Joe M.
Yelp
I live just a few doors down from this place (helloooo stalkers!) and it is one of the great inequitable and unjust realities of my existence that such fine bars as the Long Room, El Gato Negro, and Ten Cat Tavern all close their doors at two while Tai's remains the only 4 AM bar in walking distance. Its proximity mocks me, tempts me to enter through its doors when I find myself back at my place after conventional closing time with a little fight left in me. But I've crossed the threshold before and no amount of late night libations can shield my eyes and soul from over-tanned skirts in faux-jewel encrusted BEBE shirts being rubbed up on by the veritable stench of tribal tattooed dude-bros bathed in cheap cologne as they brachiate across the bar and flaunt their overtly shiny foreheads.
Once some friends of mine found themselves at Tai's. Knowing I lived just down the street, they gave me a ring and asked if I wanted to meet up.
Making my thoughts on the place clear, I offered an alternative. "Listen, there's a convenience store across the street. How about we all throw in a few bucks, buy a can of AXE body spray, a case of Sparks and head over to my place. I'll turn off all the lights, turn the heater up really high and we can listen to abysmal music all night. Or, if you'd prefer, I know several fine alleys we can drink in. There's a dumpster behind my apartment that really lends itself well to scintillating afterhours conversation."
I'm a pretty big proponent of the idea that in good company just about anything can be fun. That said, J.D. Salinger could show up and I'd still rather spend the night playing Xbox, drinking alone and fantasizing about a living a life less pathetic than stand up, put on a coat, and cross the street to go to this place. Jessica Alba could make an appearance, declare to offer her hand in marriage to the finest vested, mustachioed gentleman to grace her presence (a contest I would surely win) and I'd simply think, "Sorry Jessica, I guess we just weren't meant to be."
What traces will be left when the day comes when this building is demolished? Will it leave a moldy ecosystem, a temperate biome of cellular sludge that will someday be discovered and shed light on the events that took place long ago? Upon its discovery, will this harbor a simultaneous gag reflex and permanent organ failure brought on by revolting stimuli, digestive inversion and the lingering sense of a society gone horribly wrong? Generations from now will sociologists and anthropologists alike find traces of Tai's 'til 4 and question this subculture's inexplicable reversion to a nihilist world view? Or will they simply observe the findings and think, "Well, I suppose every society has its scourge."
Only time will tell.
This is a good place to go if... your life has no meaning, your soul has no virtue, or if you don't know of any alleys to drink in.