Moon Time

Moon Time
1602 Sherman Ave, Cd’A
(208) 667-2331

To me, the Moon Time on East Sherman in Coeur d’Alene is like a beloved old friend that I don’t visit nearly often enough. She’s always friendly and welcoming, with a totally down to earth personality. Her style is kind of plain, a little bit folksy, but certainly endearing. Actually, she’s kind of a hippie, but without the burn-out factor and stinky layers of patchouli. She’s all about everyone getting together and just feeling the love and good vibes. She’s starting to show some signs of age on her face, a few wrinkles here and there, but they just add to her charm and attractiveness. Miss Moon Time is always a pleasure, and when I do visit I feel guilty for sometimes forgetting her and not dropping by more often.

On a recent rainy Saturday, my old pal M. rang me up and offered to take me out to lunch. “Okay, sure”, I said, “Where are we going?”

“I dunno…somewhere I can get a pint of beer before work, somewhere that’s not too spendy. Hmm…how about the Blue Moon?”

“Blue moon?” It took me a moment to figure it out. “You mean Moon Time?”

“Yeah, you knew what I meant. So what do ya think?” she snapped.

“Aha. Okay, that’s a perfect idea, my dear. I haven’t been there in way too long.” I hopped in the shower, fondly remembering good Moon Times past, all the days and nights spent getting intimate with a delicious Moon Burger and pints of Pyramid Apricot Ale, a substance I consider to be manna from heaven above. By the time she roared in to pick me up, I was completely famished and ready for lunch.

We arrived early in the lunch rush and the waitress told us to just grab a table wherever. For some reason I was drawn to the table which sat up on the stage platform, next to the bookshelf, and it was only after we had settled in that M. told me “It’s really weird sitting here. This used to be mine and my ex-boyfriend’s favorite table.” It was comforting to know I wasn’t the only one who had odd memory associations about certain spots here, left over from back in the day when I would haunt the place on a more frequent basis.

Looking around, I noticed not much had changed in the handful of years since I’d last been in, from the huge wooden Tetley Red Lion sign, to the stacks of Idaho Code books on the shelf, to the 10 giant jars of banana peppers decorating the space above the taps behind the bar. Along with the rustic décor, the well-worn dark wood furniture and fixtures create a homey atmosphere not unlike the English pubs in the photos hung around the walls of the place. The gentle indie-folk sounds of Beth Orton wafted from the stereo, adding an elegant audio backdrop to the ambience.

M. is a true rebel, diving right in to the pub vibe by ordering a pint of Blue Moon before noon. I pointed out to her that she must have had Blue Moon on the brain earlier when she mistakenly used the name in reference to the Moon Time, and she admitted as much. I can’t stomach beer quite so early in the day and settled for a nice iced tea, which was refreshing and fantastic. When M. and I get together for lunch, we tend to yammer on and on at each other to the point we forget to even look at the menu. Our patient waitress had to come and go a few times before we finally got around to making the big decision.

So many intriguing options! I honestly believe that along with the notoriously good service here, it’s the menu that keeps people coming back to support and enjoy the Moon Time over the years. It’s not a massively huge menu, but it makes up for that with its pure inspired creativity and essential simplicity of ingredients. House specialties include the Seared Pork Soft Tacos with pineapple salsa, the dreamy Potato Encrusted Ahi topped with crawfish cream, and the soul-pleasing 74^th Street Gumbo, inspired by the famous Seattle alehouse of the same name.

The sandwiches and burgers are what many people line up for, with the famous Moon Burger likely garnering the most requests. It’s a huge hand-formed beef patty smothered in lusty caramelized onions and a thick slice of cheddar, served with the works on a buttery toasted bun. Another favorite is the Pub Style Pastrami Sandwich with incredible homemade beer mustard generously coating rye bread and piles of thin-sliced pastrami. One of the most unique offerings is the Ancho Bean Burger, a vegetarian patty constructed of Anasazi beans, poblano peppers, onions, and corn and topped with Monterey jack and Ancho chili mayo. Cows could go extinct and I’d be happy knowing that I could at least get one of these.

In the past, I always came to Moon Time to indulge in a Moon Burger, but I decided to flip it up and try a Mediterranean Lamb Burger. Lamb is such a rare treat, and this char grilled, rosemary-infused specimen was so tasty and fresh, I was afraid Mary was going to come looking, wondering where her little one went. Topped with vegetable relish and tart goat cheese crumbles, it’s an explosion of savory, organic-farm goodness. To accompany her second Blue Moon before noon, M. chose the Santa Fe chicken burger, which mixes the bite of poblano peppers with the cool creaminess of honey cream cheese. Side options include Tim’s Cascade chips or a roasted corn pasta dish, but I had my tummy set on the potato salad, which I had remembered as being really great. It was okay, but we both agreed it was slightly on the bland side without heavy shakings of salt.

