tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-76455712009-12-04T16:41:21.890-06:00Slim Goodbuzz, professional alcoholic and amateur fuckstickBarretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12502995280385740476noreply@blogger.comBlogger158125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-56454766916591751942009-06-10T10:39:00.000-05:002009-06-10T10:40:06.574-05:00

[EDITOR’S NOTE: This week’s “Gettin’ Ripped” column is apparently the last. Slim Goodbuzz tendered his resignation in the letter that follows. An explanation is in order as to why Slim begins his missive with “Dear Brad.” Slim has always referred to Transistor Publisher Adam Guggemos as “Brad.” It’s never been clear whether he simply thought this was funny, or if he legitimately was never able to

Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04641456695623230697noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-9382286984449277882009-05-05T15:20:00.002-05:002009-05-05T15:24:21.037-05:00

Considering the proximity to Duluth Police headquarters, not to mention the cops actually working right inside the door, it’s a bit surprising to see the sidewalk outside the Score Bar slippery with a fine, fresh spray of urine, and littered with an array of beer cans. Then again, I’d bet that none of the kids sucking on Mich Golden Light inside the place are attending UMD on a scholarship. And

Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04641456695623230697noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-80324206209012936252009-05-05T15:14:00.002-05:002009-05-05T15:16:49.835-05:00

I’m not going to tell you how I came into all this money. Let’s get that straight right away. I can’t tell you how I afforded to get out of Ashland, or how I can afford a night like this, at least not without using the word “swindle,” which I’m not about to do, so just forget about that part of it and let’s get on with our story.It’s enough to say that I’m back in Duluth, with a warm and dry

Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04641456695623230697noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-50720571762940253662009-03-06T15:04:00.002-06:002009-03-06T15:11:38.717-06:00

Like any good son, I make sure to visit my mother at least twice every decade. She lives in Ashland, Wis., which is about 70 miles from where she raised me and then left me to fend for myself — Duluth’s Central Hillside.Back in the 1990s, when I was an upwardly mobile high school dropout who actually woke up every morning and worked a shitty job for shitty pay, mom probably didn’t think I’d make

Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04641456695623230697noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-91325437289594331612009-02-15T21:20:00.001-06:002009-02-15T21:24:04.694-06:00

It seems camaraderie among Veterans of Foreign Wars is on the decline. Duluth is down to its last V.F.W. club, the Duprey-Alexander Post 137 in the friendly West End neighborhood. There’s no sign on the front of the building, or any other visible indication the club exists, but the V.F.W. is indeed still there, open every day from 3 p.m. until the volunteer bartender decides to lock up.Tonight,

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-56004592943165956402009-01-13T20:26:00.002-06:002009-01-13T20:34:10.054-06:00

To borrow a term from the card game blackjack, I’ve decided to “double down” on my drinking today. What that means is, I’m at the Rustic Bar in West Duluth at 8 a.m. My goal is to get drunk by midday, go home and pass out, then wake up and go to the bars again. If I manage to get drunk twice, well, I’ve doubled my winnings.On top of that, drinking while the buses are still running means there’s

Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04641456695623230697noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-33514634225364378502008-12-16T20:13:00.002-06:002008-12-16T20:18:59.576-06:00

I sure am enjoying the holiday spirit today. Specifically, Glazur Russian Vodka, a spirit I found on sale — Merry Christmas to me — at my favorite local liquor store. So the flask is full for my annual trip to the Miller Hill Mall, where I will wander around frightening people without even trying. It’s a gift, and it’s the kind you can’t buy. Ultimately, as the headline indicates, this column

Adminhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04641456695623230697noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-56312761373688097992008-11-15T17:55:00.002-06:002008-11-15T17:57:51.330-06:00

There are two ways to get on my list of favorite bars: 1) Cater to a bunch of weirdo regulars who are constantly shitfaced and causing a scene, or 2) Sell 34-ounce beers for $3.50 or less. You’d think the latter would automatically produce the former, but for some reason the freak vibe has failed to catch on at the Blue Crab Bar, in spite of the cheap swill. Still, it’s one of my favorite places,

