Shaking Our Fists

Just to be clear, we now live in Cincinnati. Here's the weird thing: we live in the same building that we moved out of when we left Cincinnati three years ago. As a married couple, it is "our first place" and "our third place" all at the same time.

Our apartment building is downtown, just a few blocks from where I'll be working after I cakewalk the bar (See The Power of Positive Thinking). When we lived here before, there was a great restaurant in the bottom of the building. That restaurant is gone now, and the new tenants are less-than-desirable neighbors. I normally wouldn't disparage a local business--particularly on our blog, but this bar has started to ruin our lives.

During the day, the place is pretty quiet. I've had one of their burgers, and it's really good food. Though the bar bills itself as a "sports bar," I would offer that multiple televisions doth not a sports bar make. I look at the activities, like the Thursday night Beer Pong tournaments. Over the past month, the bar offered a Carnival-style theme every Saturday night, including a fire-breathing man placed--brilliantly--on the public sidewalk. While these events are not a problem by themselves, the bar accompanies these events with subwoofer-heavy club music until closing (2:30 a.m.). Sports bar? Not likely.

I invite the bar, their administration, their landlords, and our dear readers to take a look at Cincinnati's noise ordinance. I invite the fire marshal to visit during peak times. I would also invite some particularly proud fathers to come downtown and watch their daughters dance on top of the tabletops for some of Cincinnati's finest gents.

We're having a really hard time getting to sleep on Thursdays, Fridays, and Saturdays. The thumping and primal screaming is keeping us awake, and it's really messing with Addy. This doesn't provide for the best bar-exam-studying environment either. We're complaining up the chain, but we'd also love the economic downturn to hit this establishment really hard. At least as hard as they pump the dance-club music. "In the club, in the club . . ."

Of course, we're old coots down in our souls (see picture above). It's just that it's a terrible disappointment. I thought the city was getting better, but now we've got a bunch of mouth-breathing miscreants down below.