To all my COLTMONDAY.com Hovercats –
(Yes, I’ve decided to make the “Hovercat” our official mascot. If you got something better, go fuck yourself. Or leave it in the comments. Whatever dude. You’re NOT THE BOSS OF ME!)
Sorry, where was I?
Oh right. Terrible news.
Gregors sent me this in an email last night. (For those of you who don’t know, for Gregors to send me an email, something epic has to happen, along the lines of “Alison Brie is drunk, naked and trapped in my closet” or “The Yeah Yeah Yeahs are performing a Secret Show at Great Scott’s tonight”.)
Our House West, the bar we frequented on a damn-near nightly basis when we lived in Allston during our Emerson days, is up for sale and is most likely going to close their doors soon. From the article Gregors forwarded to me, nothing sounds definite, but the owner doesn’t sound like he wants to stick around any longer. He says the economy sucks (duh) and it might be time to move on. The source listed (who sounds dubious at best) says that they might stick a mexican restaurant in the space if they do close it.
Fuck THAT noise.
Was it the best bar? No. You never dared sit on the couches lined around the place, because you’d catch bedbugs quicker than Stevie starts sobbing after sex, but the atmosphere, ambience, and attitude there were always welcoming. The fact that it wasn’t the best bar is one of it’s finest qualities. That was the point! You didn’t feel like you were going out to the bar when you went to Our House West, it felt like you were going to a party in some cool dude’s basement. You never felt like you had to get dressed up, or try hard to have a good time there.
The people who worked there and frequented the joint were amazing, too. It was always a good time. They have pretty good food (especially if your hammered) and Brubaker 22 ouncers for $2 a pop! They played awesome music, they have a freakin’ foosball tournament every year, and most importantly, it’s where I met a TON of great people. I’m pretty sure that’s where I was introduced to Stevie for the first time (and yes, I HATED his guts).
Yes, the nostalgia of the place is pulling the hardest on my heartstrings here, and while me and Stevie have wandered back in there from time to time to try to remember the good ol’ days and had to leave because it got to, ummm “dusty”; the truth is that it’s probably not as cool as we remember it. That doesn’t change the fact that I had some of the best conversations of my life there, whether it was arguing with Mikey about music or Shaq’s dominance for the millionth time or convincing some random hot BU coed to come home with me (it happened, once) and it holds some of my best memories of this damned city we know as the Bean. We saw the Red Sox win the 2004 World Series there, for fuck’s sake.
The fact that it might not be there for future “first year of college kids in a big city” is a travesty. Where are they supposed to go now? Across the street to that douche-factory, The Joshua Tree? Down the street to the BC rape farm, The Avenue? Our House West, through the chill nonchalant vibe, to the “you can show up in sweatpants” dress code to the feeling of acceptance you felt as soon as you walked in the door, helped introduce me to the best friends I ever have had. We even discussed having a memorial for Mikey there, and Dan, the manager who would always come over and talk to us, was more than willing to help us out to no end on it. Our House West was like a second home for us.
Shit, when I was looking for pictures online for this post, I came across this. Anybody remember Amy, the girl who lived downstairs in the apartment building me and Gregors and Dom and Bridget lived in? You know, the girl me and Greg both made out with? I haven’t seen or thought about her in a long time. Then I stumble across this:
You have no idea how sad that photo makes me.
Save Our House West.