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-58391274060781021602008-10-19T20:27:00.011-05:002009-03-06T15:20:20.883-06:00

Lovers of the fine arts, like me, know it doesn’t get any better than strippers and midget wrestling. If you can see them both in the same building, and there’s a guy with a backpack who is graciously offering to share his hallucinogenic mushrooms with you, it’s time to chant U-S-A! U-S-A!Yes, tonight the stars of the Micro Wrestling Federation are bringing their “MidgetPalooza 2009 World Tour”

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-39596291090055878462008-09-26T04:25:00.002-05:002008-09-26T04:30:36.986-05:00

There are five bars in the Fitger’s Brewery Complex. Sure, three of them are restaurants, but there’s still a drunken synergy going on that I appreciate. Yes, there are also a few retail shops and a hair salon, but a guy like me can always hope our sinking economy will put them all out of business and make room for more swill merchants. Already among the shops is one that sells wine and another

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-48545386299821565722008-08-29T11:36:00.000-05:002008-08-29T11:37:40.259-05:00

Before I enter the bar, before I even set foot onto the parking lot, I know I’m facing adversity tonight. The middle-aged woman wearing pink nursing scrubs, leaning against the wall outside and smoking a cigarette, is a sure sign that I’ll be drinking alone. This woman isn’t some off-duty orderly from St. Mary’s Hospital enjoying a butt between post-happy-hour beers. I know from experience that

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-54123201743811808362008-07-30T06:15:00.001-05:002008-07-30T06:22:58.901-05:00

Walking through Canal Park, I feel totally out of my element. There are teenagers everywhere. A few of them are skateboarding aimlessly, weaving in and out of groups of other teenagers who are standing around together talking on their cell phones. Apparently, they are making calls to find out where else in town teenagers are standing around doing nothing. The whole thing is way too wholesome and

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-39711318061570653142008-06-29T18:12:00.001-05:002008-06-29T18:21:55.542-05:00

Have all you motherfucking patriotic cheesedicks got your economic stimulus checks from the IRS yet? That’s valuable drinking money, you know. While a few misguided Duluthians might use that free cashola to pay down their massive credit-card debt or save up to fix their sewer lines, the rest of us know what it’s really for: top-shelf liquor.And so I walk into the Fitger’s Brewery Complex with

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-20567318592758907952008-06-03T08:08:00.004-05:002008-06-04T09:18:17.712-05:00

If there’s one thing I hate about being sober it’s how polite I become. Here I am, standing next to the cash register at the Chinese Garden, waiting for a fucken waitress to come over and choose a table for me. This wouldn’t happen if I were drunk. Obviously, if had any spirits in me at all, my choice would be to flop into the closest available booth, even if someone else is sitting there.

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-70825583433532844002008-05-07T22:19:00.002-05:002008-06-04T09:19:53.591-05:00

If you’ve ever wondered where all the nimbys who live in Duluth’s painfully dry Lakeside neighborhood go to get their drink on, all you need to do is step into Grandma’s Saloon & Grill in Canal Park to get your answer. Because tonight it seems every middle-aged Duluth Pack sweatshirt-wearing caketown dickslap has hopped into his Dodge Grand Caravan and soberly chosen to head to the tourist

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-6050776856023398942008-04-16T10:46:00.003-05:002008-05-07T22:23:45.882-05:00

Aside from the waitress, the bartender, and the middle-aged guy in the corner sending text messages to his prepubescent girlfriend, I’m the only one at Hell’s Kitchen tonight over the age of 23. The people at the bar are just above the drinking age. Everyone sitting down and eating is obviously still in high school. Even the bartender is questionable in this respect. As I climb onto my stool, he’

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-76128309824970990722008-03-07T13:54:00.007-06:002008-05-07T22:24:45.237-05:00

