The Great Escape

2433 Bardstown Rd
Louisville, KY 40205
(502) 456-2216

You never forget your first and I can't forget The Great Escape. TGE is the best there is. This place, quite literally, changed my life. Before I discovered The Great Escape, I bought comic books off the spinning racks at Walgreens. Yes, it was haphazard and there was no rhyme or reason to what I was doing. I just liked the costumes, powers and stories.

When I was 7, after doing well on a spelling test, my dad took me on a 'surprise trip.' The destination was The Great Escape. I had never seen a place like this. An entire store made up of comic books, action figures, posters and more. I was transfixed. And hooked. I became a collector that day. I began to cultivate a taste for artists (George Perez), titles (The New Mutants & The Legion of Super Heroes) and authors (Chris Claremont). I discovered conventions, talked to other little kids who read comics, stretched my imagination, increased my vocabulary...and began to write. All these things were borne from my first trip to the Greatest comic store on earth.

As I grew older, I began to appreciate the books & music TGE sold. The staff (some of whom still work there) were always nice to me. That's right: comic guys who are nice to little kids! It's unheard of. They're knowledgeable, helpful, cool and friendly. The store is stocked to the gills. New books never run out and if you can't find an old book in the back stock, it doesn't exist.

After years of coveting it, I finally bought my Terra-era, pre-Judas Contract reveal, George Perez drawn New Teen Titans poster. It's one of my most prized possessions. After years of coming here, I still get the goose bumps of a little boy whose world is about to get a little brighter. The Great Escape is magic. Still.

The Zone

4121 Shelbyville Rd
Louisville, KY 40207
(502) 893-8654

Oh, Zone. I have finally had it with your broke-down ways. For years, my other comic geek friends would ask, "Why do you go to the Zone? That place sucks." I always defended you. But, I can do so no longer. You are rotten to the core.

I have had it with your lack of back stock.

I have grown tired of your haphazard hours and Three Stooges approach to customer service.

I am sick of you running out of books hours after they've been placed on the racks. This is not an every now & then problem. It's weekly. If I have to go to another comic store to purchase the books you ran out of, why not just go to that store initially?

And - Fox News on the TV? Really? I am already aggravated that you open up an hour (or more) later than the Greater Louisville comic store. I am already annoyed that 2 of the 5 books I want to pick up are already sold out. I am already ticked off by the fan boy 'tude. But, you want me to have a conniption fit by watching Ann "Is She the Live Action Gollum?" Coulter to boot? No. Not anymore.

Allow me to speak to you, comic geek to comic geek. I would rather eat Arby's for a week solid and have the Lost Smoke monster fly out of my @ss, than to patronize your wack store.

Havana Rumba

4115 Oechsli Ave
Louisville, KY 40207
(502) 897-1959

The following is an urgent message from John William: People of Louisville, STOP going to this place! My experience was not good. At all. Egads, it was awful. Yuck. Blergh. Am I making myself clear?

After getting a recommendation to come here from several friends, I decided to check it out. I love Cuban food. I eat it with some frequency and I know what I like. This place should be a home run, right? Ah ah ah. Not so fast. I came with a party of five. Even though we were no closer to free, we were still making it work (which is just as well, because Neve Campbell & Scott Wolf were not working anything. But Lacey Chabert grew up to be HOT! Wow. Wait. What am I talking about? Oh yeah). Six people. There were no available tables, so we sidled up to the bar to get a drink. Fresh off my great experience at N, I ordered a Cuba Libre. I received a "Lime" Coke. As in, add adjective "Cherry" or "Diet." The only thing libre'd from this drink was my friend's cash (thanks, Julie!).

Unamused from this gaffe, we took our seats at our now-ready table. I tried to keep an open mind, but that effort was quashed when our party of 6 was seated at a 4 top. Breathe in, breathe out. To 'rectify' the situation, the staff brought out two foldable lawn chairs. I started to laugh because, surely, they were joking. They were not. Breathe in, breathe out. A waitress sauntered up to the table an-.. Whoops. Not our waitress. "[Your waiter] is having a hectic night, so I am going to take your drink order." Lady, who's NOT having a hectic night around here? She offered to take our drink orders but our sodas-at-liquor-prices libations were full. Everyone's, that is, except my friend, Tracy. She ordered a margarita.

