Lou is convinced that her new beer cozy is bad luck.
What’s with these all-you-can-drink bar fundraisers, anyway? On Friday, I went to an all-you-can-drink, bags tournament fundraiser at the Cubby Bear in Wrigleyville.
I must be the only twenty-something, northside Chicagoan on the planet who had never been to the Cubby Bear, but when I walked into the vast open space of a club, I was shocked. I always assumed that the Cubby Bear – situated on a plot of land worth about a bazillion dollars because it’s directly across from Wrigley Stadium – was a dive bar (a Cubby Hole, if you will) fashioned with plank tables and middle-aged men laughing heart disease in the face while downing American beer, eating a variety of fried appetizers, and talking about “da Bears.”
First of all, I realize that my vision of the Cubby Bear is based on a Saturday Night Live sketch. Second, I realize that “da Bears” are not “da Cubs.” Totally different set of balls.
I went upstairs to the event, followed by another woman. There was a sign on the door:
“Pheasants,” she said vaguely in my direction, “I’m paying to support pheasants?”
Outraged, I’m sure. I already knew what I was in for, so the initial shock of “Seriously? Pheasants?” had worn off.
There must be something better than this. Shouldn’t we be saving the children or curing cancer?
From their Web site: Pheasants Forever is dedicated to the conservation of pheasants, quail and other wildlife through habitat improvements, public awareness, education and land management policies and programs.
OK. I know. We’re all green now, right and this is environmental. I’m sure it’s a worthy cause. However, this charity caters to hunters – let’s keep the land stocked, so we can continue shooting at stuff. I’m not really “pro” hunting. I’m not really “pro” gun… or any kind of weapon. Moreover, my hatred of pigeons has – over time – ballooned into a general, non-discriminating disdain for all birds because… in my opinion… they are dirty and scary. And no, I don’t wish I could fly. And people who have birds as pets… *shudder.*
So let’s say, I was not thrilled to be attending a fundraiser for pheasants. Luckily, I didn’t pay my $25 cover to get in, so I felt better about it.
Regardless, the evening was not without personal gain. I managed to finagle (read: pretty much stole from some drunk frat boy who wasn’t watching his beer) a fancy beer cozy with the Pheasants Forever logo on it. It’s camouflaged. Perfect for all my hunting/drinking/drunken gun shooting needs (those pheasants will never know what hit ‘em when my practically invisible beer can knocks ‘em outta the sky).
So proud of my acquisition of the beer cozy, I took it to the following day’s neighborhood football team cookout where I showed it off to every single person. “Wanna see my cozy?”
Two things happened there:
1) A football – thrown by the team’s coach – nearly missed my face, but made contact with my very last beer from New Glarus Brewing Company, which I had imported from Wisconsin.
2) The Buckeyes lost.