In Profile: The GrAssHopper
By Ryan - Wednesday July 06th 2005 |
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Legend has it that a bar for the ages exists at the corner of Fountain and Normandie. The nondescript, weathered facade gives nary a hint of the glimmer of jewels inside.
GrAssHopper! GrAssHopper! Sing we now our song of praise.
GrAssHopper! GrAssHopper! Getting sloshed in squalid haze.
GrAssHopper! GrAssHopper! I’m the Guero, this much we know!
Drinking has never been so fun when fistfights are a common show!
Tengo La Camisa Negra? That means you have a black soul!
Oh dear sweet fancy GrAssHopper! GrAssHopper! How we love thee so.
As a general rule, if citysearch can’t find it, it’s worth exploring. Citysearch aside, a quick google reveals that the artwork outside has gone through a few iterations.
[...] It’s no secret that in my youth I’ve made some questionable choices when it comes time for dinner. It takes a strong stomach to bring you the hard, cold facts regarding porkneck soup, sizzling pork bellies, steaming oki-dogs, philly cheesesteak shacks, all-pudding diets and armenian-salvadorian booze binges. As much as it pains me to say it, I’ve got to look in the mirror and recognize that I’m a man getting on in years. Recently the doctor advised me to watch the diet. Since that day I’ve been watching it well, but not changing a thing about it. Today, I’m starting with the man in the mirror. I’m asking him to make a change. Make no bones about it: my days are numbered in the chilicheese circuit. [...]
[...] GrAsshopper [...]
[...] Ride” followed by a lush, lavish Jeff Lynne-penned exercise in arpeggios. To be sure, from Grasshopper to Joker and all points in between, Damp $ Will Fuck Up The Jukebox. What now? • See [...]