Hooville by Gaslight DISCOVER CHARLOTTESVILLE'S NOT-SO-HOT NIGHT SPOTS by Brett Saffell During my rocky formative years, my conversations with my father always ended in the same way. "Nothing good ever happens after midnight," he would mutter, hoping to end our never-ending debate on what was a reasonable curfew for a sixteen year old. I was never quite sure what I would be doing during those few hours before the sun came up, but there was one thing I knew for certain: I didn't want to miss them. Most of us feel this way. Somewhere we get the impression that late night activity is desirable, comprising some hipness that is unquestionable. Whether it begins because of an early bedtime as a child or over some fear of missing out on some longed-for experience, we all hesitate to call it a night at an early hour. No matter your pleasure, from Beautiful Babies to true love to spiritual or intellectual enlightenment, most of us are convinced that it is to be found there in the hours before our parents' bedtimes. No matter what you're looking for, you are likely to find it in the wee hours of the morning. While our quest for fulfillment of these needs knows no limits in terms of time of day, it does in scope. Regardless of what you seek, we in the university community continue to look for it in the same places time after time, night after night. The recurrence of the same faces in college dives indicates to me that no one is finding what they are searching for. Thus, as a service to all of us, I have taken it upon myself to boldly explore new options in the Charlottesville area, both in terms of where to be, and when to be there. I am looking for the night life not often explored here, where your pleasures might be hiding. Charlottesville is as vibrant a community as any other in central Virginia, and I set out to prove it. This beholder ventured out unafraid, daring the city to dazzle me with its unseen life. For this article, I would infiltrate the society all around us, and record its unheralded excitement for the benefit of all. This is what I found: Monday, February 2, 1998 -- Made it to the White Spot this evening. Granted, I recognize that this is already a prominent stopoff for drunk students who haven't yet finished abusing their bodies on weekends, but the scene is much different on a weeknight. Stop in for "Monday Nitro" WCW Pro Wrestling on TNT. Forget about the coffee places down the street. Their flaccid attempts at intellectualism pale in comparison to this. Debates on the morality of the Hulkster's New World Order abound. Not for those with faint hearts, slow intellects, or those unskilled in the oratorical martial arts. The student quotient is way down. A very popular time and place for people with radio tracking devices in their buttocks who talk to themselves. If you are hip to the tracking scene, this is your place. Tuesday, February 3 -- Hung out in one of Charlottesville's marquis twenty-four hour establishments: Harris Teeter. Due to the snow prediction, the milk aisle was apparently quite popular early on, especially among people with Florida and Alabama license plates. Popularity of the milk aisle subsided around midnight after the milk supply was exhausted. All the elements for a riot were present (thanks, SOC 101!), but order was quickly restored by a rumor that Kroger still had an ample stock of dairy products. Wednesday, February 4 -- Journeyed to the downtown mall. My plans to explore the scene behind the "Hoo Bus" were thwarted when I learned that it ran only on weekends. I was king of the empty Court Square Tavern as I drained a few pints. Thought I was really getting somewhere with the waitress until a friend pointed out that her remark of, "You look like my youngest son," was probably not a pickup line. I then determined just how poorly shod my feet were as I crouched vomiting in front of the A&N shoe store. Thursday, February 5 -- Fatigued by my considerable findings, I decided to stay home to rest. I sat on the front porch with a twelve-pack waiting to see where this path of discovery would lead next. Rain began to pour, and somehow the Pabst made that seem very profound. Later I crushed beer cans and threw them at the raccoons going through my neighbor's garbage. Ten rabies shots to the stomach in a late night emergency room visit only made me more anxious to return to my search. Sunday, February 8 -- Decided to explore the local bar scene. Big Jim's, commonly known for local character, exhibits a little more Charlottesville color at night. Leave the U.Va. apparel at home, and for the love of God, don't ask what imported beer they have. To avoid being conspicuous, try a more upscale camouflage pattern such as Mossy Oak, RealTree, or Advantage. Monday, February 9 -- Looking for something students could relate to a little better, I rolled into Kinko's at around 1:30 am, hoping to find some sort of groovy productivity. If not disco-dancing students in hot pink clean suits, like the Intel commercials, I at least hoped to find some Engineering students chained to photocopiers singing old spirituals. No luck. However, a boastful copier repairman did inform me of how women love a man in uniform. From his appearance I assume he meant a Canon uniform. Tuesday, February 10 -- Driven around aimlessly, waiting for something to happen. An impending Declaration deadline began to haunt me. Compelled to drink, I stopped off at Breakers, the bar attached to Kegler's, to grab a few beers to calm my nerves. I was forced to wear the house Starter jacket. Never have I been so humiliated. I hope I have given all of you a few hints on where to finally discover your scene. However, a word of caution is necessary. When exploring the mean streets of Charlottesville, be very careful. The real world is not the ludicrously well-lit, police phone-riddled landscape that you and I normally navigate. At the same time, take heart in the knowledge that Charlottesville contains what you are looking for ... somewhere.

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