Every once in awhile, I sit down and write a list of life goals. The next time I do this, I’m adding “acquire celebrity gift bag” to the list. The way I see it, if there comes a day when I’m standing in front of a mansion poking through a tote bag full of free luxury goods, it means I’ve either become a celebrity or I’ve been confused with one — Paul Giamatti gets invited to those kind of parties, doesn’t he? Someone told me I looked like Paul Giamatti once, back when Sideways was new. Great compliment, right? I haven’t touched a glass of wine since.
Anyway, I bring this up because the annual Sundance Film Festival ends this weekend, and at some point, some famous person you’ve probably read about while you’re supposed to be working will open up the fancy duffel bag that he or she was handed prior to stumbling into a limo and find a bottle of Firestone & Robertson’s TX Blended Whiskey.
Pretty cool, right? Given the volume of customer requests for the Near Southside distillery’s buttery brown liquor, I’d say Firestone & Robertson’s profile is definitely on the ascent. It’s one thing to be in demand here in little ol’ Cowtown, but it could be huge for your whiskey to potentially fuel the good time of some Hollywood exec who’s in Park City to creep out snowbunnies and/or find the next indie hit. Imagine Harvey Weinstein waking up from a night of drinking hard, smoking, and screaming at people, squinting in the direction of an empty whiskey bottle on his nightstand, spying its boot-leather-topped cork, and making a phone call. Months later, you’re watching some new Robert Rodriguez movie, and there’s a scene at the bar in which Cheech Marin and Quentin Tarantino are talking about a Pam Grier movie you’ve never heard of, and they’re trading pulls from a bottle of TX. Eventually, Bill Paxton will be at some Hollywood party, and he’ll point to a bottle and go, “You like that? I’m from Fort Worth, you know.”
Hey, it could happen. Sundance always manages to make somebody’s dreams come true. Just ask Robert Rodriguez. –– Steve Steward
Weird Ode to Cityview
A million years ago, I lived in a three-bedroom apartment in Cityview. At the time, I did a lot of drinking on the balcony, specifically because there isn’t much to do on that side of town and Bryant Irvin Road somehow feels like it’s a 10-minute drive past Timbuktu. Of all the Fort Worth neighborhoods I’ve lived in, Cityview was the only one beyond walking distance of a bar.
That was about 10 years ago, and despite the latest outbreak of orange construction cones (a.k.a. the zits on the face of municipal puberty), Cityview is still pretty much as dull as ever. Way back when, my friends and I would occasionally brave the crowds of shit-kickers at The Horseman Club, shoot pool at Fox and Hound, or devolve into gibberish-spouting sacks of alcohol at Woody’s Tavern. The only thing that’s really changed about that scene, it seems, is that the Horseman has been closed for a while. Well, that and Fox and Hound has a couple pictures of Michael Phelps hung by the bathrooms. Those didn’t used to be there.
I revisited Woody’s and F&H because I had a long afternoon with nothing to do, which is almost enough time to drive over to that side of town. At Woody’s, happy hour featured Pabst drafts for $2, which was pretty cool. I learned there’s no more live music there, which kind of sucks. I drank two PBRs and went to Fox and Hound.
The last time I’d been there was to watch TCU play in a bowl game. I forget which one, but the place was packed and the servers ignored me. This time was the exact opposite, fortunately, and there was also some kind of cheap draft special, but I didn’t find out about it until I’d already ordered a bottle.
If I had to live over there again, I could see myself keeping more regular hours at Woody’s. While the place is gigantic, it has a certain lived-in feel you can’t get at a chain place like Fox and Hound, despite the fact that F&H’s photo of Michael Jordan from his first NBA title made me long to be 13 again. Hours later, after I’d walked to a couple places in my Near Southside neighborhood, I was glad to live in the here and now, miles away from Cityview. — S.S.
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