Moon Time features live music every Thursday all year, and they’ve been known to bring in a wide variety of acts, both local and national. I’ve seen a bit of everything come through there, from jangly acoustic folk-rock to funk-metal and freestyle hip-hop. Upcoming this Thursday the 29^th, Carey Brazil performs his inspirational brand of light-rock on the wee Moon Time stage. The lights go delightfully dim at night, and the atmosphere is perfect for relaxing with friends while sharing a pitcher of one of the nearly twenty microbrews offered on tap. This place tends to attract our town’s artiest, most with-it crowd and sometimes it’s enough to almost make you forget you’re actually in North Idaho, transporting you to somewhere distinctly more hip and urban. It’s one of the multitudes of appealing factors that make the Moon Time well worth rekindling an old friendship with. Drop by and see her again, she’ll treat you very well.

Bread Crumbs: Random Bits

Sadly, it looks as though old-school downtown favorite Senor Froggy’s has succumbed to the Get Out curse. You may recall my less-than-glowing review from earlier this year. I drove by today and the place was dark. I could just make out missing patches of paint where the décor was merciless ripped off the walls. Tragic handwritten messages in the windows announced the death, and the giant For Lease sign out front finalized it. Even though the place had gone rotten of late, it still makes me a bit sad. I spent so many years enjoying their greasy crisp burritos, gloppy nachos, and addictive cinnamon crustos. I’m rather hoping someone will revitalize it as a fast Mexican place, but more likely it will become home to yet another spendy café or bistro. Meanwhile the ghost that resides in the basement is going to get awful lonely…

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I really got an earful on the phone from Dina, the owner of Pizza Schmizza after my recent review. I couldn’t really do much except agree with her. I’d be mad as hell too if someone wrote a mean review of my place. I explained to her that it was just my opinion, but it seems like she was convinced I had a personal vendetta against her, which is silly. I do want to clarify that Pizza Schmizza is a franchise, so technically I was wrong when I made references to various elements as “corporate.” She made it VERY clear to me that she runs a LOCAL business. Mainly, she was mad because she didn’t like my descriptions of the wall colors and that the review appeared under the heading “Community News.” To quote Dina herself: “Oh, so that’s what you call community news, huh, that Pizza Schmizza sucks?!” I could see her point, but told her she ought to thicken her skin a bit because not everyone will find delight in her product. In reality, I did get almost as many comments praising the place as there were agreeing with my bad experience. So, don’t take my word for it. Please check it out and develop your own opinion.

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I finally tried the new(ish) Sonic Drive-In in Post falls the other day and I wasn’t wildly impressed. There was certainly a ton of hype and excitement when this place opened, but why? I ordered the same thing I order 99% of the time at McDonalds, which was two regular cheeseburgers, no pickles and a small fries. I don’t trust most fast foods and this is a combo I feel pretty safe with. Well, I have to say the Sonic burgers didn’t seem quite as cheesy or fresh as McDonalds, and the fries were room temperature, something that rarely happens under the golden arches. The Sonic burgers were also priced about 60 cents higher than Mickey D’s. I also ordered a strawberry lime-aid, which was very tasty but really hard to drink while driving, because the strawberry chunks kept blocking the suction of the straw, requiring an awkward partial or full pull out and blow maneuver to clear the path. It wasn’t terrible, but I was expecting something more I guess. It’s very close to my workplace and it’s fast, so I’m sure I’ll be checking it out now and then on my lunch break.

Celebrate the Inevitable Early Onset of the Holiday Season the North Idaho Way

Friday’s annual downtown parade and lighting festivities will mark the official beginning of the Christmas season in Coeur d’Alene. Be that as it may, it really seems like the unofficial beginning of the Christmas season arrives insanely early each year, somewhere near mid-October when skeletons and snowmen do the hustle together on retail shelves. I’m writing this during the second week of November and I’ve already seen some local businesses with their Christmas lights fully blazing and wreaths decorating their doors, and I’m not just talking about the Christmas at the Lake store. It’s a slow encroachment at first, but as soon as the last glop of Thanksgiving cranberry sauce is rinsed down the garbage disposal, the holiday madness really begins.

