The Trappist.

 

The Trappist

One stop shopping for all your Belgian beer needs. Now I don't exactly know what differentiates a Belgian beer from a normal beer. I suppose I could do a Wiki on it, but that would be too easy. I'll go on not exactly knowing for now.

 

What I do know is that these beers are strong. And if you know nothing about me then you know that I like strong beers. The draft menu contains a list of beers that are all in the realm of knock you on your ass strong. Yet being that they are Belgian beers, they don't taste it. I am used to the IPA and double IPA's, which taste hoppy and strong as hell. These beers however are light and crisp, yet share the same 9% alcohol level as my tried and true IPA's. Some of the beers on the menu are even 10% alcohol by volume (abv according to most beer snobs).

Make sure you show up with dinner in your belly, cause if you don't I guarantee you'll be laid out on the floor not having such a great time. These Belgian beers sneak up on you, like ninja's, actually they are more like alcoholic ninjas. Ready to pounce and make you projectile vomit when you least expect it.

And this my friends is the type of beer I enjoy. The type that will sneak up on you and kick your ass when you least expect it. Everyone needs this in their life, a good ass kicking (but only the proverbial type, not an actual ass kicking cause that hurts and is no fun).

No You Can't Get That Here

I have been uninspired to write about bathrooms as of late. So I haven't written about bathrooms, in a while. Yet I am still inspired to write, and I really like the look and feel of this place so I think I'll keep writing here. Just may not be about bathrooms specifically. May have to do more beer reviews, cause I drink a lot of beer and feel you should know about it. Whomever you are looking for "pisshow," that's gross and seriously knock it off. This is the home of the drunk wizz, in a toilet, in a room designated for such activities, and most importantly no one else involved. Of course now it may just change into drunk ramblings or semi sober moments of clarity. Either way my new years resolution (in August) is to keep writing words in this spot under this moniker and have all you lovely people read it. That means you mister Inside Line.

WTF at the Mallard.

Seriously. What the fuck?

Where am I?

Walking into this bathroom that I have known and loved for years to be greeted by posh stone and clean walls was a slap in the face. I stood there stunned exclaiming out loud "What the fuck did they do!?"

What did they do? They took all the charm and flushed it down the proverbial toilet. I mentioned a while ago, that I had the idea for this blog while in this very bathroom. Well this is not the same bathroom. The one I know and love was covered in a beautiful mural, it covered the walls and the ceiling. The best part was the diatribe directly above the urinal. Oh how I would love to remember those words right now. It was literary genius, scrawled on bathroom walls.

I suppose this falls into the "All good things must come to an end" category of life experience. Yet this doesn't make the sting go away any faster. I do love the Mallard, it has been a fun place (best jukebox in town). But the owners missed the ball on this one.

I can't wait to see what it looks like with graffiti all over it...

Bar None.

It is fitting I ended up at the Bar None early Sunday afternoon. I say this because I woke up at 8 that morning to attend the largest party, bar none. I also drank more alcohol before noon than I ever have, bar none.


I was one of the reveler's walking around drunk at 10 in the morning and pissing on your doorstep. Such is the case every year at Bay To Breakers. Wake up at 8, start drinking at 9, and drunk by 10. What happens after that is between me and whoever's garage door I peed on. This year we were blessed with perfect weather, which was good because I had hardly any clothes on.

At some point during the day we left the mass of drunk people and decided to head to the North Beach area of San Francisco, and we ended up at a basement bar called Bar None. Had I not been so drunk I would have realized what a "frat boy" type bar this is (hence the north beach local). But I was drunk and really didn't care, plus when I walked in people were playing this:

Beer Pong at a bar...yes

They had me at hello. We did not play beer pong, but we did throw some darts. I was smashed enough that darts came easily, and I pretty much played the greatest game of darts of my entire life (now I know how the pros do it!). Details of this bar are fuzzy, but pictures are worth a thousand words right? Right.

What I found backed up the whole frat boy charm of this place. The only place you see horse trough style urinals (HTSU) are at sporting venues. Because when a million men need to lose a half million gallons of fluid, they prefer the HTSU (apparently?). Nothing is more impersonal and awkward than standing shoulder to shoulder with your fellow man to relieve yourself. While trying not to look (but also trying to get it going), you get to contemplate things like football and women, you know, manly things! Or if your like me you wonder why the hell the floor is so wet!?

You also get to contimplate how awesome your shoes are.

Getting Hardcore at the Ruby Room

"The Ruby Room: Come for the drinks, stay for the urinal cakes!"

You walk in and even though it was dark outside, it is even darker inside the Ruby Room. It takes a good 10 minutes for your eyes to adjust, and even when they do you find a cloud of smoke obscuring whatever else you can see. All this makes for an odd night out. Which is usually the best times. Going home smelling of smoke, wasted, and ears ringing from loud music is always a fun way to end the night, isn't it?

