Velocity Five: The Speed of Awesome

What a pleasant surprise Velocity Five turned out to be. I'd been there twice before, both times disappointed in the overcrowding and poor service (of course, those were playoff game situations). But we had the patio ("largest in Arlington") pretty much to ourselves, good food and bar service, and happy hour specials till 8pm which we did not anticipate. We also had a near record turnout, surprising since Virginia bars have not been the most well attended. The weather was beautiful, at least 10 new AtoZers showed up, and several TVs showcased the Redskins miserable preseason performance and the kickoff to the college football season. In fact, Matt G. was so intent on starting off college football viewing season right that he went inside the bar to watch the first quarter alone, just so he could actually hear the game and "take it all in." That's commitment.

It was great catching up with some old friends and meeting some new ones. I also enjoyed hearing about what's going on in my friends' lives lately. Especially the story Andrea G. told about a dude she met once, who called her a few times and tried to set up a dinner date, which she tried to accommodate but she had to reschedule. Dude flipped out and sent her one of the craziest emails on record. I have her permission to link to it here: http://guidge.wordpress.com/ Read at your own risk. Safe to say, the dude really pulled a "boiling the bunny" move!

The night began to die down, and a few of us remained to enjoy the crisp night breeze. All night I had noticed the two women sitting nearby laughing and looking over at us at random moments. I assumed they were making snide comments like those two old men muppets. But I soon learned that had more nefarious goals in mind: making me and Max as uncomfortable as possible. I won't bore you with details here, but their bag o' tricks included shouting about how Florida is the "best state ever," boring us with their bragging about getting into Georgetown grad school, and embarrassing themselves by attempting to do ballet moves from their childhoods. Worst of all, they kept stealing our phones and cameras to take terrible photos, then chased us into the street when we tried to sneak off.

Luckily we escaped, and made it down the street to Four Courts for a nightcap. Four Courts on Thursday nights at midnight is not the greatest place to be (i.e., it sucks), but we had a good time nonetheless -- mostly we just made fun of the Fearsome Floridians from Velocity 5. Oh, and Max motorboated me. I have photographic evidence that I refuse to post here.

All-star of the evening: Mandi R., who not only introduced her brother to the A-to-Z experience, but also lasted the entire evening, hanging with the boys and helping us escape the clutches of crazytown.

Union Pub: A Snacker's Paradise

Our "U Bar" was a haven for all who love to snack. Indeed, at Union Pub, we dined on corn dog bites, mini crab cakes, tater tots, and hush puppies while monster mosquitoes dined on us. I found this appropriate, considering the bar also proclaims to be the go-to joint for Nebraska Cornhusker fans, and usually when I think of that fine state I picture corn-fried snacks and killer bugs. I'm pretty serious about how intense the mosquito attack was as we sat outside on the huge patio (which is actually nice and surely enjoyable under normal circumstances). But I won't let that ruin what was otherwise a great evening full of the aforementioned snacks and cheap buckets of beer.

The night started slow and I was a bit worried, but soon an influx of AtoZers joined us on the patio for the snack-beer cornucopia. We had new and old friends alike, and enjoyed pleasant conversation ranging from worst mosquito experiences to worst popular "rock" bands. The verdict: Nickelback, Daughtry, Lifehouse, then 3 Doors Down. If you disagree, please stop being my friend.

It was a hot night and the bar was crowded, but the friendly staff were quick to accommodate our needs by setting up several long tables together. I feared we might be too much for the waitress, but she ended up being amazing. Every time any of us needed anything, she was there. She somehow anticipated not just when we needed more buckets, but when we were nearing a critical low mass of tots. I wouldn't be surprised if she was a robot sent from heaven. But despite her keen ability to cater to our needs, I still feared that when the time came to pay the bill, chaos would ensue and we'd come up far short, as too often happens. I was pleasantly surprised, however, when our group of 25+ managed to pay the bill with the perfect amount, using only 2 credit cards and no calculator. Truly an amazing feat that may never happen again.

We ended up having a surprisingly good night considering our previous attempts at Capitol Hill bars have come up short. I'd recommend Union Pub to anyone who is a fan of sports bars, snacks, cheap beer, or outdoor seating. There's nothing gimmicky or extraordinary about it, but it's a plain ole good time.

All-star of the evening: Our waitress. I wish I knew her name!

The Tune Inn: Kinda Tone Deaf

I have to admit up front that I was not in the most social mood when I attended this week's happy hour. I was exhausted and struggling to keep my eyes open. So this review is admittedly tainted by my bias. Accept my apologies and feel free to correct/add your own views.

