Meat up on the waterfront

Happy hour on Friday?

“Let me balance my checkbook first,” I reply, as if there’s the slightest chance I will gain fiscal responsibility before Friday afternoon.

I know I will be there.

The checkbook’s not really the problem. Though, the new TV, clothes and, oh, wait, upcoming trips to Manhattan, Paris and Munich might make me think twice. (I’ve really got to think about reining in the spending.)

Tony and Joe’s might be the real problem. Don’t get me wrong. I love the waterfront. Good food, beautiful view. I just prefer it at noon on a Sunday.

Friday nights on the waterfront generally leave me feeling bad about myself. I’m turning 30 in exactly one week and two days, and I look like I’m turning 30 in exactly one week and two days.

The waterfront feels a little more… I think some of the guys might be shopping for prime rib or a veal cutlet or some nice sushi and after a night on the waterfront, I feel more like meat loaf or one of those family-size packs of chicken – breasts and thighs and legs all jumbled up, puckered and raw.

I always have fun with the girls with drinks, though, and at least a bad night should yield a good story. It’s all about the story.


1 Comments:
At 10:55 AM, Jenny P. said...
I agree with Kristin. I love the Waterfront if I am at Sequoia's, and if I'm with a large group of friends.

But the scene at the Waterfront on a weekend evening is not for the 30-somethings (sorry to lump you into that group a little early Kristin). I am looking for a place where people won't be splashing beer on your clothing, or wearing so little clothing that you wonder what possessed them to leave the house.

I recently went out in Georgetown with a few friends to celebrate an upcoming wedding. I was surprised what a difference a few years makes. I had certainly gotten older, but I think the vibe at the Waterfront has changed as well. I felt like I was 60, not my usual 32.

I know I might seem old, but I would much rather find a place where you can talk people without having to yell, have a seat if you want one, and not question whether or not you are old enough to be that boy's mother.

Where Everybody Knew My Name

My bar burned down this morning. Okay. I don’t actually own the bar, but the place I love, the only bar that feels right, the Capitol Lounge was gutted. Apparently somebody threw out a smoldering cigarette and the whole place went up in smoke.

I’m a little shell-shocked now. One of my friends called around 11 this morning and broke the news.

“I feel like someone I know just died,” she moaned into the phone.

“I’m in the middle of, like, 57 things right now,” I responded, obviously in denial as I begged off the phone, thrown by the shoddy reception (I swear the Verizon headquarters block every other signal in a three-block radius) and an overwhelming workload. An hour or so later, she IM’d me with a link to pictures. I clicked through and reality hit.

I’ve neglected my bar over the past few months. I’ve probably only gone once or twice a month, when just a year ago I was there two or three times a week for dinner or drinks or just to chat with the bartenders and regulars. Lately, work’s been a bear and I cannot drink when I’m stressed. Instead of dropping by and leaving the bar after one or two drinks, I’ve avoided it completely.

I should have kept in touch. It wasn’t just a bar. These people were my friends. After viewing the pictures, I text messaged one of the bartenders because I have the numbers of three or four of the bartenders in my phone. They didn’t just serve me; we spent time together outside of the bar.

Thank God-in-whatever-form-you-believe that nobody was hurt, but I feel like I’ve lost my best friend. I’ve lost a place the feels like home.

If you haven’t been to the Capitol Lounge, you probably don’t understand. (Admittedly even I am embarrassed by the degree to which this is affecting me.) It was kind of understated with beat-up floors and beat-up bars and crappy bathrooms. Politics ruled the décor even though the rules (hand lettered on a chalkboard) firmly stated:

1) No politics
2) No Miller Lite
3) Be polite or you will be asked to leave

They were pretty loose with the rules, at least one and three. I spent election night at the Lounge, smashed between the bar, my friends, and seemingly hundreds of strangers. I cheered for Ohio, my home state, hoping blue and debating with an Irishman wishing he could have voted. I pushed my way to the bathroom, past throngs enraptured by CNN, the networks, the scrolling bars showing the percentage of votes reporting in states I’ve never visited.

I met my recently ex-boyfriend there (during the debates) and mourned our split eight months later. I’ve taken every member of my family individually and in groups. I introduced my mom to the bartender on whom I was crushing. (She thought he was a very sweet boy.) My friends are a given - they've been there almost as much as me (if you add them all together).

I have shown up in jeans and t-shirts and I’ve shown up straight from a wedding, with half the bridal party in tow. I’ve gone alone and with friends. I’ve been there too early for drinks (Honey, I can’t serve you until 8 [a.m]. Can I get you a coke?) and late enough that I heard the birds chirping on the walk home.

According to channel four news, the bar will reopen soon. I can only hope. I know that the world’s in a bit of chaos these days. I should be ashamed for mourning the temporary loss of a bar but I do. It feels like home.

What has Cheers done to my generation?


4 Comments:
At 8:01 AM, I-66 said...
Welcome to the blogging world - I saw your blog on dcblogs and stopped in to take a look.

I've yet to go to Cap Lounge but can completely empathize with those who were attached to it in some fashion. I have a couple places I go to or did go to regularly that I'm not sure what I'd do if I had to say good bye (if even only temporarily) to...


At 9:27 AM, Michelle said...
Girl, I'm so sorry for your loss. Let's find out when they open back up and go CELEBRATE the rebirth of an institution.


At 10:04 PM, Poshboy said...
I know how you feel. I was shocked when my friends called me--I didn't believe it at first. Cap Lounge has been a great friend for me the last five years in DC. Fortunately, Colin the manager swore to me on Wednesday night that they will rebuild. They are shooting for re-opening three months from now. I'll certainly wish them the best. Thanks for your post.


At 10:36 AM, Anonymous said...
Great Post. I write for Roll Call Newspaper and was thinking of writing a follow up piece about the lounge, plans for renovation, and the impact the fire had on it's patrons along with great memories people like you had. I thought this post was a perfect example of that. Please email me at scotthech@yahoo.com if you would allow me to republish some of your words and let me know how you would like me to credit you. Thanks!

Scott

15-Minute Test

You know how, when you walk into a bar, it always seems like there are a million attractive guys and then, after you get settled onto your barstool and order a drink, you wonder where they all went? The "million attractive guys" were really those two guys walking out as you walked in and the guy in the corner with his wife.

Check the time when you walk into the bar, give yourself about 15 minutes and look around again. If there are still good-looking, single guys, the bar has passed the 15-minute test. If a bar consistently passes the 15 minute test, then you've got a keeper.

(Yes, I was probably drunk when I formulated this theory, but it's got some merit.)

At 12:48 AM, Berk said...
of course, if you stay for five hours like I usually do, towards the end of the shift, the crowd *does* tend to get more attractive.

at least until the next morning...