We've got a lot of ground to cover, so let's get right to it.
There used to be a dark, dank, unwelcoming bar on Market Street called the Expansion Bar. The kind of place where you might find a 65-year-old alcoholic with a Miller and a shot of Wild Turkey next to a tweaker who's scanning the room for CIA agents. But it was cheap and unpretentious and so it fit the bill on many an occasion.
Then it closed. And a (mostly) gay bar called Metro opened where it was. Then that closed. Now there's a new place that just opened called Blackbird. The Wife and I checked it out Friday night.
Here's the problem. On their website, they say "The Neighborhood Bar is back," and ask if you are "fed up with fancy-schmancy lounges" and go on to talk about how regular and comfortable and blah blah blah whatever else they are. Well, guess what, Blackbird? You're a fancy-schmancy lounge. Maybe it's the indirect lighting and the modern art on the walls and the low, uncomfortable tables and the bar staff that looks like they should be in Fashionable Hipster Bartender magazine, but I would say that "comfortable neighborhood bar" is the LAST phrase I would use. Maybe if your neighborhood is an episode of "Sex and the City." I'll pass.
Moving on. Saturday early evening at Bloodhound (WARNING - music plays automatically and BTW I fucking hate that) was notable for 2 things: (1) Sitting at the bar, we are approached by an attractive young woman who asks us if we're in the Mile High Club. OH HAI LADEE. As it turns out, none of us were but AYW ("Simone," as it turns out, if that's her real name) is there as part of a bachelorette party and RIGHT I guess that explains the chick in the veil over there doing shots. Anyway, I wish I could say that hijinx ensued but nothing really exciting happened and The Wife reads this blog anyway. (2) Shortly thereafter, a well-dressed preppy-looking guy in a seersucker blazer WITH A POCKET SQUARE weaved his way up to the bar and slurred "What's the capital of Poland?" And I said "Warsaw?" And he smiled and then looked like he was going to fall over or puke. Dude was SHITFACED. He got kicked out a little while after that for getting handsy with an Iranian chick.
And then yesterday. One word. ZEMEZYZ.
There used to be a dark, dank, unwelcoming bar on Market Street called the Expansion Bar. The kind of place where you might find a 65-year-old alcoholic with a Miller and a shot of Wild Turkey next to a tweaker who's scanning the room for CIA agents. But it was cheap and unpretentious and so it fit the bill on many an occasion.
Then it closed. And a (mostly) gay bar called Metro opened where it was. Then that closed. Now there's a new place that just opened called Blackbird. The Wife and I checked it out Friday night.
Here's the problem. On their website, they say "The Neighborhood Bar is back," and ask if you are "fed up with fancy-schmancy lounges" and go on to talk about how regular and comfortable and blah blah blah whatever else they are. Well, guess what, Blackbird? You're a fancy-schmancy lounge. Maybe it's the indirect lighting and the modern art on the walls and the low, uncomfortable tables and the bar staff that looks like they should be in Fashionable Hipster Bartender magazine, but I would say that "comfortable neighborhood bar" is the LAST phrase I would use. Maybe if your neighborhood is an episode of "Sex and the City." I'll pass.
Moving on. Saturday early evening at Bloodhound (WARNING - music plays automatically and BTW I fucking hate that) was notable for 2 things: (1) Sitting at the bar, we are approached by an attractive young woman who asks us if we're in the Mile High Club. OH HAI LADEE. As it turns out, none of us were but AYW ("Simone," as it turns out, if that's her real name) is there as part of a bachelorette party and RIGHT I guess that explains the chick in the veil over there doing shots. Anyway, I wish I could say that hijinx ensued but nothing really exciting happened and The Wife reads this blog anyway. (2) Shortly thereafter, a well-dressed preppy-looking guy in a seersucker blazer WITH A POCKET SQUARE weaved his way up to the bar and slurred "What's the capital of Poland?" And I said "Warsaw?" And he smiled and then looked like he was going to fall over or puke. Dude was SHITFACED. He got kicked out a little while after that for getting handsy with an Iranian chick.
And then yesterday. One word. ZEMEZYZ.
What? You've never seen a heavy metal band dressed as mythical animals or maybe Where the Wild Things Are? ZEMEZYZ.
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