this was the last I saw of her that night.

I was more than a little embarrassed at the time about my pathetic glasses, thus would never wear them. So my eyesight wasn’t the greatest to begin with. Nonetheless, I did sit there for quite a while, nursing my beer, and even made a cursory lap or two of the place. May have possibly ordered a second brew, even. In this pre-cell-phone era, this basically represented the extent of your options. Therefore, despite not exactly rushing into this decision, I eventually shrugged it off, hopped back in my car…and returned to DiMarco’s alone.

“Where’s Stacy?” everyone asks, baffled by this turn of events.

“I have no idea,” I tell them.

Of course the entire mob – which, now that I think about it, was fanned around one of those larger central tables, itself a rarity, instead of spread like normal all over the bar – is howling, clapping their hands together, pretty much on the verge of spewing beer out through their noses. I was unwittingly playing the same old part as always. I guess it’s somewhat amazing that Stacy and I actually went out some more after this. But I never quite lived this one down. Nor did I ever bring her to DiMarco’s again.

IV.

While pretty much everyone else moved on, we still continued to swing by here from time to time, of course. It was here one night that it became obvious Damon was really hitting it off with this Maryland chick, who worked with Tommy, and the two of them soon turned into a serious couple. At some point, a window was installed connecting DiMarco’s with the Ange’s Pizza next door, and there became even less of a need to leave your barstool than before. Fluke reunions across the years have almost always meant a pit stop in this place is required, if it involves any of this old gang. And though I know neither Jan nor Zerby are involved with this spot in its current incarnation, I like to think that the two of them are still behind the bar, every night, just like always.