At dusk, on the day after Thanksgiving, crowds begin to appear in anticipation of the annual Downtown Holiday Parade. According to the Downtown Association website, this year’s theme is “A Christmas to Remember” which, ironically, isn’t very memorable at all. Also ironic is the fact that all the people who flock downtown to watch the parade are exhausted from shopping all day in the malls and megastores, but no-one spends a dime in the downtown shops. Oh well, the whole thing is really for the kiddies anyway, and it’s a joy watching their glee as they see all the Realtors cruise slowly by, waving from their Lexus cars. Look how their little eyes light up at sight of the blood-splashed, crucified Christ figure on the Potter’s House Church float, so graphically reminding us about the real reason for the season.

The crowd follows as the parade reaches its end near the main driveway of the Coeur d’Alene Resort. The Resort has been staging its grandiose holiday lighting ceremony since the early nineties, starting out with just a few dozen guests and employees standing in the wintry chill long enough to watch an elf suit clad Duane Hagadone plug in a long extension cord and light up a couple of bushes out in front of the corporate office. Over the years it has developed into an extravaganza which equals Coeur d’Alene’s massive 4^th of July events, bringing in thousands of revelers from all over the Northwest and beyond.

I’ll admit, it’s hard not to get emotional as the Duane and Mr. Jaeger appear on the risers and speak their feedbacky, nearly inaudible words to a hushed and reverent crowd. People peacefully light white candles, including those up in the Resort garage dripping painful hot wax on passersby below. Suddenly, three billion lights come on all at once and fireworks explode over the lake as the loudspeakers blare Manheim Steamroller’s synth-punk classic “Deck the Halls.” Moments later, most of the crowd shuffles off homeward to dream festive dreams of sugarplum fairies and dancing candy canes. The rest of us shuffle off to one of the lounges for a nice rum and coke.

The Coeur d’Alene Resort’s electric bill for December must be staggering, rivaling that of a typical Las Vegas casino. Anything and everything is covered in happy twinkling lights, and when they run out of surfaces to cover in lights, they invent new things to cover in lights. Every year, they switch up the formula a bit, adding new elements to a display that sprawls across the hotel’s property and stretches miles out into the lake. The best way to take in all the holiday glitz is the winter boat cruises, which are a real treat for the whole family. The grown-ups can enjoy some “special” cocoa while the kids visit the jolly man with the red nose, big belly and funny hat. And when they’re done with Drunk Uncle Frank, they can go say hi to Santa too.

If you aren’t experiencing a warm, fuzzy Christmas glow after all the downtown action, there are several more interesting opportunities to force yourself into feeling some holiday cheer. Head over to the Old Church Arts and Cultural Center in Post Falls next Saturday the 24^th for “A Bluegrass Christmas” featuring Columbia, a musical super-group made up of veteran Northwest bluegrass artists. Steve Beagly of Northwest Music Scene writes that “this band delivers a great combination of acoustic talent complemented with the high-lonesome sounds of bluegrass harmony.” Nothing goes together like Christmas joy and high-lonesomeness. This concert costs $10 and begins at 7:30 pm. Contact program coordinator Marina Kalani at 457-8950 for more information (and a date if you’re lucky).

If you appreciate the charm and kitsch of a small-town Holiday she-bang, you’ll want to pop over to Wallace on Saturday, December 1^st, where the “Yuletide Celebration” promises to rock the Center of the Universe with a full day of potentially surreal activities. The festival kicks off with an old-fashioned pie and coffee social sponsored by the Senior Center. Once you’re sufficiently wired and too bloated to walk, you can wander through downtown Wallace and check out the Mini Festival of Trees (are there only a couple of trees or are the trees really small?), watch the crowning of Little Miss and Master Snowflake, and cross the street repeatedly to avoid eye contact with the oncoming group of carolers.

When the sun sets, you can meander over to the brightly-lit residential district for the “Winter Walk of Open Houses”. Here’s your opportunity to finally get a peek at how the better half live in this historic town, just be careful not to fall through that hole in the floorboards over by the mistletoe. The night wraps up with the Wallace Elks Christmas Cabaret, a series of words that sends a chill down my back, conjuring images of grizzled miners in spangled red unitards and reindeer horns, doing synchronized high-kicks to a Liza Minelli Christmas tune. I’m afraid if that idea doesn’t knock the Bah Humbug out of you, nothing will.

