Cigars, Bloody Marys, and the Meet Rack

I checked my e-mail yesterday after a full day of class and running around campus (faxing job application information, requesting transcripts, and filling out copious amounts of paperwork for my thesis committee & graduation requirements), and I discovered a note in my inbox from my dear friend Ben here in Tucson...

... in regards to his weekly "Cigar & Bloody Mary Night," which he hosts at his house every Wednesday evening.

It read:

Dear Friends- Cigar and Bloody Mary is tonight.
To continue the tradition of calling out people
to come followed by them actually coming, we are
going to shout out for somebody else with a name
starting with the letter K.  Kit has not made it to
Cigar and Bloody Mary Night in like forever.
Tonight, she's on trial.  She is being called out.
Will she come?  Will she follow the tradition set
forth by Kristian last week?  Is she up
for the Cigar and Bloody Mary Night challenge, or
will she think of some Middle Eastern paper deadline
just in the nick of time? There is a lot of pressure.
And hopefully she will actually read this e-mail.

Indeed -- the pressure was on. Especially considering the fact that I had no intention of making it over to his house last night, as I had a boatload of Iraqi Arabic homework and at least three hours of Standard Arabic homework to get done.

However, I do not have a reputation for shirking social responsibility... and I decided that this early in the semester, I could afford to fuck off a bit. So that is exactly what I did.

I arrived at Ben's sometime around 9:15, honking my car horn and wearing a homemade nametag declaring myself the "Guest of Honor" and proceeded to drink a couple of Pyramid Apricot beers while socializing with Ben's most-interesting astronomer friends. Luckily, Keri, Anna, & Ingrid also made appearances so I wasn't the only chica at the soiree... and I must say, a fine time was had by all.

Just as I was preparing to leave at around 11pm, my friend Gerry convinced me to go get a beer with him and his friend (another) Ben, who is visiting for the week from Boston. Figuring that I had already shot the night completely, and calculating that my first class today did not start until 2pm (leaving me all morning to finish my Iraqi homework), I succumbed to peer pressure and joined them.

I might also add that Gerry's choice of destination bar intrigued me greatly and contributed to my decision to join them. The choice: none other than "The Meet Rack"...
... which is a legend of a Tucson bar that I have heard about but had never visited before. Better yet, Gerry informed me that it was only about eight blocks from my apartment.

First, if you've never had the golden opportunity to visit Tucson, let me tell you a little something about this place: it's bizarre. Imagine a city that resembles an environmentalist meth addict who enjoys astronomy & strip mall shopping while hanging out alternately with senior citizens, the homeless, and college students. Then throw in a smattering of 1970s and early 80s automobiles, no grass or street lights, and the oddest array of bars & quirky hang-outs west of the Mississippi, and you have Tucson. Frankly, it's growing on me.

And it's places like the Meet Rack that make me like this place so much... mainly because it's just weird & eccentric... and fun. The Meet Rack is a bar owned by a man named "God," who literally brands his image on patrons with a hot iron (ensuring half price drinks for the rest of their lives). OK, that's not so fun... but the place is a shrine to "God," who actually ran for the mayor of Tucson in 1979 (he lost), and it's filled with memorabilia from his life. This would include photos from his acting days, in which he played a small role in "Cannonball Run," Arnold Schwarzenegger posing in the bar in a rather lewd position, photos from his Ironman competitions, military pictures when he was an Army Ran ger, portraits painted by his mother, and a framed collection of the paperwork & photos from his debut on "People's Court," when a branded woman sued him after the burn got infected.

Here is "God"...

He reminds me of a character from a Quentin Tarantino film.

I should also mention that God apparently lives at the bar. His bedroom is to the side of the main bar area, with a private door marked only by a large iconographic drawing of him.

Upon arrival at the bar, Gerry, Ben, and I noticed we were the only customers. Here we are outside prior to our entrance...

This is God's car. It's a Ford Festiva. I laughed out loud for about 30 seconds in my car when I pulled up next to it. (that's my enormous looking Honda Accord parked next to it on the right). And that's Gerry's tiny little Toyota Matrix, which also dwarfs the Festiva, on the other side.

I made Gerry & Ben pose on the other side so you can see the auto in all its glory...

Please note the license plate, not to mention the "aunt eater" and the Arabic "infidel" sticker.

However, this was the best part...

The dangling testes hanging off the rear bumper.

When we got inside, this is what we found. A totally empty bar (God was hiding in his bedroom, unfortunately, and I never did see him in person)...

... please note the memorabilia on the walls and the women's undergarments hanging, well, everywhere from the ceiling. However, I guess no one goes there on Wednesday nights.

We were greeted only by George, the resident bartender, who claimed to have been waiting just for us all night...

Although you can't tell from this photo I took, he had total Lou Ferrigno/Incredible Hulk hair (which I believe I told him)...


He was from Long Island. And he's a musician (or so he says). We heard a lot about George in the hour we were there. Way too much actually. As you can see in the picture above, he also decided to serenade us with several Jim Croce hits on his guitar (mediocre at best, but then again, we were the only customers in the Meet Rack at midnight on Wednesday).

Ben and Gerry (haha!! Ben and Gerry!!!) were amused...

A totally weird night!

I should also mention that George gave us a full tour of the bar, in which we were shown the "sex toy gallery" in a private room, the condom dispenser in the ladies bathroom that results in only a siren and spotlight going off when a woman attempts to use it, and then George's renditions of a number of magic tricks and dirty jokes.

My recommendation: If you're ever in Tucson, make a visit.