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One of our most beloved dive bars in Boston, TC's Lounge, suffered a pretty bad fire yesterday. Right around the same time a three alarm blaze at the nearby Hilton Hotel caused huge blackours all over the Back Bay, bringing the busy commercial and residential neighborhood to a halt, disrupting T service, and causing lots of confused people to have to walk around the blackened streets using their iPhones as flashlights. [Boston Globe] MISS YOU ALREADY PORN MACHINE :(
But wait! Did I predict this fire in my chapter about TC's in my book? "If you just stared at the ceiling you might think there had been a fire in this place at some point and they just built it back up around the damage because they couldn't bring themselves to throw out their beloved old decorations," I wrote. SHIT, AM I IN THE X-MEN NOW? I'm going to need to go in for a spandex fitting I suppose.
Anyway, I figured this near tragedy was a good excuse to pimp my book, which everyone in Boston has probably already bought five times, but just in case , or at Urban Outfitters or Newbury Comics and other find local shops.
Here's the chapter on TC's below. Go see some pictures of the place during happier times from my book party I held there.
TC's Lounge, 1 Haviland St., Boston.
If you were watching a ridiculous teen movie where the characters needed to make a stop in a dive bar – maybe they end up encountering some colorful characters that teach them a valuable life lesson, maybe it turns into a wacky drinking montage where one of the kids ends up with his pants off in the dumpster (haha, good one Hollywood!) – it would probably look a lot like TC's. The only problem with that is you wouldn't buy it. Your bullshit detector would be working over time. You'd think “Alright dude, we get it, this is a 'dive bar', you can tone it down with the kitschy décor and fluorescent bar signs and esoteric posters.” It would look like they put together a collection of dive cliches to choose from, then just said “Screw it, put 'em all in. We need this place to read as 'dive' to the clueless rubes in flyover country.” And yet TC's is very real. A little too real, actually.
Talk to any Boston resident about dives for longer than ten seconds and TC's is going to come up. They know it here too. The walls are covered in dozens of write ups they've gotten in local press over the years for “best dive bar.” It's nice to be proud of your accomplishments, but come on. It's like your fuck up friend the alcoholic who takes every chance he can get to make sure everyone else knows that he knows that he's a drunk. Covering his faults before anyone else can.
Still, this is a classic dive, and its legions of fans, young and old, probably wouldn't have it any other way. They've got smokes and Cheezits for sale behind the bar, which you just don't see anywhere else, as well as baby jumpers emblazoned with “Future Customer” on the front. Shot specials like the Oxycontin shot and Liquid Cocaine are tempting, but you might want to stick with a bottle of beer. Wall after wall of Polaroids of decades of drinkers in various states of inebriation attest to its popularity across a wide swath of Boston bar culture. Here you've got your young professionals getting shitty after work, nearby Berklee musicians wasting away an evening that they should be practicing, and long-time regulars who might be vaguely perturbed by the kids, but probably aren't too upset about all the pretty girls.
Following the trail of photos is sort of difficult, because this spot has a truly odd layout. There are three levels, and staircases that seem to come out of nowhere, but it's still a small room. Booths along the bar side and in the back room give space to hang out, but the main section is dominated by a veritable arcade – pinball, video games, a punching machine, a piano (please ask before you play it, by the way). It's like a roadside carnival in here. Some of the customers look like they might have done well as carnies themselves.
Aside from photos, the walls and ceilings are papered with a truly awe-inspiring collection of old posters that give new meaning to the word random. Rebecca Romijn ass shot, DMX looking hard, a Mondale/Ferraro campaign flyer. (!?) Some of the older ones are completely burnt out as well. That's probably from years of smoke. If you just stared at the ceiling you might think there had been a fire in this place at some point and they just built it back up around the damage because they couldn't bring themselves to throw out their beloved old decorations. The bathroom has been meticulously designed to a very specific cause though. It's painted to look like the Green Monster, complete with the row of retired Sox players' numbers. Sweet! I've always wanted to piss on the wall at Fenway. Now I'm just like Manny. He might like it here actually, total head trip.
I've been here when it was absolutely mobbed with kids on a Thursday. Tonight, on a Monday, it's just me and four regulars watching Seinfeld. Against my better instincts I start laughing along with them. Seinfeld, of course, was notoriously the show about nothing. It's a weird contrast with TC's, the bar that's literally about everything.
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6 comments:
Doesn't look much different from before in that picture.
heh. Phoenix rising from the ashes. The beer-soaked ashes.
A tragedy. Weird that it was the same night as the NStar fire around the block....hmmm. Hope they rebuild but that authentic cigarette (!) stained porn is going to be hard to replace.
I know, right? And weren't there fires in the Fenway the other day? Does anyone know Batman's phone number?
Bummed. It was right on my ride home.
Always good for a sneaky few beers.
The brother's visiting in a few weeks. Have Amazoned him the book.
U ROOL DOOD THX
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