Aristocrat

You know you are in a quality joint when you see that Aristocrat Gin bottle proudly displayed.  If you recognize the Zemkoff Vodka and Aristocrat brands you maybe a regular of Julius at 159 West 10th Street in the West Village, and if you are, I salute you.  This is one of the few truly unchanging bars in the city.  If you’ve never been you are headed for regrets-ville.  It is the realest of deals, completely untouched by the Squares in a neighborhood irretrievably ruined by the worst elements of the Sex-In-The-City-fication horrors.  As Jeremiah points out in his informative article linked above, one reason Julius has survived when so many other neighborhood taverns have mutated into sets for Friends must be that it is a gay bar dating from an era when that meant something.  One gets the impression the crowd there doesn’t suffer fools and/or straight people gladly.  I’ve never felt anything but welcome, though I could be accused of being both foolish and girl-crazy; at least I’m no Square.  Naturally, it’s a question of deportment, and I have the added bonus of the vivacious Baroness V.O. whom I rely on to charm us out of any tight scrapes.  The other reason for Julius’ unchanging nature is the hideous yellow stucco facade.  This kind of ugly lets you know there is nothing trendy going on here.  Inside it’s a museum of forgotten barroom culture easily equal to Chumley’s, Minetta, Old Town – name your classic joint.

This is a sketch in acrylic and gouache that might turn into a real painting.  I haven’t done much with acrylic in a while.  Ever use a palette knife on paper?  Effective, and also just plain fun.  Started thinking about what a white elephant these huge cash registers are becoming lately.  They are all going to end up like those old hand pump beer engines posted below – unused massive hunks of machinery as decoration.  This one isn’t pretty by any standard, but if they ever decide to replace it with the crappy new computer cashbox you see everywhere, you know they aren’t going to remove this one.  Too damn heavy! Of course, the old cash register is a good indicator of the kind of old dump I love. As bon vivant Paul Lukas says, if you see a computer display behind the bar you are in the wrong place.