CDA Retro Ads 1947 pt. 1

I've been spending some time down at the luscious new library getting odd looks from other patrons as my camera flashes on the huge tomes which contain olden copies of the CDA Press. I'm researching for an upcoming column about what it might have been like to "Get Out" in bygone eras, namely 1947, 1967, and 1987. Not sure yet if I'm going to squeeze this concept into one article or make it a short series. I need to learn how to take better shots with my digital camera because most of the images turned out too blurry to see, although a few turned out OK. Those darned books are way too big to fit on the regular copy machine. Anyway, here are a couple of fairly entertaining adverts from exactly 60 years ago...more to follow soon.

Pizza Schmizza

Pizza Schmizza
2384 N. Old Mill Loop
Coeur d'Alene

Pining for a nice hot pizza pie? Let your fingers do the walking through the most recent edition of the local yellow pages and you’ll find well over two dozen pizza joints in this little town, which begs the question: do we really need any more pizza joints in this little town? Probably not, but I’m always willing to give a new place a whirl, especially if they offer something the others don’t. I’ve always held more of a fondness for the pizza made by locally-owned restaurants rather than the predictable product offered by the national chains. Franchises typically don’t offer the same level of freshness or make use of exotic ingredients, instead focusing on trendy novelties like cheese-stuffed garlic bread sticks and chocolate cookie dessert pizza. Who needs it? Just give me a mouthwatering old-fashioned pizza pie, fresh from the oven and handmade with love. If done well, it’s one of the most perfect foods on earth.

When I learned that Pizza Schmizza had opened recently next to the Regal Cinemas in Coeur d’Alene’s Riverstone zone, my immediate reaction was disdain for the name. It seemed as though they were dismissively mocking the very product they were supposed to be promoting, an irony which I would not fully understand until after I had dined there. I realize whoever founded the fast-growing national franchise probably thought it was a real cutesy idea, but would you really want to eat at a place called Burger Schmurger? Maybe Pho Schmo? Sarcastic rhyme schemes are not necessarily great for stimulating the appetite.

I was glad when I heard the place sold pizza by the slice, which is an unfortunately rare practice in North Idaho. I’m single and not exactly wealthy so I’m not going to order an entire pizza on my lunch break or for a quickie dinner. It’s always nice to find a place where I can just get a piece or two. I decided to wander in one evening after finding a long cardboard circular attached to my front door featuring a “buy one slice, get one slice free” coupon amongst the smirking real estate agents and ads for discount oil changes.

Their website describes the atmosphere of the typical Pizza Schmizza store as “wacky” and they’ve certainly gone out of their way to create this kind of vibe. Every wall is splashed with a different color, colors you thought died out for good in the mid-70’s: avocado green, neon orange, eggplant. Covering these walls is a floor-to-ceiling claustrophobia of framed movie posters and kids’ coloring projects. Signs are hung upside down; a bulletin board touts itself as the “Wall of Shame” and features news articles with headlines like “Baboon Adopts Chicken at Lithuanian Zoo”; a miniature replica of the fishnet-clad leg lamp from “the Christmas Story” decorates a corner. This kind of forced wackiness offers little appeal. With no rhyme or reason to anything, it feels like the place was decorated by your out-of-touch uncle, the one who always tries too hard to be hip and comes across as just dorky instead.

The fake corporate nuttiness carries over onto the menu as well. Some of Pizza Schmizza’s creative visions definitely hold promise, but I found the final products to be ultimately unsatisfactory, even inedible. I sidled up to the plexiglass barrier between the kitchen and the dining area and gazed in at the half-dozen or so pizzas being offered by the slice. Among the more intriguing options were the “Don Ho” (Canadian bacon, pineapple), the “Popeye and Olive Oil” (fresh spinach leaves, alfredo sauce, roma tomatoes, garlic, feta cheese), and the “Spicy Thai” (Garlic chicken, roasted red peppers, cilantro, peanut sauce).

One pizza variety that I often order from my favorite locally-owned place is a combo of artichoke hearts, sundried tomatoes, and feta cheese. Here at Pizza Schimizza, they call it the “Foo Foo” and I decided to try a slice despite the slight embarrassment of speaking those words in public. Apparently, someone decided these toppings are somehow fancy enough to make fun of. The pizza slices looked fairly large, but I was famished so I used my two-for-one coupon for a second piece. Never one to shy away from the bizarre and macabre, I decided to be brave and try something I never thought I’d taste: alligator meat. Yes, some wise guy down south somewhere decided it’d be a great idea to grind up some of these carnivorous green swamp-dwellers and make sausage links. Also on the “Alligator Pie” were red peppers, tomatoes, onions, feta cheese, and very oddly, spaghetti noodles.

