Coming Soon to The Liars Club . . .

1. The Liars will all drink the shot of free whiskey offered at a bar called Stanley's . . .

2. The Liars will travel to a convenient store which, according to our good friend Johnny Choo Choo Train, sells loose cigarettes.

3. The Liars step into the new location of The Wild Hare, a famous Chicago reggae bar which often smells like the devil's cabbage.

4. Any other Chicago projects that you think they should undertake? 

Rape HQ: FBI? This according to Downtown Whistleblower

Anyone ever seen this guy downtown? I've only seen him in the loop, generally in the vicinity of Daley Plaza. Today he was at the NE corner of Clark and Washington. He literally blows a double-toot on his whistle every minute, his sign says something about the FBI being a rape headquarters, and his yellow smock reads something about Obama and the American flag. The only thing I can figure out is that his hat indicates he's a dad. Luckily, my dad lives in California, so at least this dude's not related to me. But seriously, who is he and exactly what is he protesting?

As I stood across the street to take this picture I had other questions about this man (I probably looked like a creepy office worker, but I'm hoping I looked dowdy enough after the holiday weekend to look like a creepy tourist, but I digress...). For example, he is really tan from standing outside all day, so what SPF does he use? Does he use any sunblock at all?!? Where does he go to pee? Does he switch off between Starbucks and Lavazza? I need answers, people!

Lefko: the Martini Whisperer

Last week I attended a networking event at Bad Dog Tavern in Lincoln Square. I was stoked to be in my old ‘hood and met some cool people. A few new connections I made were recent Chicago transplants. One guy I met had recently stumbled upon what is now his new favorite bar: Blue Stem Martini Lounge.

Our group of five jumped into a cab and headed south to this place. Now I had heard of this bar before, but had never been. Upon arrival, the place was dead. But it was by no means lacking character in the form of Lefko: the bar owner and martini concoct-ress.  We sat down at the bar, and she greeted us in a raspy, smoker, south-side voice. 

Me: Wow, there are so many choices, I don’t know what I want!

Lefko: Ok, honey, what do ya ordah when ya go to da bar?

Me: I’m a beer girl.

Lefko: Ok, I’m gunna make ya something called the Clee-ah. [Makes drink, and pours out a sample in the martini glass] Give it a try, honey.

Me: Wow! That’s delicious!

Lefko: I know, I know...[pours the rest of the martini into the glass]

Me: You’re like, the “Martini Whisperer”!

Lefko: Oh gawd, you-ah too sweet!

And so we drank martinis and played songs on the jukebox for a few hours. I had the bad misfortune of picking one of my favorite childhood songs that has a cowboy singing the N-word (not the reason why it's a childhood favorite, mind you), and that song just happened to come on when the only other patron of the night enters the bar. Did I mention he was black? Poor timing, Urbanist, poor timing.

You can read more about Blue Stem Martini and Lefko in these yelp reviews.

Liars Club Contributor Updates

We have some new authors at The Liars Club: Oates and Urbanist Chic.  The two of them, along with founding member, Dr. Kenneth Noisewater, will start updating you with funny and interesting things and people in their fine city of Chicago very soon.  To be up and running again is exciting news, so we hope that you will come by for some laughs, whether you're a Chicagoan or a person who just enjoys goofy stories told by goofy folks.

It's a shame that the other three founding members are no longer contributors at The Liar's Club, but since I know you're all curious, we will share with you what we do know about those wonderful Liars . . .

Classy and Fancy is Macarena instructor.  She is finding it hard to find patrons, what with it being such an outdated dance and a fairly simple one that doesn't require much instruction, so to supplement her income, she is moonlighting as a Lambada teacher. 







The last word we got from The Cherry Ride, he was following his dream of constructing his dream home out of bricks of Velveeta.  We're told that he spends a lot of time at home because that's where he is happiest, but when he does make trips to pick up necessities, he goes in the panda suit that his grandmother knitted for him.

Five of Niner has been keeping a very low profile for quite a long time, but one member of the Liars staff was quite sure they spotted him working as a roadie (slave) for the band Gwar, wearing a loin cloth and firing the crapapult at Gor Gor.  We hope this is true because he would be quite happy with that dress code, since a loin cloth was what he preferred to wear in his cubicle around our office, despite numerous talks with HR about his "ball slips."


Who knows, with the original Liars still being admins, we may see the day when they hit us with some updates, but we think you'll find the new Liars Club contributors to be equally insane, so don't be a stranger . . . 

Stream of Ganciness

On  today's run, I was thinking these sort of rambling thoughts:

That Dylan McDermott is an asshole because he was mostly naked like 10% of that show in much better shape than me despite being older than me, and he made me go for a run and pull-ups and sit-ups.  Then again, I'm glad I'm running now because I had that beef sandwich.  That I'm burping up now.  Shouldn't have gotten the hot peppers.

I know I don't listen to enough new music, but they just don't make albums like "OK Computer" anymore.  Hell, Radiohead makes really good music these days, but even they don't make anything anywhere near as good as this anymore.  It's kind of like sports where you can't possibly make your best work past a certain age, that is without performance enhancing drugs.  Roger Clemens threw harder at 40 than he did when he was 20.  There is no equivalent of that in rock.  If Roger Clemens had a rock band, maybe called "Rocket," even if they were good, the stuff he put out in his 40's wouldn't be nearly as good.  Sure, you can make good music in late adulthood, but it just won't have that power, angst, edge, evilness, and sexiness that it did in your youth when you were young and crazy.

Hold that note, Radiohead, I gotta hit pause and hear what this saxophone guy sounds like in this tunnel.  Hmmmm.  Sounds like he's just tuning up or something.  And it smells like piss.  I know these guys probably get better acoustics in these tunnels, but why don't they just play in the open air?  How can they stand that piss stench?  Maybe the stink makes them blow a little hint of the blues into their horn . . .

The best song by the oldest possible guy was "Harvest Moon" by Neil Young.  I'll have to look up how old he was when he recorded that one when I get home.  Maybe blog about it.  Eh, who am I kidding; there's no topic in that.

Keys That Work and Gray Rat Tails That Don't Work Nearly as Well

I went to the locksmith shop around the corner to make a duplicate of my car key because I had a scare recently when my key fell off my keyring, and I couldn't find a spare. One finally turned up in the Jack Daniels box full of junk in my junk drawer, of all places, but it seemed like a good time to back my shit up.

The shop around the corner boasts, "Keys that work." Really? As opposed to ones that don't open a damn thing? The guy who works there is nice enough, his shop looks like nothing has changed in fifty years, he has all kinds of nick knacks like ceramic cats and embroidered religious messages, and all this seems just fine to me, I suppose - But here's what is really out of whack: He turned around to make my key to reveal in the back of his head a . . . a gray rat tail! It's not like he's like fifty, and is holding onto that look. He's like seventy and doesn't dress, look, or act the least bit punk or redneck. It's just . . . weird.

Oh well, Gray Rat Tail. Keep buzzen' up those keys with your weird hair cause it's characters like you that make this the best city in the free world.

Roller-Dumby

I was turning right through an intersection of Roscoe and Western when I nearly hit some dumb, tall, gangly, kid who was trying to cross the street while trying to skate backwards on his roller blades, badly, with a big, stupid smile on his face. It would be one thing if he were one of those speedy shirtless guys on the Lake Shore Drive path, but this kid was swerving all over and nearly falling down. Couldn't he have practiced that maneuver when he was not restricted to the few feet that the crosswalk allowed for?

This was right outside of Lane Tech High School, an institution that has been rumored to have been opening the gates to less qualified students in recent years. This dumb-dumb may have been proof of this.