OTHER THAN WATER: This is what you will likely consume on the MBTA pub crawl
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9:43 pm — Copley — Top of the Hub
As it turns out, 15 minutes is nothing compared with what we had to deal with at Top of the Hub, in the Prudential building. My original plan was to include the fancy-shmancy 52nd-floor restaurant/bar to dispel any myths of exclusivity or hassle. But apparently it’s undergoing renovations, and as a result more than half the lounge is closed off and we end up waiting 45 minutes for a table. When we finally get seated, we’re more concerned with the fact that we’re starting to sober up than we are with the live jazz or the awesome view of the city from the top of the Pru — and it really is awesome, definitely worth checking out — so we down our gin martinis (not outrageous at $11) and skedaddle.
11:15 pm — Park Street — Silvertone
At this point, things start to get cloudy and my notes become sparser, but I do write down the important things, like “$3 Bud bottles,” “retro-chic décor,” and “white-boy party jams.” We’re reunited with Bub and Gallagher, who give us the rundown on the bars they hit while we waited to be seated at Top of the Hub: Cactus Club was “all right,” but the beers were more expensive; Rattlesnake was “too crowded … we took a piss and left”; Lir was playing “retro ’80s music” and had a “relaxed” vibe and the Sox game on TV. At Silvertone, our party balloons to include our friends Chuck, Kara, Lee, Chris, and Aurore, and everyone’s in agreement: we should do stuff like this more often. After a couple of Buds, it’s time to start the Red Line leg of the trek.
12:05 am — Charles/MGH — Beacon Hill Pub
The dungy BHP is absolutely packed with kids, many of whom look barely 18, let alone 21. The girls are scantily clad and the boys are beefcakes. It’s hot as hell and hard to move around, but, like Our House, they’ve got 16-ounce Brubakers for two bucks. Every inch of brick wall is covered in grade-school graffiti: “Simon + Nicole” enclosed in a heart, “Derek ’05,” “Pupu Dog,” etc. In the back, there’s a test-your-strength game called Boxer King, which is surrounded by thick-necked dudes wearing gold chains. They take turns ramming their fists into a punching-bag-type meter thing and yelling things like, “I told you that I’m stronger, pussy.” I can almost taste the testosterone in the air — not to mention the sweat — so we quickly knock back our beers and get back on the T, which has gotten noticeably rowdier. People are yelling, dancing without music, and eating cannoli.
?:?? am — Central — People’s Republik
My note-taking ability is just about gone at this point, so I’m not sure what time we arrive in Central Square. With its populist vibe and older academic-and-beatnik crowd, People’s Republik couldn’t be any less similar to Beacon Hill Pub. “It’s like a Fellini movie: people are uglier here than anywhere else,” a middle-aged former MIT student observes. He introduces me to the guy who painted the Elvis-in-a-ushanka mural on the side of the building, a fascinating old eccentric whose name escapes my notebook and my booze-soaked brain. I get so caught up talking to him (about what, God only knows), that I don’t even realize my friends have moved on to our final destination without me. I notice that it’s almost 2 am — closing time — so I hightail it up Mass Ave to Harvard Square.
1:45 Harvard — Hong Kong
At about 1:45 am, out of breath and seeing double, I get to Hong Kong, where I had planned to close out the night with a big scorpion bowl. The doorman won’t let me in. “But I’m a writer for the Phoenix,” I slur. “I’m writing a story and I’m gonna include your bar, honest.” He could not care less, and, with that my pub crawl came to an unceremonious close.
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So what did I learn from all this? First of all, as anyone who’s ever been hung-over will tell you, if you’re going to have a marathon drinking session, be sure to balance your alcohol intake with plenty of water. Seriously. But more important, don’t be a lazy-ass. With a T-pass and a little motivation, you can break out of your weekend routine in a serious way. Boston’s a big little city and there’s a bunch of easily accessible bars you’ve never been to. Take advantage.
Will Spitz has sobered up and can be reached at wspitz@thephoenix.com.