I was disappointed to learn that, despite what I had read, Tune-Inn did not have an old fashioned jukebox. Or cheap PBR pitcher specials. Or line dancing. It did, however, live up to its billing as the taxidermy capital of, well, at least Capitol Hill. It also had pretty terrible food -- my Chicken Parm sub tasted like rubber chicken with ketchup on it. But others did enjoy their pastrami, so perhaps I picked the wrong meat.

I can see this bar being a great post-work, have one drink and go home type of place. But after a few hours, it started to feel cramped. The seats are close together and the scenery doesn't change. But one unique thing about this place, which may be true of all bars on Capitol Hill, was that the bathroom graffiti was not your typical "for a good time call" or "paul wuz here." Instead, the vast majority of it covered various political issues. Examples included "Waterboard Cheney," "review the Constitution," and "3 times national debt, regulatory lapses." And so on.

I left quite early because I am a loser, but a few folks stayed behind to finish off the pitchers. I'm told they then headed to My Brother's Place for some beer pong before calling it a night. All in all low key evening, but I think most everyone else had a good time. I'm curious why Capitol Hill seems to always be a low point of our bar tour.

All-stars of the evening: Lauren P. and Julie D., who took advantage of school being out for the summer (they're teachers), to bless us with their presence, obtain the 3rd highest score in photo hunt, and for repeatedly trying to lick Greg's face.

Sequoia: Waterfrontin'

It’s hard to draw comparisons between Sequoia the bar and Sequoia the tree. Sure, both are huge and often visited by tourists. They both provide sweet nectar when the season is right. You could, but probably don’t want to, try to drive you car through the middle of them. (And I wouldn't recommend trying to ride your horse through either of them either.) Although the similarities end there, I’m happy to say that one of my new favorite bars in DC shares a name with one of my all-time-favorite trees (the others include: Charlie Brown Christmas, Blue Spruce, and the American Bladdernut – look it up).

Most of us A-to-Zers arrived around 7pm. We were greeted by a mammoth outdoor seating area, buckets of beer, a gentle breeze off the Potomac, and Max and his coworkers, who had been there for several hours celebrating the end of training. As you can imagine, they had quite the headstart. Max kept asking me to take photos of him attempting handstands on the railing that separated us from the river. I said no, and tactfully reminded him that Sequoia is a "classy joint." Max was disappointed, so Andrea G. cheered him up by teaching us all a game she likes to play called "Gay or European?", whereby you try to figure out whether passersby are, well, Gay or European. She also pointed out that this game is much more fun during tourist season because of all the fanny packs. She was right.

Speaking of clothing, it seemed like a full 90% of our bar hoppers opted to wear some form of pink to the party. Weird. Must have been because we were all trying to fit in with the Georgetown regulars. Or something. Anyway, we enjoyed a quite pleasant few hours at Sequoia under the multitude of lights strewn among the trees, sampled the menu that was light years better than Tony and Joe's next door (that place is garbage). But as the river breeze faded, we decided it was time to move on. The idea of a "double feature" was thrown around, but our scouts sadly reported back that both Saloun and Mr. Smiths were dead. Cutting our losses, we moved on to J. Paul's, which has a nightly happy hour special starting at 10pm -- $1 beers and $1 sliders/oysters.

Our group was still going strong, but had to split up to separate tables once we arrived at J. Pauls. My table ordered some sliders and beers, and slowly sipped and savored our order. We were amazed and appalled, however, to witness what occurred one table over. Seems our friends had not eaten in 82 days, for the 4 of them ordered 36 oysters, 12 hotwings, 12 chicken tenders, 12 crab cake sliders, 4 chicken quesadillas, 8 beers, and 1 bucket to vomit in. I do not exaggerate -- I wrote it all down in my handy journalists notepad. Man, I hate oysters.

Of course, I can't tease the oyster shuckers too much, for once we vacated J. Pauls, a group of us went right across the street to Johnny Rockets for some late night chili-covered-everything. This was a mistake, but awesome at the time. Conversation was pleasant, and we were proud to learn that Jimmy P was coming up on a full year with his current iPhone, a feat to be proud of for sure, given his penchant for losing/having women of questionable morals steal them. He even contemplated having a one-year birthday celebration for his phone, but we convinced him this might be disrespectful to those that didn't make it.

All-star of the evening: Jimmy P, for being a constant enjoyable presence at these happy hours, for holding on to his current phone for nearly a year, and because his previous all-star selection had to be overturned due to NCAA recruiting violations.