I was told before checking out the bathroom that it was the worst. That a man would not want to see it during the day, it was foul, it was horrid. I was intrigued. I had been here before, but always as a night cap, and couldn't quite remember what the men's room had in store for me.

What I found was the usual spray paint and tags everywhere, better lighting than what the bar had to offer, and lots of urinal cakes (my favorite part by far). The paint job had an effect like a zebra, walls seemed to run together, and if you didn't look close enough you would completely miss the stall. I have to say, whomever was describing this bathroom to me at the beginning of the night was a lightweight, I have seen far worse rooms than this one. From what this person was telling me, I was half expecting to find a dead body. There were none however, and in the end I found my time here quite pleasant. And by pleasant, I mean super relieving and extra awesome.

Another favorite part, were the stickers on the inside of the toilet. Some brave souls put those there. The best was "The Twots" sticker. With a name like that they must be good right?

Friday Nite Story

...because I felt like writing.


When thinking of an idea for a blog, I immediately went towards a bike blog, because I enjoy bikes, and they are what occupies most of my time. It was after reading a NY Times Magazine article about a certain blogger on Gawker.com, that first planted the seed of blogging in my head. This particular article didn't paint a pretty picture by any stretch of the means, in fact it was a story of betrayal and one of being a prisoner to the world which you have worked hard to achieve. Confusing I know. I guess it was one line that struck me, and through the wonders of the modern Internet I bring you that line:

"there was a public place where I would always be allowed to write, without supervision, about how I felt."

This article also talked about why the particular blogger felt the need to write in the public domain. Why she felt compelled to post her feelings and words for everyone to read. And the effect of those around her (it was a good article, very entertaining...check it out here).

It was these questions that compelled me to start a blog. Thinking about it more and more I realized that I had interesting stories, and felt compelled to share them with the world. I mean really, who DOESN'T like talking about themselves? I am quite a grounded, respectful individual. Yet half the things in my life that are totally awesome, and things that I wish I could tell people about, go by unnoticed by everyone around me. I try to tell my stories, but in explaining the awesomeness, most (if not all) is lost. And that sucks. It was this inspiration that I decided within myself that I would start a bike blog, all my biking related stories of awesomeness all in one place. And when I pitched this to the person closest to me, I was met with this response:

"Yeah but all those blogs are boring."

My mouth agape and stopped dead in my tracks, I contemplated this. I had no response, mine too would probably fall into the "boring" category. Save for the few close friends that would read it, most would probably chance upon it and move on. Though this person quickly backtracked and assured me that it was a good idea and I should pursue my dream. Yet the damage was done, and I abandoned the idea.

Yet in the back of my mind I had always had an idea, unrelated to blogging and even the Internet. It came to me one night while standing in front of a urinal, staring up at the ceiling reading a diatribe about single malt whiskey. Though as much as I would love to share that diatribe with you, I have long since forgotten it (though I have read it many times, all of which I was in fact, drunk). Unfortunately for me, this work of art has been painted over, and I think this particular move by "The Mallard" was along the lines of painting a mustache on the Mona Lisa.

Standing there while relieving myself I thought of all the times I have stood in places like this one before. Wobbly, relieved, and completely happy. That night I realized I needed to chronicle these odd places in which I've been. The first idea that came to me was a coffee table book, with big pictures and funny stories. This would take money, and pro type equipment, and oh yeah...writing skills. In a more sober state I realized the blog world would do just fine, or just until publishing opportunities arose.

I am still in the process of backtracking through all those nights standing in front of urinals, looking around amazed at the decor, or utterly disgusted, or a mix of both. But I think so far what I have realized is that I am not doing this for you or anyone else, it is for me. So I guess I am not as conceited as I thought, just a little self centered.

Rickshaw Stop

It was a random outing on a Thursday night which brought me to the Rickshaw Stop. The mass of bikes outside told me I was in a good place. We had come for an acapella group, but stayed for the rockin country music. Many beers were drank, and only a few actually made it onto my tab (in lieu of correcting the bartenders and making them feel stupid, I just tipped heavily and thanked them graciously for their hospitality).

For once I found myself in a spacious place to do my bizz. After 4 beers I appreciated the ability to spread out, and not feel so claustrophobic. I found myself wondering what the large pipes were for, they are my favorite part of this bathroom. I like to think that they are only cosmetic and serve no purpose. Or perhaps they are actually vacuum tubes like they have at the bank, and secret documents are flying past as I wizz. Yeah, that is a good one...


We stayed for all three bands. The first being the acapella group which we had paid the 8 bucks to see. The night was young so we stayed for the next band, Pete Bernhard. He was awesome, it was a folky rock show, and I love it when melding like this happens.

Pete Bernhard

There was even a bit of crowd surfing going on. Which is fun to see, until you get a boot in your eye...