After another 20 minutes, our waiter finally shows up without Tracy's margarita and opens with this nugget: "What do you want?" Ha! Jokes abound at Havana Rumba. You get a show with your dinner. I see. That explains the prices. We order our food (and Tracy re-orders her margarita) and resume our conversation. After a long while, our food shows up (without Tracy's margarita) and, after redistributing our plates ourselves, everyone digs in. I ordered the lechon meal. The same meal at 90 Miles costs $9.95. It comes with three sides and it's delicious. This meal cost $12.95. It came with two sides and it was inedible. I'm guessing that this poor pig lived on a diet of Chek cola, chaw & black jelly beans as it lived a life of crime on the run. It was gray, tasteless and full of fat. Literally, half of my meat was fat. After I trimmed the fat, not only was there not much left but it was bland and seasonless. Tracy, who was still without her margarita, thought I was bellyaching without cause and tried some of my pork. Her response, "I meant to tell you to order the chicken."

Our waiter showed up (the second time of the evening we saw him; he didn't deliver our food, make sure the orders were right or check up on us) and asked how everything was. I told him. He shrugged. Again, Havana Rumba provides jokes. Maybe it can open for Dane Cook. A more disappointing and overpriced meal, I have not had in a while. Is there a Cuban version of the Chupacabra? If so, this might be the place! Be gone, Havana Rumba!!

Chicago Transit Authority CTA Part 2

567 W Lake Street
Chicago, IL 60661
(312) 664-7200

O.M.G. I d@mn near lost my mind and had a psychotic episode at CTA headquarters!! Today's episode of "Raising The Bar of Incompetence/Lowering The Depths Of Helpfulness" played out as follows:

My CTA card was stolen. I called customer 'service' to find out what to do. I found out that I should go online and "replace" the card and opt to pick a new one up the next day. *I* should do this. Fine. I went online. Placed a 'replace' order, noted the $5 fee for doing so, scowled & went to bed. I woke up this morning, got ready for work, caught the bus, paid $2.25, got off the bus, caught a train, paid $2.25, transferred train and entered the gleaming city that is CTA headquarters. Seriously, it's Ozian in its municipal opulence. By all the gltiz of the place, I could tell the CTA is hurting for funds.

I went up the stairs, waited in line and, finally, approached the window for my new card. "Hold." Wait. What? "You need to see the customer service gentleman around the corner. I can't help you." Wait. What? Disgruntled, but hopeful, I complied and made my way to the reception area. I told the man behind the desk of my plight. "Uhma, I cain't help you." Wait. What? "You went online and did yo' own card. I cain't override that." Wait. What? "You will get your new card in three or four days. You shulda never done that. You shulda came in here and did it for free. Why didn't you do that? Now you have to pay your way with cash or get a new cwhard." WAIT. WHAAATTT????!!!!

For purposes of any law enforcement reading this, words may or may not have been said. Threats may or may not have been made. A phone may or may not have been whupped upside someone's head. It's all unclear. And, isn't that all in the past (if something happened, that is)? Rather than explain to me why following customer service instructions lead me to this dark fate in the first place and it should be someone's job to fix the f up...Rather than rationalize to me why it takes 3 or 4 days for me to pick something up I could have already had in my hands 30 minutes ago and that is processed four blocks from where we stand...Rather than figuring out that giving the customer the ability to place a *hold* on his card in order to freeze the card until the customer can speak to a competent service agent & rectify the situation...Rather than all of this (and more), I was out $30, an hour of my time and a broken nail (from the phone upside the head whuppin'). All I had was a further reason to loathe the CTA.

