we want the world, and we want it now

The Paradise Lounge is everything you could want in a dive bar. Dark wood paneling, wood bar with dark red vinyl seats, a "kitchen" which consists of a fryer and grill behind the bar, tattooed bartenders, diverse clientele, good music on the jukebox, and, as a bonus--good beer selection. Oh, and as a super awesome double-bonus--it's in the City of Madison, which means that yes, this dive bar is smoke-free. Oh yes, the dive bar experience without the smoke hangover.

How to get there? Simple. Walk past the yuppie-r bars/restaurants to Main, then past the old school steakhouse that still has red leather banquettes, past the local/cool gay bar, past the brothel (um, really), and duck into the door under the neon sign. That's what Steve, Stash, and I did after leaving the Great Dane that Thursday night. (Oh, Stash is my new nickname for R, because I do not really like using initials. Stash comes from 'stache, which obviously comes from moustache, which--well, now y'all probably get it if you're reading this).

The room is long and narrow, with the U-shaped bar taking up the center of the room. At front, near the door, some regulars were playing darts. The jukebox is also near the front of the bar area. In the back, others were playing pool and sitting at some rather rickety tables near the bathroom. A few others were scattered around the bar. We took our seats in the middle of the longest stretch of bar--strategically located near the taps. Now, I said the beer selection was good--what does that mean, for a dive bar? At some, it means you get a choice of Bud or Miller. At others, you might get that, and perhaps something like Sam Adams. And at others, you might even get one tap reserved for a local brew like Spotted Cow. At the 'Dise, you have those choices, sure. If you wish to drink your pint of Pabst, they've got you covered. Or, if the hipsters have ruined Pabst for you, you could do as our neighbor at the end of the bar, and alternate shots with a can of Hamm's. That's no problem. While I'm not at all above drinking a can of beer in the right place at the right time, our palates had already been attuned to "good" beer at the Great Dane. So I had a Guinness, which Steve and Stash (uh, are they starting to sound like a superhero or comedy duo yet?) each had Hopalicious, from the Madison-based Ale Asylum.

Almost perfect...but, no music? We used to come here, to the Paradise Lounge, when we lived in Madison, and there were a few songs that were must-plays. Steve went to put some music in, and soon enough the Ramones filled the bar. But...what's this? "KKK took my baby away?" The WRONG song! And what is this other, slow-ish song? Oh no. Steve told me that there were a few songs left to pick..and so off to the jukebox I went. I found a few gems...and then. Oh, he should know better than to leave me alone with music selections. You know I did it. Yes, I played Journey. I was a little worried about losing whatever cred I might have had with the somewhat younger, sorta punk/alternative crowd, but whatever. Journey was a must.

And that brings me to the best thing ever. Or at least, the best thing in an already awesome night. As "Don't Stop Believin'" started to play, Steve groaned, "oh, NO," while I dissolved into a fit of giggles and Stash smirked and drank his beer. Then Stash and I noticed something.

"Steve, look! They're....singing along! See...everyone loves Journey except you!"

"Yeah yeah, it's just those two girls over there."

"Nuh-uh, the dudes playing darts are singing too!"

And then...oh, and then. The super nice, kind of intimidatingly cool, tattooed bartender slid over to the taps to refill a pint, and....yes. Oh, yes. HE was singing along, too. He looked over at me and said, "Pretty soon we're going to have a full on bar sing-along, and we'll have to rename the bar American Idol or something!" And sure enough, most of the bar was singing, or nodding their heads in time to the song, or something. Except of course, Steve, who wasn't sure whether he should laugh or cry. All he knew is that any reaction he had at this point would include ordering another beer.

Seriously, it could not have been better had it been scripted. Even poor Steve had to admit that it was pretty awesome. We stayed a while longer, relaxing and chatting with each other, and then headed out into the warm, humid summer night to head back to the hotel. A summer rain began to fall just as we got back to the hotel--a summer rain which had turned into a full-on thunderstorm by the time we made it from the lobby to our room. Perfect timing, and a perfect evening.

It was good to feel completely at home and comfortable in one's skin. I don't know why the Paradise Lounge, of all places, has that effect on me. It's not a typical type of hang out for me (in fact, my former roommate that we saw at the Dane said, upon hearing of our plans, "The 'Dise? How do YOU know about THAT place?" I was kind of taken aback, but I get her surprise). I wouldn't go there regularly, even if I lived in Madison. And so, it's not a matter of fitting in--we were outsiders, in our polo shirts and khakis (the guys) and/or white shorts and turquoise top (me. but wouldn't it be awesome if it were the other way around?). But nobody cared. I guess...all I needed that night was good food, good drink, and most of all, good company who were able to "get" it, and get me. There it was...and it was so right.

(post subject lyric : "We want the airwaves", Ramones)