Like everyone else in town, I normally wouldn’t bother going to Kegler’s Bar & Grill. I know the mixed drinks contain almost no alcohol and the beer tastes skunky. I know there are less than five patrons here at any given time, unless there’s some horrible banquet going on. And I know that no one has ever — ever in all my days — told me about the wild night they had at Kegler’s.I remember

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-29318660926122050402008-02-08T11:50:00.001-06:002008-05-07T22:25:30.841-05:00

It’s Friday afternoon happy hour at Hero’s, and I have everything I need. The bartender, who goes by the name of Whiskey Dick, poured me a drink that seems to be about 60 percent booze. I’ve also got a Styrofoam bowl full of Pizza Man pizza, which the bar has provided for free. A hi-def TV is pumping out random garbage with crystal clarity. Most importantly, aside from the small group of office

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-85407248993660247572008-01-26T13:25:00.000-06:002008-02-08T12:07:44.836-06:00

Back before Minnesota’s smoking ban, you could really smell the nicotine at the Alpine Bar and Lounge. It wasn’t even close to being the smokiest bar in town, but it was smoky. Tonight, for some reason, it smells like cleaning products in here. The frustrating part is, it’s not powerful enough to get me high. It’s just a faint, annoying, lemon-fresh scent. It’s not the kind of thing I expect, or

Barretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12502995280385740476noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-18643249424149713172007-12-19T11:17:00.001-06:002008-10-18T13:53:31.535-05:00

Big Lips has the method down.Every 10 minutes or so, he rises from where he’s been sitting alone at a table in the corner. Then, with his hands casually in the pockets of his camouflage jacket, he simply takes a little stroll, puckering his big fat lips and whistling as he looks to the left and to the right and behind him, making sure that no one is videotaping him or that his wife isn’t standing

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-45978245512111450782007-11-23T18:03:00.000-06:002007-12-19T11:30:31.496-06:00

It takes a certain type of person to go to Old Chicago on a Friday night. With over 150 bars in the Twin Ports, deciding to drink at a chain restaurant in Canal Park takes a very special kind of personality. And by “special” I mean “retarded.”As I take a seat at the bar, sandwiched in between a guy in his 40s wearing a baseball cap, and another guy in his 40s wearing a baseball cap, I try to

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-3641710735574778052007-10-21T22:02:00.000-05:002007-12-19T11:31:02.940-06:00

There’s something strange in the air tonight at R.T. Quinlan’s Saloon. It’s called oxygen. Minnesota’s statewide ban on smoking in workplaces took effect on Oct. 1, and now people like me, who indeed consider bars to be “workplaces,” can breathe easier. As a result, I intend to work even harder now, starting with this gin and tonic. Although I’m likely to live longer and need to spend less money

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-53039225713124897632007-09-21T12:36:00.000-05:002007-10-21T22:13:04.000-05:00

I am beaming with gay pride tonight. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not about to engage in a sex act with another man — at least, not on purpose — no, I’m beaming with pride that this little Superior bar seems to be hosting a Rip Taylor tribute show, and I’m right smack in the middle of it. Actually, it’s the Annual Drag Show Fundraiser, the final event — the climax, if you will — of Gay Pride

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-52390279248371045022007-08-27T17:58:00.001-05:002007-10-21T22:19:21.017-05:00

[Original publication date: August 20, 2007]Author's note: Shortly after the night this was written, I returned to the Copasetic to discover operational toilets and actual barstools.I think it was close to a year ago when I first noticed the Copasetic Lounge on Central Entrance. Opening a bar right next door to Taco John’s, I thought, is nothing short of genius. A sign said, “Coming Soon,” so

Barretthttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12502995280385740476noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7645571.post-24398270516294308142007-07-29T12:01:00.000-05:002007-10-21T22:20:30.888-05:00

There is only one bar in the Twin Ports that has a miniature golf course alongside it. And it’s a miniature golf course that, as long as you are sober enough to find your balls and putters, you can play for free. This is the kind of giving back to the community that makes Striker’s Bar a shining example of American entrepreneurialism. Located on the corner of Broadway Street and Banks Avenue

Paulhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16951922368734040800noreply@blogger.com