I spent last night out with the coworkers at Memory Lanes in Minneapolis. Good times, good times. And I managed to find this place without getting lost: call it the Third Glorious Mystery.

I really liked Memory Lanes, in part because we had such a cool bartender.
How cool, you ask? He explained one of his tattoos with a reference to The Invisibles. Also, he said I could take one of the Samuel Adams glasses.

Considering how often I encounter bartenders who seem to hate me, I probably should have tipped the guy a lot more.

In my defense, my breathalyzer said I was in no condition to make decisions. I tested it out when we left that bar (after — god — four hours) and walked over to the Hexagon, where another coworker was playing.

I got home around 3 a.m., and woke up this morning with my cold replaced by a predictable, blessedly transient hangover. Apparently I'm not sick anymore: there could be something to this.

But you know what this place needs? Some hot apple cider.