The Biggest Wang

One of the things that’s nice about getting wasted at a dive bar (and there are many), is that there’s no such thing as pretense. After a certain number of drinks in a place like that, no one’s even heard of being “cool,” which is nice, because I haven’t heard of it when I’m sober. What is “cool,” anyway? Is it something you don’t want to put your tongue on? Gosh, how lame! Dive bars, on the other hand, are loud, messy, crowded, wonderful places where you can shout happy things to your friends. When you take a dive, you’re there to unwind and get hammered off beer and shitty drinks, and that’s just a grand little atmosphere. And it's all just a touch more grand at a little dive called Big Wangs.

Big Wangs is my local(ish) big-time sports bar, and while I’m the kind of sports fan that wonders why they’ve gotta toss a ball around for so long (and can’t you just read the scores in the morning?), something about Big Wangs oozes that turbo-chummy vibe that totally wins me over. Because yo, so you're wearing a beef-stained sweatshirt and ripped jeans with the ass torn out, but at least you don't look half as crappy as that stuffed marlin nailed to the wall. Big Wangs is underlit, the cushions are uneven, the waitresses are sexy and overworked, it takes up an entire leg of a strip mall, and it couldn’t even be more awesome.

When Jessica invited us there for the first time, I couldn’t believe this place had the balls (ha!) to carry a full menu - it gets so crowded in there, some folks have to deal with standing room only. Yet somehow, they pull it together. There’s this incredible thing they make called the “heart-a-tot,” which is such an amazing concept that it bears some loving description: it’s a basket of deep fried tater-tots, tossed in with fried bacon, all swimming in alfredo sauce, and topped with a tiny sprig of parsley, for greens. It’s also a play on the term “heart attack,” which is a term that everyone would feel more comfortable going to see if only there were a play on it, and it’s also the name of another dish they prepare, which cleverly replaces the tater tots with French fries, again called the “Heart Attack.” If you can possibly remain cool during a culinary experience like that, then more power to the establishment. I couldn’t do it. I wept heavy cream.

So last night, Jessica took several of us out again for another crazy night at Big Wangs. It was a big game night, though I’m not sure which, though if I had to guess, I’d say it looked like there was some ultimate fighting going on. And maybe some of that team golf on a dance floor with the big orange ball and the sneakers? I don't know. But boy, was there ever the hell out of some football happening on most of those screens. I’m usually a big fan of casual din, but tonight, yo this noize could make a girl anxious. Hold up, with the roaring!

It was interesting, though, to see an entire room packed so full of people reacting to something I couldn’t possibly relate to less. I settled in on watching them watch the TV, which is pretty disturbing when you think of the TV as an evangelist, which I usually do. (I didn’t grow up with TV.) I thought it might be nice, when the crowd roared up in manly approval, to snap a picture and capture a real moment when something collective and human was happening. I meant to do this only once, but every time they cheered, they got just a little more crazy – more intense, more aggressive, more emphatic, more more. So, every time they roared and pumped their fists in unison, my camera shot up and a silent flash appeared to remind them they were all being watched. I guess that’s not something you can easily hide without covering it, and I think it was yanking them out of their ecstasy, because at one point they cut themselves off from getting too happy without my even taking a picture. That’s some kind of power. It was probably a lot like someone poking you in the ribs when you’re stretching - eventually you learn not to stretch and deal with being all crampy. And yeah, I maybe went on a little bit longer than I probably should have, but these pictures were totally worth my kneecaps. I'll never walk again!

Oh yeah, and a group of thirtysomethings was unwinding at the table just beside us and looking maybe a little older than they probably were, and I couldn’t tell if they were reacting with the rest of the crowd or laughing at the flash photography, but the next time there was a wave of cheers, I turned and snapped their picture. These people suddenly laughed like crazy, and I didn’t even think it was that funny, until I started laughing at their laughter, and you know how this story goes, because suddenly our table and this table of strangers were all laughing at this one thing for no reason other than that we were all totally wasted, and while I’m terrified of meeting strangers in public and pray for nothing other than for conversations with them to end immediately, this is the kind of quintessential bar experience I’ve always hoped to have, because humans are social creatures that crave joy, and we treasure it where we can find it.

Also, one dude in a bowling shirt became our best friend for five minutes when he came over and started doing these unbelievable pointing poses. When we tried to get his e-mail address to send him the photos, he spelled out “Togg_Spears” and not one @-symbol more. He took Jessica’s hand and looked like he was about to crumple it in his, then announced, “WE SHALL ALWAYS HAVE TONIGHT.” It was wild. Then he gave us the Nixon peace-hands and they all left. The end!