Why the Irish, and Why Saint Patrick's Day?

"What are you?" is a retarded and incredibly offensive question that I get asked way too often. What people are really asking, of course is "What's your ethnicity?" or if you want to be crude, "You seem white, but you're too dark. Explain."

Nothing seems to bring out this retarded line of questioning more than my love and celebration of St. Patrick's day. When push comes to shove, i don't see any reason why i should explain my love of a "Drinking Holiday" and yet, i feel strongly enough about my journey into the struggles of the Irish people to give a little explanation.

My general anglophilia was sparked at an early age by a grandfather who embraced his Scotch heritage, no matter how distant. Yes, the name "Lamont" is of scottish ancestry and if you dig far back enough even Irish, but let's face it. I'm as Mexican as a tamale being sold out of a cooler. Being a weird little Mexican kid in Colorado Springs with an "Abuelito" provided collection of Scottish tin soldiers, not to mention endless history books and an early exposure to war movies like ZULU, LIVES OF A BENGAL LANCER, THE FOUR FEATHERS, GUNGA DIN, and and endless array of pith-helmeted books and stories, it wasn't very long before you had a fifth grader who cherished his copy of "The Illustrated Charge of The Light Brigade".

"Half a League, half a league, half a league onward!"

Its no wonder I can't remember where my keys are most of the time.

It was around the time of what i consider my political awakening when my shockingly conservative hometown finally started to get aggravating, that I decided to champion liberal causes and piss everybody off. At this time, my family was embroiled in an epic argument regarding religion, and I was forced to attend confirmation classes and "Go through the motions" despite the fact that i had been confirmed when I was 7 by a Cardinal, no less. So my Catholicism and liberalism were bound for a head-on collision, and that collision took place in the newspapers and literature of Irish republicanism and "The Troubles".

I'll spare you the history lesson, and leave that to the brilliant and thorough documentary series I've posted below. Suffice to say that the treatment of the Irish at the hands of the British even up to the mid to late eighties forced me to rethink my romantic views on the Empire, and served as a reminder that even some of my most seemingly benign childhood affections were childish, and the world we live in is far more complex than is dreamt of when reading of Gordon in the Sudan.

So why the Irish? Because they have been a historically mistreated and sidelined people, who have struggled for equal rights and a nation longer than any other people on earth. Why St. Patrick's? It is a chance to celebrate the underdog, the poets, the dreamers and rebels who will hopefully make Ireland a nation once more.

Now, for the history lesson. Below is the entire 8 Part series of THE TROUBLES. It is a history of the epic struggle of the Irish people for a free, complete, and sovereign nation from the Easter Rebellion of 1916 to the Hunger strikes of the 1980's. hopefully it will help you understand why the music at my St. Pat's parties sometimes carry a melancholy or defiant tone, and why some decorations have a Fenian slant.


"They have nothing in their whole imperial arsenal that can break the spirit of one Irishman who doesn't want to be broken." - Bobby Sands MP

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The Worst Bar in LA

Last night, against my better judgement, i accompanied some well intentioned but deeply misguided people to a place i have avoided like the plague for the last four years.

Allow me to preface my claim, by pointing out that like most major metropolis... What's the plural of metropolis? Metropolii?

Most major cities, Los Angeles has its fair share of absolute shitholes. Everything from a backroom Soju bar in Koreatown where they serve live octopus appetizers and have a rating of "D" posted on the window. Or hostess bars in little Tokyo where they serve you overpriced drinks that you can buy for yourself or any of the young ladies kindly provided for you by the management. But the place of which i speak puts all shitholes to shame. The most worthless and tacky waste of space, the most generic excuse for a "good time" the most brazenly consumerist and awful drinking and eating establishment. A place so bad, that it makes Cabo Cantina, Baja Cantina, and El Guapo Cantinas look genuinely exotic. Even Pulquerias run out of garages in East LA, and homemade Tej in little Ethiopia, despite the worrisome health aspects of their distilling process, make you feel less rotten on the inside than this place. A place that makes Hooters look classy, and Bennigans look elegant.

If you google it, the pictures you get in return look like this:


And despite the fun that bad dye jobs, kabuki makeup, and ill fitting clothes connote, this place manages to suck harder than Tom Cruise at a scout sleepover. I am talking about the world (?) famous Saddle Ranch Chop House.


You walk in to this warehouse of cliches, and your immediate thought is "Oh shit. I'm going to get raped." Not because of the amount of douchebags that seem to never leave the place, not because of the somewhat scant clothes of the staff, no you look to your immediate left, and you see a gift shop, to the right is a mechanical bull, you look all around you, and you see gimmicky drinks. They are going to bleed me.

