N
iiwmmura
Brass Rail
1436 O St
It was one of those hot sum
mer nights in Lincoln. We were
bored and looking for excite
ment — so we went to the Brass
Rail.
It’s funny how a small, sa
loon-type bar can attract a cer
tain crowd on a certain night,
when the clientele on every
other night is, well, less well
groomed.
As we stepped into the bar,
expecting the pungent odor of
beer and sweat, our nostrils
were met with a stench much
worse - the Hitchin’ Post.
All we wanted to do was get
to the beer garden, but first we
had to fight our way down the
midway. Just like the model in
the George Michael’s “Father
Figure” video, we were stared at
by sharply dressed elitists. Un
like the video’s gawkers, elitists
at the Rail are from theUniversity
of Nebraska-Lincoln. Get psy
ched!
We met those stares with a
hardy “WHAT!” and the screech
ing greetings with “Ooohhh,
How ya’ doin’, duuudes!”
There’s something special
about closeness with strangers.
As we pushed and shoved and
kicked and beat our way to fresh
air, we were reminded of tor
nado drills in grade school.
Aahh, the beer garden Picnic
tables, 75-cent draws o’ beer and
some greenery. It was the Gar
den of Eden on a hot summer
night.
Now the real fun begins. We
l have always enjoyed making fun
of people who think they’re
cool, rather than teasing those
individuals dressed in K-Mart
specials, like ourselves.
The Rail’s beer garden and
Thursday-night crowd offer
many entertaining opportunities
for sharp words and softy lan
Igu age — and we’re just tnc pai r to
deliver. But that’s part of the
charm of this bar, a smashed
crowd eyeing the opposite sex,
and speaking in real rad lingo,
For instance, like when, like
when we ordered our beers, ya
know, and this bartender was
sooo cold, it bummed me out.
Or like, when 1 accidentally
brushed up against this excel
lent girl with the most bitchin’
hair (the most hair, from hair to
lhair), she was really bummin'
on me for breaking off part of
that doo. Like, I tried to apolo
gize, but all she did was squeal at
me. I’m just sooo sure she did
I that. Anyway, like she kept lay
ing this bad trip on me, until I
told her she shouldn’t have an
ATTITUDE in a place like this, ya
know.
No one should be STUCK UP
in a dump like this. The Brass
Rail is not a fancy place, and
Paul Anderson tends bar at Cliffs.
that’s another part of its attrac
tion. You can dress as sloppy as
you want and be as obnoxious
as you want. The Thursday
night crowd may not like it, but
heeeey, duudes, we’re all rad in
the Rail.
Excellent.
- Curt Wagner
& Lisa Donovan
Barrymore’s
124 N. 13th
I he music s soothing ana me
atmosphere’s calm and easy, but
the best thing about Barrymore’s
is it feels like someplace else
The tasteful decor and seem
ingly cultured clientele-- most of
it, anyway — give one the feeling
of being in a real city.
Rumor has it Barrymore’s is
the back of a stage. The place is
gorgeous whatever its back
ground (excuse the pun). The
ceiling must be at least 50 feet
high, the walls are brick and
plants are everywhere — big
healthy ones (plants, that is). My
pals were digging the place, too.
“It’s got a lot of character,”
Sara mumbled in awe.
“Yeah, really cool,” Jennifer
added.
While grooving to Aretha
Franklin and Kenny G, we
munched on cocktail weenies
and sipped our drinks. Prices are
above average, but they were
having some sort of special on
draft beer.
Boy, was that soft lighting
relaxing. And the people were
so interesting to look at. They
weren’t all wearing the same
costume as does a certain clien
tele that frequents other down
town establishments. These
people were actually individu
als. A rare commodity in this
one-horse town.
Barrymore’s is downright re
freshing and definitely worth
checking out.
-- Kelly Anders
The Night Before
1035 M St
Strip-tease. There’s some
thing about that word that cre
ates a medley of vivid mental
images so carnal that I break out
into a sweat and my fingers
tremble as I type it. The word is
awkward in my mouth, like
spinach and beet casserole, and
is only uttered as a long, barely
audible whisper, because I lin
ger over each syllable -- hesitat
ing to complete a word so com
pletely morally bankrupt and
void of social value.
The Night Before features
strip-tease dancing.
Outside a neon woman oscil
lates seductively to the music in
her peeling and faded painted
heaa, the silence occasionally
punctured by traffic going by --
broadcasting her electric phero
Inside, nine women dance
and entertain the patrons, at
tracted like moths by the light
above the door.
As my companion and I
walked to the establishment in
the cold mist on Monday night
we talked about some of the
preconceptions we had about
what the bar would be like. We
thought it would be dark and
kind of sleazy and filled with a
variety of shady characters, like
the opening setting of one of the
many dime-store detective nov
els we had started but never
finished . . .
We were right. Kind of.
When we walked in, there
was an attractive woman danc
ing topless to “I Hate Myself for
Loving You,” by Joan Jett. The
irony of it was so overwhelming S
I had to sit down and regain my f
composure. 1
I looked around and counted |
about 60 people there watching f
the dancers, including one uni- |
formed policeman. He left about &
15 minutes later, on his way to
work down the street maybe...
My companion and I walked
up to the bar and ordered a
couple of draws. Hanging be
hind the bar I noticed there was
a black velvet painting of a turtle
experiencing the orgasmic
pleasure of sexual intercourse
with an army helmet.
And there was a message
marquee behind the elevated
dance floor that displayed an #
endless stream of provocative
messages, too:
“Q. What is it that’s in the
spring air that gets girls preg
nant? A. Their legs.”
And, ‘‘Well boil my one-eyed
monkey in carp jism - if it isn’t
another Monday night in sleepy
little Lincoln."
And, “It’s belter to have a
drink at the Night Before lounge
than to wash your foreskin in
boric acid.’’
Speaking of drinks, they were
a little smaller than usual, but
good, and just a little more ex
pensive than 1 expected. But 1
guess that’s the price you pay for
the type of entertainment pro
vided. Prices range from $1.25
for a soda and $1.75 for a small
draw of beer to $2.50 for a bottle
of beer. Mixed drinks start at
$2.25.
See DRINKIN on 8
—j|li1«HI III HI ■ II MIJiill I— iiiillllllBrt^