Recessions: The Wrath of Kong!

Recessions is pretty much the cosmic opposite of our "Bar O," Off the Record. Both are in the basement of DC hotels, but that's about it. Whereas the latter is quiet, ornate, overpriced, and peppered with a handful of gray-haired patrons, Recessions is Your Dad's basement gameroom chock-full of yuppies swiggin' cheap beer and weilding chalked-up pool cues. Which is to say, awesome.

Possibly the Perfect Happy Hour Bar, Recessions has $4 "King Kong" drafts, half-priced apps, ample seating, an eclectic jukebox, well-worn dartboards, and a couple of pool tables. It is frequented by a host of young professionals and a handful of regulars, yet never feels too crowded or cramped. Our A-to-Z group had a good showing, and proceeded to take full advantage of the King Kongs. Which naturally led to several memorable King Kongversations. We discovered that the only acceptable movie for dudes to cry over is "The Neverending Story," specifically where (SPOILER ALERT!) Artax the horse drowns in a swamp. We learned that one of our regulars used to scream at the TV (while crying), "get out of the [censored] mud you [censored] horse!" We also discussed where we fell on the ability-interest scale, which, unlike multiple facebook quizes/applications, was a great exercise in self awareness.

Speaking of self-discovery, several of us were excited to learn that kissing large mirrors makes for great/awkward photo ops. I'll protect the identity of those who underwent such practice, and provide this picture as an example: Anyway, the night raged on, and the place grew ever emptier. But our crowd stayed strong, selecting a series of jukebox gems, playing competitive pool, and teaching each other the "butterfly" dance move. Except for Joey and Hilary, who left at 10:30pm so they could catch the 10:50 showing of poorly reviewed, box-office dud, "The Orphan." Hope that turned out well for you.

Around midnight, we decided for a change of pace. Double feature! We rounded the corner (in more ways than one) and headed to Rumors for a late-night dance party. I can't say for sure, but can only assume the 5 other people in the bar were quite impressed with our moves. So much so that they cleared out to give us room to groove. We line danced. We funky chickened. We reversed wormed. We (ok, I) hurt our backs and pulled some hammies. Tuckered out, we headed across the street for some delicious Julia's Empanadas, the snack of champions. Was a great night, and things continue to look promising as we near the alphabet's end.

All-star of the night: The woman at Recessions, who calls herself "Fredi Krugar" and carries a calling card in conformity therewith, who baffled many of us with her "Reserved & Private" placard at a table near ours, and spent the evening working furiously on stacks of papers. Laced with King Kong courage, I decided to make friends with her. I discovered she brought the placard herself, because it allows her to focus on writing "material." Seems she's a stand-up comediane, specializing in adult-themed humor at private parties and corporate events. She invited me to her party in West Virginia, where the food will include "BBQ" and "drinks" and the activities will include "outdoor stuff" and "naked hot tub." She told me she is scared of only three things: 1) people without the confidence to do stand up comedy (she pointed to me as an example); 2) bats (because one once chased a moth up her skirt, inducing her to scream "there's a bat on my cat!"; and 3) one-legged men, because she often dreams that a one-legged man will bed her mother, then kill her with his stump. I wish I could make this stuff up. I am sure Fredi's doctor at the insane asylum would concur.

Quarterdeck: Low Key Crabfest on a Warm Summer's Evening

They said it couldn't be done. Every time I tell someone about DC: A-to-Z, their first question inevitably is "Why are you so awesome?" Then they ask whether we'd actually be able to find a "Bar Q." They assume that the least-used and most-hated letter of the alphabet would get similar short shrift on our bar tour. But they assume wrong. I'm happy to report that not only did we find a Bar Q, it's actually a pretty cool place.

The Quarterdeck is a small crab restaurant in Arlington with a big menu. It offers crab cakes, crab balls (fried crab cake nuggets), steamed blue crabs by the dozen, and a "Crabfeast," all-you-can-eat smorgasbord we unfortunately had to pass on due to the requirement that everyone at the table participate. The restaurant also requires you to "reserve crabs," to ensure they have enough fresh catch to feed you. Despite all the crab on the menu, I ordered a pulled pork sandwhich. It was terrible, and I deserved it for violating the number one rule of dining out: don't order fish at a steakhouse and don't order steak at a fishouse. Well, to be fair, I actually created a corollary to Rule #1: Don't order pork at a crabshack.

