From The Annals Of Gentrification: Au Revoir, Dogs In Bars
Perhaps there has been no hotter flashpoint on the Gentrification/Class Wars lately than that of dogs in bars/dog-friendly bars/bars that tolerate dogs and dog-owners. (Although luckily, we are all still in agreement that it’s perfectly fine for dogs to play poker , so long as it’s an all-dog game, and they’re only gambling with dog currency.) At the heart of the issue is nothing less than a fundamental worldview: People who take dogs to bars display a basic belief that nothing could possibly go wrong when their dog is brought to a drinking establishment, where sudden noises, food and the presence of people who may be afraid of dogs are all ever-present. This worldview has a strange linkup with proponents of kids in bars, whom almost everybody agrees is kind of messed up. The root pint of contention here, though, has less to do with the Dogs Vs. Kids Culture War and lot more to do with the ever-present “He’s like a little person!” theory held by many dog owners. This is why it’s been one of the little perks for dog owners in Gentrification-In-Progress neighborhoods that, in many cases, taking your dog to your local (although we’re pretty sure it was straight up against L&I ordinances all along) was perfectly fine. Until now.
Over the weekend, we heard from several folks that Johnny Brenda’s, one of the last strongholds in Fishtown’s RevolutionDogBarNOW! cause, has finally instituted a strict no-dogs policy. Says one Philebrity reader:
Not really news but we finally have officially gotten dogs to stay where they belong. Anywhere but inside a eating establishment. I was about to go all “silence the ducks” but didn’t even have to. The problem was that obvious to everyone with a personality that dogs and great smelling eating places do not mix. I will miss the amusing attention whores though who need them to interact with other people. And I never really did get to see that Great Dane break free from sad owner and devour a Johnny Brenda’s burger after that other patrons little shit dog, but man was it close and I can’t help feel this incident was the start of the communal unspoken feeling
“Isn’t that one of the huge differences in us, where we sleep and eat. Or can I go smell a girls ass without consequence also?”
In the interest of full disclosure, we here at Philebrity are, if not serial offenders here, at least sympathizers. Nothing is better than drinking with dogs. But that’s not the point, nor is zero-ing in on Johnny Brenda’s as anything more than a signpost of the shape of things to come. Like the Standard Tap in NoLibs before it, it used to be that dogs at hip neighborhood bars were de rigeur; now, there and as it shall be soon in Fishtown, it’s babies. Which we can all agree are never as cute as dogs and twice as boring/annoying. It’s like they said in The Outsiders: Nothing gold can stay, Ponyboy. Nothing gold can stay.