I...I...despise the CTA so...so...much....I have..."Mrs. White" levels of hate flame on...both..sides of my...my..face. Everyday is a struggle of late buses, interrupted train service & terrible customer 'service.' The CTA, from its head management to the legion of rail 'workers' who lounge about 5 at a time ogling women and doing little other than reaping the benefits of collective bargaining, is an exercise in failure. And we get to pay MORE for it. More?! Aaa. Aaaaa! AAAAA!!!!!1111!!:(!!!!1 I say thee, nay! Nay!!

Chicago Transit Authority CTA Part 1

567 W Lake Street
Chicago, IL 60661
(312) 664-7200

I suppose I knew it would come to this: the CTA. Throughout history, epic tales have been written about great antagonists. Superman v. Lex Luthor. Batman v. The Joker. John William. v. the CTA. Yes, the CTA is my arch enemy and one day I will destroy it.

In the years I have been riding the CTA, I have come to terms with an 11 minute drive taking 40. I have found some peace with the fact that running for a bus means the driver WILL pull off that much quicker in an attempt to leave you behind. I try to remain calm as I walked the #22 route from Andersonville to Lincoln Park and NEVER.SAW.ONE.SOUTHBOUND.BUS! The same thing happened as I walked from Lincoln Park to the Loop. I almost crapped my pants when I saw two thugs beat up a Chad whose only fault was having a mouthy Trixie as a girlfriend (said gf was the reason Chad got popped). I felt for the young woman who was pick pocketed IN FRONT OF THE CPD and nothing was done (Roosevelt stop, Red Line). I channel my inner chi as I stand in sub-zero temperatures, without cover, as 30 mph winds attempt to cut me to my very soul waiting for a bus that is 35 minutes late. I put a smile in my voice when dealing with CTA customer service reps who would care less about giving you the right information or answering the phone in a timely manner. I very nearly lose my isht when I see Richard Rodriguez (and Ron Huberman before him) on the news talking about an organization he is so woefully ill-equipped to run (gotta love Chicago patronage; Rodriguez has had a different job every year for the past ten years and Huberman was a BEAT COP! He didn't even have so much as a CTA card before King Daley gave him the CTA gig!). But I stay calm because I look at this as my training. Just as the Bride suffered under the cruel tutelage of of Pai Mei, so must I suffer and train under the evil of Richard Rodriguez and the CTA. Only then will I have the skills necessary to vanquish my enemy. You see, this is about more than me and the CTA. Bring on the House of Blue Leaves and the Crazy 88. No problem. I'll handle it. This is an eternal struggle of good v. evil.

Richard Rodriguez - I call you out. The hanky, it is dropped. Cage Match. Winner takes the reins of the the tattooed beast that is the CTA. I call you out too, Huberman. At least the Trib gave CPS (your new cush job) an F!

Ñ

2977 N Elston Ave
Chicago, IL 60618
(773) 866-9898

THE perfect place to get your "grown & sexy" on. N (I don't know how to get the ~ over the letter) is a perfect combination of restaurant & lounge, but I prefer it as a lounge.

A lounge? Yes. It's dark. It's not dark like "romantic atmosphere" dark. It's dark like "are shots about to ring out up in here?" dark. There are candles on the tables, but they don't illuminate the place very well.

A lounge? Yes. It's loud. When my friend & I walked in, we were able to speak to each other in a normal voice. Then, the dj started spinning some really tight Brazilian house. And we started to shout at each other. Then, he started pumping some awesome updated samba beats. And we started screaming at each other. Then, he mashed up a Portuguese version of "Ain't No Stoppin' Us Now" (and it was awesome). And we held up the candle so as to speak in sign language. By the end of the night, we said "Funk it" and gave up on talking to each other, so as to eat, drink & dance.

