If there's one thing we know, it's the power and the glory of a good stiff drink. If we were lucky enough to know two things, the other would be that the Great Recession has not been kind to our personal get-slushed fund. If things get any worse, we're going to have to start our mornings with a stiff glass of isopropyl instead of the Popov vodka we keep stashed in the toilet tank. (Don't know if you've ever drunk rubbing alcohol, but there's a solid medical reason they don't call it "drinking alcohol.") Any way you mix it, fiscal limitations find us frequenting the darker lit, hygienically challenged establishments around town — the kind meant for whiling away the hours, and the memories. Of course, if you're lucky enough to actually have a real job with an actual boss in these trying economic times, then you might not want to bring him or her out to these joints – or anyone else you're trying to impress in the conventional sense. Unless, of course, you have the kind of boss — or friends — who are prone to doling out headlocks and screaming obscenities after knocking back a couple of Gersts. In that case, by all means, pull up a booth.
Some of the strangest nights of our lives have started innocently enough with a couple of after-work drinks at the midtown Red Door Saloon, and somehow ended hours later on the front steps of the Red Door East, wondering how in the hell we got there and how we were going to get home. This is what we in the business like to call "an evening well spent." Details are for suckers, and odds are, if you remember too much, you weren't having that good of a time. It's way more fun to piece together the incident with the cop, the bowling ball and the one-legged busker the next morning, right? 1816 Division St./ 1010 Forrest Ave.
We also tend to think civilized discussion is overrated, but screaming gibberish at the top of your lungs on the back porch of Springwater never loses it charm. If, for some odd reason, a calm chat is more your thing and you happen to be in to "books" and "reading," then 3 Crow Bar on the last Sunday of the month is the place to be. Local blogger and WRVU host Janet Timmons leads the Paper Apple Literary Society in a slurred discussion of all things fictional — like our ability to function as responsible adults. HEY-OHH! In all seriousness, PALS are reading The Thin Man by Dashiell Hammett this month — a book that proves you can solve mysteries even when you're downing a glass of scotch every two pages. You should totally join in the fun, at least to disprove that rumor that you're drunk and illiterate. Unless you're running for the state legislature, then we're pretty sure drunk and illiterate are prerequisites, but that's a discussion for another day. 1024 Woodland St.
If the subdued study of the word-y arts ain't your thing, we'd definitely suggest some lively competition on the tables at Melrose Billiards or a jaunty game of darts at The Villager in Hillsboro. What we don't suggest is throwing darts at your drinking companions — they get a little peeved, the pricks. And we definitely don't suggest wrapping a cue ball in a towel and smashing in someone's face Out for Justice-style — unless of course you've got a sick, slick ponytail like Steven Seagal. But even if you're rockin' the sweet ponytail, odds are your now formerly friendly neighborhood publican is probably going to get pissed. And there is nothing worse than a pissed-off publican. 2600 Franklin Rd.
Of course, no evening of alcohol-induced debauchery is complete without a massive, brain-splitting hangover — let's just say it's a spirit-ual cleansing not dissimilar from a sweat lodge made of trash bags and dirty gym socks. The only real cure for the delirium tremens that we've found is a Bloody Mary and some cornbeef hash at the Gold Rush. In fact, the weekend brunch/breakfast drink specials at GR maybe the single best hangover cure in all of the 615. The irony, of course, being that you probably incurred a large swath of this morning's headache at the Gold Rush the night before. Either way, take a cab, designate a driver, tip your bartender and save us a seat at the bar — it's time to start drinking. 2205 Elliston Pl.
The show is coming back. End of story.
The old Nashville Banner column was "Why do the heathen rage" or something like that.
Google the George Strait 60 for 60 campaign. It worked.
Reading comprehension hasn't informed yours, Fool.
It makes me throw up a little in my mouth to see arrogant, prideful know-it-all…