"FASHIONABLE BEHAVIOR"

Take One: Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 6:24 pm on a Monday upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term. The question isn't why and the question is who. For until this moment me and my namesake, Frank Barron, have never been seen at the the same place at the same time, and this has the Tri-State area's most refined watering hole a buzz with chatter. If this doesn't make any sense to you, well, welcome to my world. Just the beautiful people and me being modest. Now please, quiet on the set.

Take Seven: Introductions are made one after another around the bar stools. Meeting myself for the first time I find we get along nicely. Among the others, most notable was the derby capped Cole Thornton, who decided this year to give up sarcasm for lent. Everybody is somebody, and the nobody's are important by association. Jenn is seated in her producers chair, and the self adjusting camera's are poised for the shoot. This could be the start of something big.

Take Twelve: Quiet on the set, as the posh crowd contemplates the source of my wealth, I'm snacking on assorted cheeses while chatting up the loveliest of tonight's actresses. Maybe I'm in the mob, perhaps the oil business, possibly an investment banker. (Maybe I supply area grocery stores with shopping cart wheels) Will this guessing game ever end? The spotlights are starting to get hotter and hotter, so yes, I'm ready for my close up.

Take Nineteen: Places please! Sparkles and flares as the enchanting Mandy serves up the drinks and inspires jealousy from another of my lady friends in red. This puts me in mind of a vintage Chanel ad from the 1980's. What can I say, "she knows what I like". My cup runneth over, with both drink and eye candy, it would be fair to say that this makes me smile.

Take Twenty-Six: Well that's FB's for you, where fact is introduced to fiction and security is called to escort both of those rowdy gents to the door. The shooting was wrapped up, and the proof is in the can, we'll all await the post production and the final results. As for me, gotta run, I've yet to eat dinner, and my assistant has texted that I'm "needed" in Prague, whatever that means. As for Frank, well whoever he is, he sure throws one hell of a party. - FB

"Scott Sheridan's Birthday Toast"

Tuesday, November 30, 2010 "Scott Sheridan's Birthday Toast"

Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 10:21 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term. The DJ is spinning. the crowd is brisk, and the Nati's number one place to be seen/cocktail dance lounge is in full swing. For tonight, we celebrate the brainchild behind this little shin-dig we affectionately call FB's.

Yes tonight, arriving by nothing less than horse drawn carriage we honor the birthday of Scott Sheridan, and while many speculate on the exact year ( I've heard 1976, some say 1984, still others have guess 1815) we do know the following: Nobody in this town of this generation has put in more work of getting the collective party started than one Mr. Scott Fitzgerald Sheridan the 4th. The titan of the martini glass, the Caesar of the club scene, our Lebron of late night who refuses to leave his hometown behind.

I, Frank Barron strike a curious pose as the DJ plays the country Mercedes Benz song for the full five verses, but on an occasion such as this, I'll allow it to pass. One thing I don't let pass, a woman complementing my attire, even though I blush to find that my shoe has been untied for far too long.

Faces both familiar and strange traveled from far and wide on this date to pay proper homage to our midnight troubadour and to paraphrase Mr. West, "No one man should have all them toasts." As one club goer after another recount tales of Sheridan and his exploits the women folk begin to fill the remaining floorspace. On the tele would be the last of many Boise State consecutive wins as I'm passed by what appears to be a second year Bengals starting linebacker, and if a picture is worth a thousand words than "War & Peace" was written and re-written several times over in the Recreational Habit tonight.

Well my bedtime is fast approaching, and like a champagne bottle at 4am, all good things must come to an end. As I seek to make my way to the exit, I see the guest of honor still in the midst of the many revelers, and I gather it would be too much effort to say my goodbyes face to face, so I depart without fanfare. Farewell FB's and a very Happy Birthday from Frank Barron, needless to say, many, many more. - FB

"Happy Birthday Frank Barron!"

Friday, September 24, 2010 "Happy Birthday Frank Barron!"

Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 11:11 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term, and tonight has all the makings of something special. Just landed in the Queen City from an extended stay in Tuscany to celebrate the one year anniversary of the little lounge we call affectionately call FB's. I apologize for the hiatus, but hey, the wine in central Italy ain't gonna bottle itself. You ask, Is the Funky Bastard the place to be tonight? Is the Harvard rowing team bitter after after the Yale defeat? Of course, so let see what we can find.

In an effort to chronicle the night's greatest quotes, Peter McLaren comes through with the winner early on. While speaking about his travels in Europe, he says, "I shot a boar ox from 250 yards in the middle of the night in Portugal". And he's not a man who would exaggerate such things, So what will become of the corpses of the boar ox, you ask, "The foxes will have them". Speaking of foxes (nobody segways like Frank Barron) I am introduced to the lovely Hiromi Oshima of International modeling and Playboy magazine fame. No higher compliment could be paid, when she describes yours truly as "the Hugh Heffner of Cincinnati", and this is from a lady who knows the man. Hey Hiromi, I'm not nearly that prolific, but if you're down, You know where to find me. Nevertheless, me and my crowd shuffle off to the new RH basement lounge.

My inaugural trip downstairs through the "Recreational Habitat" reveals more wonders than could be expected. With more personalities per square foot than anywhere else in the west of the Alleghenys and east of the Rockies. Described by some as your weird neighbor's basement during a 70's swingers party. Now add a guy with a Basquiat shirt, Donkey Kong and Ms Pac Man full size arcade consoles along with a DJ spinning Jimi Hendrix, a bar, two girls dressed in "Swiss Miss" outfits, an instant photo screen, glow in the dark glasses, Scott Sheridan in a sombrero, and Cincinnati's Mayor Mallory posted up by the entrance and you get an idea of the scene, and all this before the clock strikes midnight, as we await the next progression of old school sequel moments.

An elderly gentleman says to his wife, "Finish your drink and let's get out of here." A sentiment not shared by many, but no offense taken, I guess they didn't have many watering holes like this during the Eisenhower years. I know that denim and silk didn't mix way back when, but who wants to leave when the women are now flooding the floor space like this, and one thin young lady in a black dress catches my eye. The mood is cool, Recreational Habitat is a hit, and now the light playing off the walls and camera flashes feels as though we are all swimming in a life-size underground aquarium.

Of course the night could not be complete until the notorious Afroman (scream "Holy Afroman") hops out of a mini van and proceeds to perform a rousing edition of "Because I Got High" and places a cherry on top of the night. This is what's known as a memorable moment. True to form, he shouts "Let's get drunk tonight, let's get high tonight, I don't want to die tonight." Hey, me neither, and the Octoberfest traffic can be a killer. As I leave the festivities behind and make my way through the downtown streets, I'm reminded of how fast a year goes by. Always remember this, not just everybody can go where Frank Barron goes, but if you're sexy, you can gain admittance to FB's. Regents and rapscallions, stiff shirts and stylemakers, playmates and politicians.. Some said it wouldn' t last, but the critics were wrong once again. One day the foxes may have the corpse of this place, but not yet. Happy One Year to one hell of a cocktail lounge. The nightlife, much like myself, lives on to see another day.