A lounge? Yes. There are great drinks. The food is pretty good, as well. We shared empanadas (spinach, beef, chicken and ham & cheese) and this tortilla thing (not very good). She ordered a chorizo sandwich that she liked and I ordered a chicken sandwich I REALLY liked (chicken, onion, tomato, lettuce - topped with melted cheese and a fried egg). We poured chimichurri on everything and got to some serious grubbing. But, this is about the booze. We started with La Negra martinis (dry for her, regular sweetness for me). Mmm, blackberry puree. Me like. Drink # 2 was a Cuba Libre served with little ice in a large pint glass. It was chock full of liquor and it made me become one with the music. Drink # 3 was La Pina. Yeah, I was getting sauced and didn't care to keep up a macho facade. Bring on the Pineapple & Coconut rum!! I won't be judged!! Mmm, fruity. The bartender had very heavy pours and me really likey that.

A lounge? Yes. You should dance. Since I was all boozed up, I decided that I needed to tear up tha dance flo'. Armed with darkness, beats and liquor, my hips were in no mood to lie and I started shakin' it. In fact, MC Hammer came out of retirement to ask me to stop hurtin' folks. I couldn't be stopped. I'd been to Sinha's earlier in the year. I knew how to shake it like a polaroid picture. In fact, my booty shakin' was so intoxicatin', I got another La Pina - on the house! You heard me; stop hatin'! Dancing for booze? Just call me "Gator." It wasn't shame that caused me to stop dancing. It was the stitch in my side. My azz is old!! I can't shake it all night anymore.

A lounge? Yes. Yes, please!! Again and over again.

Crisp

2940 N Broadway Ave
Chicago, IL 60657
(773) 697-7610

The fact that I went to Crisp and had such an enjoyable experience is proof that I am mellowing out in my old age. I'd tried going to Crisp almost a year ago. I called to get the hours of operation. I got a recording listing the times. I looked at the clock and saw that I had a good 1.5 hours to spare before closing and made my way through the cold snow & ice (remember last winter?) to get some Korean food. They were closed. That night, I swore a vendetta against Crisp and vowed to destroy it.

Fast forward nearly a year and I am hanging out with She Who Shall Not Be Named ('SWSNBN') on another terribly cold day in Chicago. After wandering in the tundra for what seemed like 40 years, she decided upon us going to Crisp. I told her that I had sworn a vendetta against the place and would not go. She gave me a side eye and walked in the door. I followed.

Right off the bat, we're greeted by the very friendly manager. He walked us through the concept and menu a couple of times. He was very patient and extremely helpful. I'd had Bi Bim Bop before (liked it) and Koren bbq before (loved it) but was unsure of the strange amalgamations I was seeing. Figuring out "when in Rome" and all that, I might as well go all out and order a Korean burrito. I asked for the spicy sauce and made it a meal with fries (huh?) and a drink. SWSNBN ordered a beef burrito and drink. Just as I was about to ask where the soda fountain was, the manager told us to pull a drink out of the cooler.

We turned around and time stood still. Not only did the cooler come equipped with various Korean sodas and libations - IT HAD TAHITIAN TREAT AND RUBY-RED SQUIRT!!!! Do you hear me? At that point, I knew, regardless of what the burrito tasted like, all would be well with my soul as long as I had one of these sodas. We snagged the sodas (TT for her, Squirt for me) and took a table. We'd just started a conversation when the manager brought us our food - and there was a lot of it. The burritos were cut in half which made pouring the sauce so that it coated the entire burrito - rather than just the immediate bite - a bit difficult. But, that's a trifling matter. The burrito tasted great. I was doubtful that a Bi Bim Bop with chicken (sans egg) in a burrito would work but it worked really well. The burrito with sauce tasted great. Whatever that sauce is, it's slamming. I tend to not like white or creamy sauces, but this was the exception. The fries tasted good. They're standard, thin-cut, fast-food fries. They were crispy and numerous.

While a burrito with fries & soda doesn't sound like a lot of food, by the time we finished our meal, I had a nice food baby growing in my belly and I felt a deep food coma coming on. You get your moneys worth at Crisp. I can appreciate that. The manager checked on us one last time before we left and I appreciated that as well. SWSNBN & I both thought that we'd be back. And with that, SWSNBN took me on a shoe shopping death march that made me realize I got the raw end of the vendetta.

You've won this round, Crisp.