I did find it strange that these pizza pies were just sitting out in the open, without the assistance of heat lamps or insulated covers to keep them hot and ready to serve. They had obviously been sitting around awhile, as the cheese had visibly re-congealed and there wasn’t the pleasant hot pizza smell one would expect. I hoped maybe these half-eaten pies were either display-only or that my order would be run through the oven again before landing on my plate. As I stood at the register and paid, I noticed the rather unpalatable state of affairs behind the counter. Bits of food and trash, including scary used rubber gloves, lay scattered on the concrete floor. Further back, an explosion of empty boxes, clothing, and random food products in various states of use were strewn hither and yon. Gross. “We’ll bring it out to you” said the camouflage-clad cashier, leading me to believe that there was some actual work yet to be done on my pizza slices.

I was wrong. My pizza slices were pulled right from the display window and served without the much-needed benefit of a reheat. I was a little stunned by this, but I wasn’t in the mood to issue a complaint, just hungry enough to dig into my room-temperature piece of “Foo Foo.” It might have been good when it was fresh from the oven, but at this late stage in its life it was very so-so. Toppings were notably sparse, with only a vague sprinkling of feta and thin leaves of artichoke rather than chunky bits of meaty heart. It’s really not a good sign when the doughy outer crust is the highlight of the pizza.

I was unable to make it even that far into my slice of “Alligator Pie.” Whoever decided that bland, air-hardened pasta belonged on a pizza should be kicked. I picked one of two scant pieces of the alligator sausage off the inedible slice just to say I tried it. It tasted gamey and rubbery – I chewed and chewed and had to force myself to swallow, nearly gagging in the process. I chugged my soda but continued to taste the foul reptile in my mouth as I quickly got up and fled Pizza Schmizza for good, racing home for antacids and mouthwash. But hey, I guess it’s not everyday that I could say I needed to floss the alligator out from between my teeth. From now on, I’m sticking with the local pizza guys.

Get Out! and Vote

Election day is upon us and I beg you to drop in and visit the lovely active-senior volunteers at your local precinct voting location. The city council elections this year are very important to Get Out! because if those who would like to halt progress in this city get elected into office, I could very well run out of new places to write about! We like progress, we want more high-rises, more ugly-ass condos, more bikini bars, and especially we want Trader Joes! I'm perfectly happy to see my tax dollars go toward these things and anything else that might bring a little culture, interest, and excitement to this often rather dull "world-class resort town."

Certain people running for office would like to see this place revert back to the early 80's when the Cloud 9 Restaurant on the top (7th floor) of the North Shore Hotel was the loftiest place in Coeur d'Alene, both in elevation and poshness. Moving backwards is never a hot idea, and perhaps the anti-progress folks should face the reality that growth and development are just an inevitable part of this area's future. They should ask themselves if they really want continue to live here or perhaps start anew in somewhere less happening, like Troy, Montana. That's enough blather from me - whatever your position is, please just Get Out! and exercise your right to vote!

Zip's Drive-In

Zips Drive In
715 E. Sherman Ave., Cd’A
667-0723

It occurred to me recently that the old-time Coeur d’Alene tradition of wild teenagers cruising Sherman Avenue is officially a thing of the past. What happened? Maybe the kids found better ways to entertain themselves, or maybe the friendly policemen finally cracked down, but for many years the only thing to do in this town if you were seventeen and drunk on Hamms was to drive your hot car up and down the main drag, over and over again, all night. I’m not sure when this tradition died out exactly, but when I was in high school nearly twenty years ago, it was still going strong. Back then all the cool kids - a group I wasn’t actually part of - would pull their bitchin’ Camaros into the Zips Drive-In parking lot to turn around for yet another cruise down toward City Park. I was part of the even cooler kids group, sitting inside killing hours getting amped on Dr. Pepper and watching all the big hair go by.

It seems like it’s always been there, its splashy yellow and red paintjob brightening the corner of 8^th and Sherman. In reality, it’s only been around since approximately the Reagan era, one of many locations that were part of Zips’ manifest destiny at the time. As their cups and to-go sacks proudly announce, the first Zips was opened in 1953 in Kennewick, Washington by one Mr. Zip Zuber. Yes, there really was a man named Zip, and his initial idea was to feed the scientists and other folks relocating to the Tri-Cities to work in the blossoming nuclear power industry. Zuber opened his next drive-in near Gonzaga in Spokane and eventually franchises began spreading like mustard all over Eastern Washington and North Idaho and today there are over two dozen of them scattered about.