"Hey there guys! is this your first time here?"

What the fuck is this? Evidently the hosting crew dudes (Who also serve as the pep squad and handlers for the Mechanical Bull) are chosen very selectively. They must have a "look". Like Abercrombie has a look, like people on TV have a look. I have never in my life seen two guys try so hard and work so diligently at looking like they don't try hard at all.. And of course ... Personality. The overly agressive personaliy that only people who are shameless about working for tips can really pull off.

Once you're sat down, then the upseling gets started.

'So what can i get you to drink?"

Not one to back down from gimmicky drinks, i take a look at their specialty menu.

Specialty Drinks
Lasso up one of these in our "Giant" Specialty Glass (See: Cheap Plastic Carafe)
Make it "Extra Special" or "Premium" for an additional charge. (See: Popov or Smirnoff)

S.R.A.M.F.
If you want to know what it means ... Order it!!! Vodka, gin, rum, tequila, triple sec, sweet & sour and blue caracao.

Texas Tea Party
Cattlemen's classic long island - made with vodka, gin, rum, tequila, sweet & sour, triple sec and Coke.

Gold Rush
Gold miners dig this one! Saddle Ranch's own Margarita - made with pure gold tequila.

Saddle Ranch Mai Tai
Cowgirl's favorite - made with coconut rum, light rum, orange juice, pineapple juice, dark rum and grenadine.


Haha! You get it? These are exactly the same as well drinks, but in a carafe! THAT's what i call SPECIALTY. Fine, give me a long island. I need to numb myself to this. "Would you like the super special bubbles?"

So they bring me a Long Island that looks like this.

Oh yeah, and it has chunks of dry ice at the bottom to give it a festive smokey feel.

"You guys going to order some food? Because this IS a chop house, and we have some GREAT Steak"

You will all note that the prices have been omitted from the Saddle Ranch menu on the website, but i think we can safely surmise what dishes tend to get pricy..

Ok, so i don't have to recount every grueling step for you, suffice to say that the electronic bull and all the drunk ladies who ride it, is one of the most bullshit (Ha), contrived, forced upon , notions of "fun" that one could imagine. Drenched in a fine mist of corporate drunkeness, the dead eyes and vacant smiles of the people there give you the feeling that this place hasn't seen any real fun in years.

I'm talking real fun. Not a South beach metrosexual sort of fun. The fun, when you wake up the next morning and your friends look at each other and laugh. The kind of fun, of sneaking off for a snog iduring a concert, or drinking with locals, or of laughing a lot, or of gettinng kicked out (Not for fighting). A good bar is a facilitator for good times. A GREAT bar is an enhacer, it heightens your state good or bad. The best bars are often the ones where you can drink your sorrows as well as your joys, but that's a high goal. What makes the Saddle Ranch so unforgivable is the the imitation of good times. The cohersion of fun. HEY! Have fun! Drink! Want booze? We have it! And its in carafes! AND it fucking SMOKES!! You want tits? We got em, and we'll make them straddle a machine and bounce up and down. I hate sounding like an old fuck, or Holden Caufield calling everyone a phoney or belittling people for having a good time. However if you find yourself on the Sunset strip,do yourself a favor. tourist, local, whomever. Take yourself and your money, and enjoy one of the world class hotel bars, or if that's too fancy, cabo Cantina, Red Rocks, or any of the dozens of bars that line the area,.
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This place may at once have been tolerable (My guess is that the mid nineties saw this place BOOMING. However, if you don't happen to be in the pooka shell, waxed eyebrow, stiped shirt and shiny hair crew, who exude a slight whiff of date rape wherever they go, or if ladies, you might enjoy meeting a guy before having to resort to lifting your drink and going "whoooohooo!" to show everyone just how drunk and horny you are, you may want to give Knott's Douchey Farm here, a miss.

Boozy Boozy Weekend

Ah, the weekend is nigh. Here in Sunny southern California many entertainment companies adhere to the "Gentlemanly tradition" established long ago by the bankers and Madison Avenue execs of half-day fridays durring the boiling summer months. Now, my company does not allow such extravagances, however the companies that do have a ripple effect which slows the breakneck speed of the biz to a crawl, for half the day. And lo there was the promise of drunkeness. So to that ends I present to you.. Mappy Hour! It's Google maps meets..
It's Mappy Hour!

And to get you in the mood here are a few lovely spots for KNOT IRISH WHISKY: