CHARLOTTESVILLE, Va. — On Friday night, I was given a local’s tour of the city by a good-natured Virginian.

My buddy David, who I grew to chat with more and more during the pandemic, is an adjunct instructor (like me!) at Virginia Commonwealth University, just about a few blocks from where I was staying in downtown Richmond.

He picked me up for a quick bar crawl (“beer crawl?” is that a thing?) around the “RVA” area, including a place I’ve had on my radar for a little bit now — and if you’re kind of a freak like me, maybe you’ll relate:

GWARBar

It’s not every day that you find yourself in a city with a tavern named for the local heavy metal band with giant phallic costumes and stage names like Flattus Maximus, Beefcake the Mighty, and Nippleus Erectus.

Shock-rock band GWAR (founded 1984) just happened to be from Richmond, so when I learned they operate their own watering hole a few blocks north of where I was staying, I knew I had to check it out.

The uninitiated should consider GWAR to be like a less-serious, more-perverse version of KISS: larger-than-life costumes, individual personas with grotesque signature stylings, and stage theatrics out the wazoo — but instead of pyrotechnics or fake blood, they’re doing stuff like blasting the audience with fake vomit and cartoonishly foamy cum, and ripping the heads off politicians like Hillary Clinton, Dick Cheney, George Bush, etc.

You name it, they’ll sacrilege it. They’re professional unprofessionals. That’s GWAR’s business (and business is good).

David and I popped inside a little after 5 p.m. on Thursday, and we were the only people not wearing black punk-rock band shirts. That’s not particularly an indictment of the bar or us, but I thought it was funny — you could immediately tell who the outsiders/first-timers were.

We each started with “a random beer” for $1.25 (a fresh can of Old Milwaukee beer) and got to meeting each other a little bit. David and I each have similar professional backgrounds, but he leans more marketing and branding while I lean more journalism and writing these days. We talked about what it’s like to teach young people in a scary new world (while death metal blasted on the speakers and “Tank Girl” played on the TV).

Weirdly enough, I was keeping my eye out for a local celebrity of sorts, but not anyone affiliated with the band: Apparently, GWARBar is a preferred hangout of Rep. Danica Roem (Virginia’s 13th District), the first trans person elected to state legislature in the United States. In addition to her applause-worthy platform of free school lunches, vaccine access, and repairing aging highway infrastructure in Virginia, Danica is also a badass, compassionate metalhead who used to be a journalist herself. If I had the chance, I would have bought her all the beers in the world.

Danica’s only 36 years old, and I’ve responded to few of her Twitter calls to young people to get involved in local office — she’s nothing but encouraging, and if I ever find myself taking that road, I’ll have her to thank first and foremost. But I’ll have to focus a little more before considering that option.

I just think she’s a living legend, and I’m rooting for her from afar with everything she does, whether it takes place in GWARBar or the Virginia statehouse.

Strangeways Here We Come

After a quick drink at GWARBar, David took me to a fancier brewery that a few folks from RVA recommended to me: Strangeways Brewing.

It’s a colorful, vibrant place, and yes, it’s a titular reference to the iconic Smiths album — you’ll find a picture disc of the “Strangeways Here We Come” record on the wall above the main ordering station.

(For the uninitiated, “Strangeways” refers to a high-security men’s prison in Manchester, England — the album’s title is a self-deprecating bit about losing one’s sanity or class or rights or freedoms, however you want to interpret it.)

Strangeways is a beautiful place, and it served me one of the tastiest hazy IPAs I’ve ever had. (This is where I thank David for all the beers he bought me on this trip, as well as serving as a well-rounded tour guide of Richmond.)

We had a beer outside as the sun began to set — and that’s when David hit me with the best surprise yet:

The Circuit

Across the parking lot from Strangeways, there’s a stunning arcade bar called “The Circuit,” which I adore for two unusual reasons:

1. You pay for your beers by the ounce. Pick a glass and grab your bar card, and serve yourself anything to your heart’s content. This is something I’m not sure Indiana would ever get behind, for a variety of reasons (mostly over-serving, but we’re also a place that just legalized Sunday alcohol sales three years ago).
2. You buy tokens to play the games, old-school style. Most barcades today are either on free-play (with a door cover) or take quarters to operate, which makes sense but is nowhere near as romantic as having a pocket full of brass coins in your pocket. I ended up saving two of the tokens as souvenirs because the very concept of them is dying out — I’m not even sure if I have any from my two years as an assistant manager at the College Mall arcade. (RIP “Great X Scape”)

I particularly appreciated David’s company at the barcade — the vast majority of times I’ve been in an arcade since elementary school, it’s just been me in my element. I’m not very patient when it comes to co-operative games or competing against a friend. I’d rather just get lost in the games themselves and do what I can. David was more than happy rooting me on and watching, and that was a real treat. I didn’t feel uncomfortable. He was a great support group on every machine I went to!

David watched me sink a crazy stream of baskets on the Pop-a-Shot machine, try my luck at various pinball machines, and get totally gassed during a game of Dance Dance Revolution: Extreme (RIP my quads).

Rooftop Views

After our tokens ran out at The Circuit, David and I went back to my ninth-floor Graduate suite to chill out for a bit, then grab a 16th-floor rooftop beer and take in the sunset/nightfall over downtown Richmond.

We met up with some folks I met by coincidence at the pool that morning (Casey and Hunter, two kind gentlemen from the south side of the state), and we talked about sports and smiled and laughed and had a great evening that my fuzzy brain is having a hard time remembering now after the fact. But it was a solid way to cap the night (before waking up the next morning feeling like someone whacked me in the forehead with a bull-peen hammer).

Once again, thank you

I’d like to thank David one more time for reaching out to offer me (a veritable everyday stranger) a night on the town. He also drove me up and down Monument Avenue so I could see all of the statues and sculptures that inspired the first blog post from Richmond. Not only was he generous with his beer-buying and fact-giving, but he gave me a sober ride and made sure my first full night in RVA was a stellar one.

David, if I come through again, first round’s on me. (Even if the Wright Brothers are indirectly responsible for 9/11.)

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-moose