It's Friday once again. Time for another 'tru-ish' tale about Colfax and the Mile High City. A new 30 MILES OF CRAZY! (#40)! This week: The Price of a Free Drink... or THE INTERESTING PEOPLE YOU MEET IN A DIVE BAR RESTROOM.
My friends and I have an interesting game... and when I say 'interesting', that is not at all what I actually mean. It's simply something to pass the time while waiting for the next round of drinks. We would sit in bars (generally around Colfax) and debate 'Is this a dive bar?' For most of the bars we normally visit, we break all bars into three categories: Dive, Neighborhood Bar, and Venue.
Now (for the uninformed), a dive bar is generally just an informal bar with cheap drinks, no frills, one that's been around for a while, and has a small sense of history. No Long Island Ice Teas. No Margaritas. Just a beer and a shot. I always found that a big clue on what doesn't make a dive bar is... calling itself a 'dive bar.' Other's can call it one, but when the establishment starts referring to itself as a dive, then it just isn't. That happens a lot around college campuses. A neighborhood bar (or pub) is just that. A few rungs up the ladder from a dive, more expensive drinks, and also less of a chance random violence breaking out around you. A venue is a venue. There's always a bar with cheap drinks, but a god awful racket generally starts up most nights around 9 pm.
As for 'sports bars'... yeah, we just avoid them entirely.
Which brings us to this week's comic. Yes, this is a true story related to me that happened in a bar on Capitol Hill. The original bar is gone, but there is another one in it's place. I won't tell you where, but buy me a drink sometime and it may slip.
Originally from Philadelphia and Boston (where he picked up the annoying habit of using "wicked" as an adjective), Karl Christian is the writer/artist of such comics as 'Angst Boy Comics', 'Sturm und Drang', 'Schadenfreude', as well as 'Byron' for SLG Publishing and other comical tragedies and drunken accounts for Modern Drunkard Magazine. Karl now lives in Denver, CO with a large collection of tiki mugs and a pair of cats that stalk him for food. He also hates writing about himself in the third person. It's creepy.