Nonetheless, everyone who ordered crabs loved them. Especially Max, who had never had crabs before that require the eater to de-shell and break them apart. He loved doing this, like a rambunctious dog tearing apart his favorite chew toy. But we were able to teach Max that the shells and lungs were inedible, and soon he was breaking down his food with smooth dexterity.

It was a short night. More of a dinner with 12 A-to-Z regulars than a happy hour. But, we did enjoy some $10 pitchers to wash down the Old Bay seasoning, and enjoyed sitting outside on a nice summer night. Back to business next week, as we take Recessions by storm and hopefully turn a double feature at the Russia House.

All-star of the evening: Max, who not only cashed in his crab V-card, but was the first person to arrive, as he reliabily often is, and ordered us a pitcher as he waited in anticipation. Oh, and also for sending me the following email earlier in the day: "My nipples are getting so hard thinking about all these crabs I'm going to eat!"

Peyote Cafe: Power Hour and Power Ballads

Like coyotes howling at the moon, "Bar P" presented the opportunity for our A-to-Z crew to flex their pipes as our bar tour took us to Peyote Cafe for some good ole' fashioned karaoke. [Tongue Twister Aside: say "Coyote Karaoke at Peyote" five times fast]. But not before we flexed our stomachs to their mass fluid capacity by partaking in not one but two power hours as a pregame activity.

The evening kicked off at my house, where I introduced the crowd to Jimmy P's classic power hour DVD, Vol. 1 -- containing 60 one-minute clips from classic music videos of the 70s, 80s, and early 90s. On the list of Jimmy's lifetime achievements, this DVD ranks at or near the top (you'll have to ask me in person about the other "achievements" on this list). Picture Earth, Wind & Fire transitioning to Journey switching to Debbie Gibson followed by Salt n' Peppa, and you get the picture. When volume 1 ended, the group demanded more, so I happily obliged, putting on Vol. 4, which is essentially the same as Vol. 1, only 4 times drunker. (Vols. 2 and 3 were buried in a time capsule circa 2005, to be unearthed in 30 years or when robots rule the world, whichever comes first). Oh, and Vol. 4 featured Technotronic's "Pump Up The Jam," perhaps the best video of all time ... that was clearly filmed in at a green screen "studio" at Six Flags (click here now: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1K7fL5s_1ac).

For some odd reason, the second power hour sped by real quick, so we hopped in cabs bound for Adam's Morgan's priceless gem, Peyote Cafe. Even though we arrived fairly late for a happy hour venue, other than the overwhelming stench of urine, the place was deserted. Seizing this opportunity to get right to the karaoke, Max and I decided to start the night with a beautiful duet of Ace of Base's "The Sign." We handed the DJ our slip, then waited near the microphone with baited breath. But something sad started happening. Loser after loser was called up to sing some silly song, while Max and I stood there stupified. Why weren't we being summoned to share our voices with the world? Was it because the DJ was racist against Swedish Supergroups? No -- he let people sing ABBA. Did he not like Max's Ed Hardy T-shirt? Possibly, but surely there was some other reason. Unfortunately, we didn't realize our mistake until much later when the bar was far too crowded to correct it: we didn't tip when we gave the slip. Call that Lesson #1 of the evening.

Despite my disappointment, the night wasn't without A-to-Zers vocal talents. Jen sang a rousing rending of "Ain't No Mountain High Enough." Matt bored the bar to death with Bob Seger's "Turn the Page." I was invited by a group of shrieking bachelorettes to sing the male part on the B-52s' "Love Shack." I delivered. The night also had some scary parts to it. At one point, a friend of a friend showed up celebrating her birthday. Our mutual friend bought a round of tequila shots, and handed me a lime. Lime in hand, I was all set to share in this stranger's special day, when she walked up to me, grabbed the lime out of my hand, and said "It's MY birthday. I get the lime!" Evidently, there were not enough limes to go around. I should have known better than to stand in the way of Drunk Girl On Her Birthday during a Lime Shortage. Consider that Lesson #2 of the night. Of course, I can relate, as those of you who knew me during the Great Pudding Shortage of '89 can attest.

The night went by far too quick, but we had a good crowd turnout and all enjoyed their time at Peyote, which in my book never disappoints. I left relatively early by AdMo standards to buy my summer interns some Jumbo Slice (note to my employer: I billed this time to the Recruiting department), but I understand our group closed down the bar -- always an impressive feat.

All-star of the evening: Me. It's high-time I recognized myself. Plus, I truly think I did an amazing job on "Love Shack." Next time, I take requests.