Older. Wiser? Drunker!
What would you have if you held a dance party and nobody could dance? You’d have DC9 on a Friday night, the final destination of my birthday fiesta this weekend.
I’m a big fan of the Liberation Dance Party they throw on Fridays. It’s energetic without being packed, the drinks aren’t totally overpriced, and the DJ spins a great mix of music that you wouldn’t normally hear in a place that is expecting people to dance. I never knew that you could shake it to The Arcade Fire. Apparently it’s not only possible, but extremely entertaining; both for myself and for the young women sitting in the booth by the dance floor. Not for the same reasons though.
That’s OK though, because here’s the thing, somebody forgot to invite the cool kids. Other than one or two members of the fairer sex that were moving just well enough to avoid embarrassment, I didn’t see one person that I would describe as a good dancer. Because nobody can dance, everyone does. This is good for me. Actually getting me on the dance floor requires an amount of liquor that precludes being able to dance for shite.
This goes without saying on U Street, but there was nary a popped collar in the joint. (Do people still do that? I haven’t been to Georgetown in a while so I may be a little out of the loop.) There doesn’t seem to be a bar ‘uniform’, either. I saw the requisite T-shirt, jeans, and Chucks. I saw someone that looked like they came straight from their office X-mas party. It says something about the atmosphere of the bar that I didn’t think either was dressed improperly.
Maybe I have a skewed perspective because it was my birthday and I had a few too many two buck Schlitz’s at The Velvet Lounge before we made it to DC9, but I dig the vibe of on a Friday. Everyone seemed to understand rule number one of the drinking code, you go to the bar to have fun.
In contrast, I was at the 18th Street Lounge last weekend. Physically, it’s a great space. Early in the evening it’s a great place to chill, but by the end of the night I found myself wanting to throttle someone. Call me misanthropic, but the place was packed with wall-to-wall assholes. The bar was four deep, and everyone was boxing out and throwing elbows like it was the Final Four. Relax a bit people. There is plenty of booze for everyone. Wait patiently, know what you are going to drink when you get to the bartender, and be polite. It will make your drink ordering experience much more pleasant. It also helps if you don’t pay for your apple-tinis with a card and ask the bartender to close your tab right away.
There wasn’t much standing room to be had anywhere, so you had to do the ‘moving-sideways-through-the-crowd’ dance all night, which happens. If you go to a bar, occasionally it’s going to be a little over crowded. I understand that nobody likes to be jostled, but if you’re standing in the middle of the doorway some people are going to need to get past you. Tossing a hip at every person that needs to move past you to use the bathroom does not mean you are the alpha in the bar. It means you have a small penis.
Right. So a good time was had by all at DC9. The hangover didn’t rise above a low throb, and I didn’t do too much damage to the bank account. I did gain a painful reminder of a universal truth that should be ignored only at great peril. When your evening beverage census consists of Schlitz, Jaegermeister, and bourbon, you should not make a 3AM run to rotten Ronald’s for a quarter-pounder and chicken McNuggets.
I’m a big fan of the Liberation Dance Party they throw on Fridays. It’s energetic without being packed, the drinks aren’t totally overpriced, and the DJ spins a great mix of music that you wouldn’t normally hear in a place that is expecting people to dance. I never knew that you could shake it to The Arcade Fire. Apparently it’s not only possible, but extremely entertaining; both for myself and for the young women sitting in the booth by the dance floor. Not for the same reasons though.
That’s OK though, because here’s the thing, somebody forgot to invite the cool kids. Other than one or two members of the fairer sex that were moving just well enough to avoid embarrassment, I didn’t see one person that I would describe as a good dancer. Because nobody can dance, everyone does. This is good for me. Actually getting me on the dance floor requires an amount of liquor that precludes being able to dance for shite.
This goes without saying on U Street, but there was nary a popped collar in the joint. (Do people still do that? I haven’t been to Georgetown in a while so I may be a little out of the loop.) There doesn’t seem to be a bar ‘uniform’, either. I saw the requisite T-shirt, jeans, and Chucks. I saw someone that looked like they came straight from their office X-mas party. It says something about the atmosphere of the bar that I didn’t think either was dressed improperly.
Maybe I have a skewed perspective because it was my birthday and I had a few too many two buck Schlitz’s at The Velvet Lounge before we made it to DC9, but I dig the vibe of on a Friday. Everyone seemed to understand rule number one of the drinking code, you go to the bar to have fun.
In contrast, I was at the 18th Street Lounge last weekend. Physically, it’s a great space. Early in the evening it’s a great place to chill, but by the end of the night I found myself wanting to throttle someone. Call me misanthropic, but the place was packed with wall-to-wall assholes. The bar was four deep, and everyone was boxing out and throwing elbows like it was the Final Four. Relax a bit people. There is plenty of booze for everyone. Wait patiently, know what you are going to drink when you get to the bartender, and be polite. It will make your drink ordering experience much more pleasant. It also helps if you don’t pay for your apple-tinis with a card and ask the bartender to close your tab right away.
There wasn’t much standing room to be had anywhere, so you had to do the ‘moving-sideways-through-the-crowd’ dance all night, which happens. If you go to a bar, occasionally it’s going to be a little over crowded. I understand that nobody likes to be jostled, but if you’re standing in the middle of the doorway some people are going to need to get past you. Tossing a hip at every person that needs to move past you to use the bathroom does not mean you are the alpha in the bar. It means you have a small penis.
Right. So a good time was had by all at DC9. The hangover didn’t rise above a low throb, and I didn’t do too much damage to the bank account. I did gain a painful reminder of a universal truth that should be ignored only at great peril. When your evening beverage census consists of Schlitz, Jaegermeister, and bourbon, you should not make a 3AM run to rotten Ronald’s for a quarter-pounder and chicken McNuggets.
Labels: I'm a drunkard, My 'The City'
posted by DC Viking at 1:00 PM
5 Comments:
Damn you are getting old! T-Roy woulda been all over getting you out to 18th Street. Personally DC9 sounds fun to me, but I have always been the boring angel on your other shoulder, the one facing the ceiling Sunday afternoons.
I thought the whole point of a club like 18 is that you go to suffer with other people who have the same passion for trendy in clothes, music, 'tini's, and where you use all of the above. Actual, full on dancing would ruin the affect of.. see above.
So the whole point is elbowing your way back and forth across the room, hoping to have your circuit coincide with a hottie, flirt visually, yell in her ear for a while about how packed the place is, and the you are allowed to leave. Unless you are with Troy. In which case you have to wait for him. Unless he left without you. Or Gunnar did. Or maybe they aren't your ride. But you forget to close your tab regardless.
For DC9, I picture Lion's pub, obiviously. Cause nobody there could dance. You loved the bartenders, and could usually get to them. Glad you found the east coast alternate.
Glad you had a good one. You probably deserved all of the re-learnin you did at McIED's.
Cheers!
~Nato
McIED's. Hadn't heard that one. I'll have to add it to my vocab flashcards.
That was improvised. I want credit! =-)
~n
Awesome synopsis of bars in the USA. It's always hard to hang out in bars when I go back home -- I never know what the Uniform of the Bar is.
Everyone seemed to understand rule number one of the drinking code, you go to the bar to have fun.
*gasp*
Paul -
Shocking revelation, I know. The problem is that rule number one of the drinking code can often conflict with rule number one of the asshole code:
‘In all circumstances act in such a manner as to make those around you as miserable as you are.’
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