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Mamas, don't let your babies grow up to write PubNight emails. I'm sitting here trying to think of clever things to say about politics (let's not), or the weather (cold, isn't it?), or the mere fact that it is November (hey! Thirty days!). Few things are less appealing than would-be humorists running on empty.
Except ventriloquists. Ventriloquists are just creepy.
The middle week of November has traditionally been reserved for expat PNer Greg Smith's birthday. In his absence, we have elected to go to a place where he would clearly have felt at home: Keybar, a trendy and elegantly appointed cocktail lounge with high-concept specialty drinks and delicate hors d'oeuvre plates. I guarantee you'll feel his hale and hearty presence the moment you extend your pinky to sip your Keymosa. (All right; we just couldn't abide the idea of searching for some place with a Galaga/Ms. Pac Man table besides Motor City.)
See you there!
Key Signature: Mike and the Triumvirate