Lament for a Dive Bar

There once was a darned spiffy dive/sports bar two blocks from my apartment. Plenty of colorful, friendly locals and pitchers of Sierra Nevada for eight bucks. Sometime last summer, Jen and I discovered that they had a karaoke night on Wednesdays. I organized a school outing to blow off steam, and a good time was had.

Jen and Craig and I started going regularly... almost every week. Los Angeles has done crazy things to me, not the least of which is converting me to a karaoke fiend. The hostess was, and still is, a hoot. The Wednesday night bartender got to know us and started offering up the occasional free shot. We had fun getting to know the other "regulars." Our song picks changed almost weekly, ever eager to test ourselves and the limitations of the songlist. It was nifty that some of the regulars, who would often rotate through the same two or three songs each week, started to vary their songs, too. I like to think we were a positive influence, even though we never socialize with these folks without a beer and a microphone.

I became known as "Weird Al" (at least to one guy) because of my tendency to sing "Amish Paradise" once a month or so.

Fast forward to November. Word floated around one night that ownership of the bar was changing. There's a backroom, clubish place adjacent, but hardly ever used. That made the whole establishment a classic money pit, despite the often full front bar. People were sprending rumors that it would close down after the Superbowl and reopen as a Mexican restaurant. Tempers flared. Regulars stated they disliked "change." The place closed briefly in December, only to reopen the following week with a fresh coat of ugly cream paint, revarnished bar, and carpeting that changed and/or ruined the acoustics. The place was renamed to something dorkier than the original name, but it appeared that the restaurant was going to be situated in the backroom, with the old bar remaining a lounge. Karaoke Wednesdays ended up on the promotional advertising.

Things were looking up, even. But, the damage was done. Both our favorite bartenders were apparently fired or fled the scene. The locals started to taper off, at least on Wednesdays. New people weren't flocking in, either, so it became a depressing shell of its former glory.

You can probably see this coming. Last night, there couldn't have been more than a dozen people in the place at any given time. And, the karaoke hostess let us know on the downlow that this was her company's last week at that location. We exchanged emails. She does other locations on other nights, but I already miss the excuse for mid-week festivities.

So, to the new owners: Good luck. You managed to lose my business, any recommendation to UCLA friends, and status as a place to bring out-of-town guests. I reckon you also lost the business of at least thirty people who also regularly stopped in, too. All this before the new restaurant even opens fully.

Oh, and $8 burritos in Los Angeles, anywhere in Los Angeles, make me laugh.