I tried to play pool in Bethesda, MD on Sunday. I should have known better.
Continue reading ‘Pool’
Tag Archive for 'drinking'
It’s time to answer the question that, I’m sure, is foremost in everyone’s mind: Where can I get a beer in Union Station at 8:30am?
And I don’t mean buying one at the liquor store, or getting one down at the weird pizza joint in the gladiator pit food court and drinking in a corner like one of the bums. Fingerless gloves, covered in ash from sweeping chimneys, drinking from a plastic cup and staring at the deaf girls from Gallaudet. That’s what I do every morning!
No, it’s time for A Touch of Class. I want to sit at a bar like a normal yuppie and be served a beer by a bartender. And I don’t want to have to cajole the bartender into doing so, or be given a judgmental stare like I just sat down and screamed, “I CAVORT WITH SATAN!” I want someone to serve me a beer at 8:30am like they do it all the time.
You’d think that, at a cosmopolitan railway station, and here at the Capitol of the Empire, bartenders would serve you in the early AM without hesitation. “Hiya Floyd, I just signed a bill that’ll murder millions. Can I have a beer?” Or, maybe, “Hiya Floyd, my motherfucking MARC train was just delayed for 17 hours because of a flash flood warning 1500 miles away in Louisiana. How about a beer? And some heroin?”
The plan: I leave home early, hit Union Station at 8:30 or earlier, find an open bar, and gauge reactions and quality of service. I’ll drink like a fish, scribble insane notes in my little reporter’s notebook, then totter to work and pretend like everything’s normal as I throw up on my supervisor’s shoes and then feverishly masturbate in the bathroom stall to mental images of the deaf girls from Gallaudet.
Hello single ladies! I’m Nacho Sasha – DC’s most eligible thousandaire! And I’m open for business!
What do you get if you date me? Not only the time of your life, but the following exciting benefits:
Continue reading ‘Nacho Sasha: Washington’s Most Eligible Thousandaire’
I can’t explain why, but I religiously follow the Bethesda Actually blog. Maybe it’s because I lived on Battery Lane for several years in the 90’s. That was before Bethesda turned into… I don’t know. Little Dubai.
I don’t mean that in a racist way. I just mean to say that it’s full of huge, glittering shit that doesn’t make any sense. Let’s rip down all the old, quaint stuff and build giant condos in 32.8 minutes that only have a 25% occupancy rate! Yay! Because that’s how humans like to live. If…they’re planning to emulate Charles Whitman at some point.
Continue reading ‘Actually, Bethesda…’
After nine years, I’m sad to report that the so-called “NoMa” section of Capitol Hill really sucks when it comes to drinking. I’m talking about the Mass Ave stretch…and beyond! NoMa being the wholly imaginary neighborhood “North of Mass Ave” which is Union Station and the dismal former-ghetto rolling down past the bus station to New York Avenue.
Any news item – a new bar, a closure – is exciting, and so I latch onto it in the hopes that something will break up my sad workaday life.
I hate working, see? I want to be a drifter like David Banner. Isn’t that what that show was about? Angry drunk drifter who befriends small boys?
That’s what every show in the 70’s was about, I think. Highway to Heaven! That was the 80’s, right? But that’s even worse. Two homosexuals, one big and simple and the other with a predatory intellect, travel the country in a windowless panel van taking advantage of the weak and the needy.
Sick, man.
Continue reading ‘Capitol Hill Drinking: The Cap City Rumor’
I think I’ve figured out what’s wrong with my town. I’ve watched it grow up from scary urban wasteland to gentrified post-suburban neo-yuppie masturbation sock, and there’s just a little something that’s off. A sort of sanitized soullessness that breeds boredom and frustration. And hookers can fix that. Wouldn’t it be nice to walk down Georgia Avenue and get propositioned a few times? There are certainly some individuals who need a good, cheap blowjob — from the arrogant, socially-retarded president of the historical society to all of those whining simpletons who defend pretentious shit bars.
But, I will admit that streetwalkers may be crossing a line. Therefore, I propose that the next Silver Spring bar not be a pretentious shitfest but, instead, we do what Bethesda has done for their hookers. Open up a place like Tommy Joe’s, which seems to mysteriously shirk all the Orwellian laws of the People’s Republic of Montgomery County.
Continue reading ‘Silver Spring Needs Hookers’
I do understand that condemning 8407 on their opening night is pretty cruel. Though I don’t think opening night jitters makes up for canned ham sandwiches and bartenders who don’t know how to tend bar, I do understand that one has to be somewhat forgiving. Silver Spring is a growing community, in the process of a wild and vibrant rejuvenation, and at a time in its development where some care must still be taken. And that’s where I have an issue.
Continue reading ‘Always Coming Home’
For this final part in my randomly selected tour of Irish bars in DC, I’ll continue along the Red Line to Gallery Place, and finally Cleveland Park.
Continue reading ‘Irish Pubs of DC: A rant and a guide. Part three: The Irish Channel, Fado, and Cleveland Park’
There’s something to be said for eating at the bar. But there’s a certain way to go about it. Continue reading ‘Eating at the Bar’
James was working through the Belgian beers on the Quarry House menu while I was deciding what to do after their meager Scottish collection.
“I find women who can’t cook endearing.” He said over the menu.
I muttered a reply, considering a shift to the Abita Jockamo, which I always found to be one of the more outstanding IPA’s. But, with the Quarry House’s attempt at a worldly beer menu, it felt somewhat common to order something made in the US.
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