I Wanted to Marry an Irish Girl Once

Late Wednesday night I was IM'd as soon as I had buckled down to study my already mediocre Japanese speaking abilities after a long 4 month stint of not studying at all. I was asked if I wanted to come along to a jam session that my friend frequently attended whenever he had the chance, or energy, after work. To be honest, I didn't take much convincing; if these were my more prudish, studious days, I probably would have put up a reluctant internet fight and refused in the end, keeping my nose to the grindstone. But, those were better days, and my god was I tired of reading the same Japanese "baby talk" over and over again -especially after 4 months of not reading it at all. So hey, I figured I was young and moderately reckless/irresponsible, and that I'd give wherever the place was a shot. I've been to a lot of food holes in this city, and when I go to any place that seems generic and a place where university kids tend to flock on a Friday night, it seems almost unorthodox. But hey, I'm all for adventure, especially on a Wednesday night when absolutely no students go out, especially to the mean streets of downtown Kitchener.

So, I met my friend at a Dairy Queen, and like the immature teenager that I am, ditched my mom's car in the parking lot, and got into his, booking it to the venue and arguing the whole way about why Weezer is awesome/not awesome. I took the Weezer is not awesome side (don't let my name fool you).
So, we arrived, we parked, and we made our way inside the old Still Bar and Grill now named Bobby O'Brien's Irish Pub; but it didn't matter to me much, it was my first time in the joint. I know, I know, you're thinking: Weezee, you've lived in this city your entire life and you've never been to the Still? Nope, sure haven't. The average hamburger, wrap, and pizza just ain't my thing, especially when I can make them at home with more than stellar results. I'm sorry, but if there's no Chinese man cooking over a hot wok and spitting into a yellow bucket at his feet while frying up my mainland meat, then I'm just not too interested. But don't worry, food may not have been the night's saving grace, but the people certainly were (oh, AAAND the music too!)
My friend had explained to me that the ritual jam session, taking place every Wednesday night at O'Brien's, was popular among local musicians, and that O'Brien's was the place to go to talk, meet, and make any kind of connection in the area. I had explained to my friend that I wanted to marry an Irish girl once and have a restaurant called L---- O'brien's (until I discovered it already existed). Lucky for me, I'm not a musician; when I was introduced to one however, I was mistaken for an actor, because if I wasn't a musician, why was I even there? Strangely, because I love riding coat-tails. Stranger still, the man who asked me if I was an actor bore a strange resemblance to Bruce Willis. And when he got up on stage to sing yet another blues set, I couldn't help but feel a little paranoid, quickly looking around the room for Matthew Perry and a hamburger that had mayonnaise on it but wasn't supposed to. Aside from the food, which is reasonably priced (or averagely, I should say), what did catch my fancy, were the drinks, which didn't taste watered down in the least; I was pleasantly surprised.I was even more surprised when I realized the age demographic in the place; not to say that it was a bad thing, but when I first entered the room, I thought I may have been the youngest person there. Luckily, I was proven wrong by some 14 year old. "Wait a minute!" I said to my friend, "Why are there kids here, amongst the old and semi forgotten?" "Well, asshole," he explained, "they let minors in on Wednesdays because of the jam session" (How humanitarian). Aside from the odd 14 year old, the night seemed to have been catored to an older crowd, but it was early, and it was Wednesday, and 14 year olds need to jam too, and get some awesome jam experience with Bruce Willis lookalikes, and Chad Kroeger wannabes (and lookalikes - because, oh yes, there was one; and it was eerie. So eerie in fact, that the restaurant's old distillery/garage door/hockey bar atmosphere (clean though it may be) seemed a little too close for comfort. A little too naturale. And when Chad Kroeger decided to get up on stage with his teenage band-mates and sing yet another cover of Sublime's "What I got," all I could do was pray, and hope that Bruce Willis would come in, take the mike from the kid and say, ala Joe Hallenbeck, "This is the two-thousands, you just don't go around singing cliched Sublime covers! You gotta say something cool first!" Ah well, you take the good with the bad I suppose. The older the musicians, the better the set, is all I can say. The music was well worth the listen, how could it not be with so many professionals flocking to one spot? At least they're legitimate. It would be better if they didn't allow minors on Wednesday nights though; at least that way you could filter out all the crap, and ass kissers. Luckily (and I use "luckily" a third time) the really old people dancing on the floor distract you enough from whatever cacophony might come outta the mouths of the inexperienced, whom I'm sure will all be awesome and better than me someday. But never better, NEVER BETTER than Mel Brown. EVER! If only Pop the Gator was still around (pssshhh, like I'm even old enough to know what that is!).
So that was the night, we left considerably early, drove back to the Dairy Queen I had parked my car at and talked about Ben Folds, Sufjan Stevens, John Wayne Gacy Jr, and ghosts, and then got really creeped out.

Bobby O'Brien's
125 King W Kitchener,
ON N2G 1A8
(519) 743-5657

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