I can’t imagine that the basic menu has changed very much since old Zippy served his first burger to the radioactive Hanford drones. Certainly the offerings at the Sherman Avenue location remain exactly the same as ever, and thank goodness for that little bit of consistency in our topsy-turvy world. The jewel in the Zips crown is their trademark burger, the Papa Joe. Its perfection is in it’s simplicity – beef patty, thin slice of ham, melty cheese,lettuce and “special sauce”. There is an unexpectedly nice textural synergy that occurs between the sauce and the lettuce shreds that makes the lettuce all hot, wilted and sort of gloppy. We’re not supposed to like our lettuce like this, but somehow we do. Kill yourself to death with an enormous Big Zipper and die happy. Or just punish yourself a little with a stacked Bacon Double Cheeseburger. If you’re extra lucky they’ll be running one of their non-menu specials and you’ll get to taste such experimental fare as the Hawaiian Burger with teriyaki, pineapple, and Swiss cheese or the Western Burger with BBQ sauce and a deep-fried onion ring.

In a masterstroke of polyunsaturated inspiration, Zips offers three separate potato options: crinkly fries, criss-cuts, and tater gems. Order a tub of any of these depraved creations, dip them in copious amounts of pearly pink fry sauce or some of that “world-famous” tartar sauce, and you’ll be ready for a nice, relaxing angioplasty in no time. If you’re going for the full-on cardiovascular demise, you’ll want to try the onion rings, which literally drip with decadent hot grease. They’re huge, too – I can’t figure out where they’re getting onions the size of a bowling ball. Also swimming in the hot oil spa are the best Halibut pieces and Chicken Strips in town.

They really know how to rock a mean deep fryer here, although it was an act of mercy when they discontinued the fried mushrooms - how many tongues were scorched with the hot mushroom water that would squirt out violently when you bit down on those cruel little bombs? If you still have a pulse after consuming your meal and you actually have room left in there, you might want to indulge in an old fashioned soft-serve chocolate/vanilla swirl cone or a homemade huckleberry shake. Look out waistline, here comes trouble.

Let’s get back to the tartar sauce for a minute. What is it about Zips’ tartar sauce that is so much more than mere mayo, relish, and onions? What is the secret special ingredient that makes ordinarily sane people go totally gaga and dip anything and everything they can grab into it? Folks, it’s the love. Like everything else here, it’s made fresh from scratch on a regular basis with thoughtfulness and elbow grease, which is more than you can say about the impersonal action at national fast food dumps.

I think this sense of down home pride shows in the service as well. These kids certainly aren’t making bank working here, and there’s no reason for them to display anything but disdain, but I can’t recall ever having a bad experience at the Sherman Avenue Zips counter. They actually smile and make eye contact, and the food never has a chance to sit and grow cold. I’ve seen some of the same faces working there for years, so they couldn’t be too unhappy, and it seems like they enjoy spreading the good vibes to their customers. Either that or they’re all brainwashed.

Post-Zips Disorder is that drug-like feeling of satisfaction and semi-uncomfortable bloat that overcomes you after a meal here. A few years ago, I came down with severe food poisoning from a Zips corn dog and spent three days between the bed and the bathroom, only able to eat blue popsicles. I got so sick I was actually hallucinating my own death. Did I hold it against Zips? Of course not, how could I? That would be like disowning Grandma because she accidentally made her best cookies with ex-lax instead of semi-sweet morsels. Zips is like a dear old friend, supporting me in countless times of need when I was too lazy to cook dinner or was just craving some greasy gut bomb debauchery. I’m very faithful to old pals, and it takes more than a near-death experience to make me stop coming around to visit.

Photo Slide Show: Halloween Madness at Mik-n-Mac's

Get Out! is just now beginning to recover from another wild Halloween bash-a-rooni at ye olde Mik-n-Mac's Lounge. The kids were really twisting to the hit parade and sipping colorful hi-balls. The undead corpse with disembodied head get-up won Best Costume prize and my friend Spacebilly won fifty bucks for Funniest in his lesbian high-school gym teacher costume. I must say, he makes a hideous gal. The entire bar staff dressed as pirates, and there were several slutty Dorothys wearing their ruby red platform heels. Everyone kept buying Smashing Pumpkins shots (Kahlua, Bailey's, Goldschlager) for Get Out! and Get Out! became wonderfully jolly and the night was suddenly wee but Get Out! managed to drag its ass to work in the morning anyway. Good times.