the crab bowl

You can't actually get crab there.

We tried to go "clubbing" but it turns out that's incredibly fucking lame. The drinks are expensive, they charge per item to check your belongings, and nobody on the dance floor wants to dance with anyone they didn't come in with. I have no idea what people were doing there- it was garbage. So we grabbed our shit and went to the Mexican food cart across the street where to eat tacos and regroup. We were not about to let that night be a bust.

After debating between heading home to watch old movies or finding a different bar to go to, someone brought up the idea of going to the Crab Bowl instead. I think a shudder of excitement probably went though us at the suggestion. We'd heard stories about the Crab Bowl but had never actually been there ourselves. It was described as this old and kind of funky place where you have control over the karaoke machine and can sing as many songs as you want because hardly anyone ever shows up. By Oregon law they have to serve food, but apparently the owner just runs down to his own kitchen to make you something if you're hungry- usually Kraft mac and cheese, or microwaved Campbell's soup or something similar. This place sounded equal parts frightening and exciting, so by unanimous vote we piled into the car and headed over.

The first thing you notice about the building is that you aren't quite sure where to park. The Crab Bowl is located inside a big old converted house (like the nearby strip clubs and pot shops) in a neighborhood that was never actually turned into a business district. As in, there aren't any actual parking lots or sidewalks or street lights really, just old houses with signs on them that say thing like: XXX NUDE DANCERS and GET YOUR WEED HERE. So we did our best by parking in the dirt lot next to some stuff with tarps over it and hoped that was what we were supposed to do. I turned my keys into wolverine claws as we made our way around the building to the front door (just in case).

The second problem was determining how to get inside. After leaving the decidedly uninviting back of the building, we arrived out front to find that the first floor was completely dark and there were piles of furniture in all the windows. If we had been 100% sober at this point, I doubt we would have gone any further than that. As it was, we decided to test the doors to see if maybe they were unlocked. We got lucky on the second try and opened to the door to lead us into.... a storage room? A dining room that had an explosion? A hoarders nest? It could have been any of those but there was a light coming from a set of stairs off to the side so we shrugged and began our ascent.

We reached the bar itself. Oh boy, where to begin? I guess with the chunks of cement that were sitting on the tables. That was something that was never explained to my satisfaction. Apparently they were doing a remodel but what kind of remodel involves chunks of jagged cement on the second floor level of an old house? And why in the world would you set them all over your bar's tables? Couldn't you stack them neatly in the corner or something? And what were they planning to do with them?? There was also a mysterious tarp along the back wall that later turned out to be a barrier between the second-floor room and the sheer drop to the cement below. The tarp was tacked to the wall above and along one of its sides. Not exactly safe, but It was kind of cool to be able to hear the rain from inside.

The room's sole occupants were clearly surprised to see us. We apologized and asked if they were closed but they quickly jumped up and ushered us to come in! come in! I spent my first bit of energy trying to figure out exactly what it was they were doing as we walked in. It looked like the younger man had been giving a shirtless rap performance while the older man sat at the bar and looked on but that seemed like an odd thing for them to be doing by themselves so I was a bit flummoxed.

After they sat us at a non cement-covered table, they brought us our drinks and proceeded to hand us each several free jello shots to enjoy at our leisure. This was about the time I started texting my mom the address so she would know where to find my body if I ended up roofied and dead. My companions are cooler than me and so were a couple shots deep by the time I had finished texting my mom, Alex, and possibly my brother. Let's go ahead and call them Lucy and Ethel.

The younger man from the bar was named Sebastian (I think). My favorite part about him was that he kept taking his shirt off- not because he was young and fit and attractive, but because he made the conscious decision to tattoo the words "Eternal Libido" over the entire lower portion of his belly. I am dead fucking serious. And for some reason, this fellow felt that different times of the night required various states of dress so each new time he took his shirt off, I got to experience the revelation all over again and double over with laughter. I fucking loved that guy.

Then there was the owner; mid-seventies, hair dyed jet black and slicked into a pompadour with a matching black muscle tee pulled tight over his beer belly. He didn't really want to actually run the bar or the karaoke machine so he just sort of showed us where everything was and parked at a table to chat with Ethel most of the night. I'm not really sure why Ethel was chosen as his sympathetic ear but after describing the various agencies that wanted to shut him down, he got into his medical issues and brought up his recent ADD diagnosis. Generous fellow that he is, he whipped out his meds box and was handing out adderall to anyone who cared to partake. There were definitely partakers but I just added "taking pills from strangers" to the list of things that I was not going to be doing that night. This is when we fired up the karaoke machine and really got the party going.

Things get a little fuzzy from here. I know a man named Howard and his friends showed up for a bit (only because it's my dad's name). I also know that I tried to sing "A Whole New World" with Eternal Libido but he kept messing it up so I told him I would just do it myself and took his microphone away. He made up for it by bringing us lots of drinks from the bar but at one point he got a little handsy so I grabbed Lucy and put her in his lap instead. That worked out pretty well.

At about 4am I find myself fully inebriated. I'm having a great time as I'm singing a love song to one of the mini poodles that had somehow appeared, Lucy and Libido are playing tongue hokey on a chair in the middle of the room, and Ethel is having the most focused and animated chat of her life with the owner as he half-way lies down across the bar. It's at this point that we figure it's probably time to go.

The owner is definitely disappointed by our departure. I'm not really sure what he expected since he should have kicked us out hours ago but as we go to close out he just asks, "How much should I charge?" We laugh and throw out random numbers that we think might be appropriate. I think we each paid about $20 for as much alcohol as we cared to drink, as many songs as we cared to sing, and the company of two incredibly entertaining specimens (plus their poodles). We managed to drop off Libido at his place (while retaining Lucy) and make it back home where we had to assure our partners that were were really at a karaoke bar that whole time and not off at some random location doing drugs. I mean, we kind of were but you know what I mean. It wasn't at somebody's house. I mean it kind of was cause I think that old guy lives there but we paid to be there so it's different. I think. I don't know, its tough to explain properly.

Anyway, at this point you may be thinking- "Wow, that sounds like fun! I want to go the Crab Bowl and have my very own adventure with libidinous young men and mysteriously appearing mini poodles!" First of all- I support that. Second of all- sorry Charlie, but that ain't gonna happen. One of the agencies finally caught up with them and shut that place down. The only place where the Crab Bowl exists anymore is in our memories. But we will remember this remarkable establishment and if any of my readers are looking to get into the karaoke business, you've got a clear operating model all laid out for you. I wish you the best, and please call me when you do because I promise to be your number one patron. Godspeed.