Operation: DAYRAGE!

Posted on July 1, 2010 – 8:00 AM | by OldManFoster
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by Becky Grunewald

On first introduction, the Sacramento tradition known as the dayrage can sound kind of like a pubcrawl, just like a Sac Treat resembles a michelada (see sidebar) – but there are subtle differences.  One is that you take the day off of work.  Two is that you start in the morning.  Three is that it’s not cheesy like a pubcrawl because, well….it just isn’t. There are no wacky hats involved, no Hawaiian shirts, just a series of cool, dark, bars, a group of good friends, and sweet, sweet brew.  A dayrage is one of the only things in adult life that can give you that completely free and giddy feeling that you used to get when you skipped school.

A dayrage should occur during the summer, and it should end in the water.  I once dayraged down Freeport Boulevard, all the way to the Pocket Club, in 104 degree heat.  A controversial aspect of the dayrage – we don’t shy away from controversy here at MidMo – is that it should be same-sex only.  This allows one to rage more freely without worrying what one’s partner might be thinking.  The dayrage bylaws were changed last year so that the opposite sex can join after 5PM.  Some consider this a “pussy move”, but I disagree.  Technically, a dayrage comes to an end when the typical workday does, so anything goes at that point.  This issue will likely be tied up in the courts for years to come.

My most recent dayrage was on a Friday in June.  Former MidMo editor Liv Moe joined me, as well as MidMo contributor Guphy, and some other lovely ladies.  We met up at 10AM in the womblike interior of Henry’s bar.  I rode up first, and immediately the gentlemen inside scrambled to find me a seat.  Nothing will make one feel attractive like rolling up to an old man bar at 10AM.  Liv said that when she approached the men outside started incredulously making bets on whether she was coming to Henry’s.

I bellied up next to a state worker named “Big Bob” and ordered an amber bock.  Big Bob stated that he was exempt from furloughs but had called in sick that day.  He proceeded to go through multiple Heinekens and shots of Johnny Walker while we were there (Big Bob to bartender-“fill that fucker up”) and struggled valiantly to memorize all of our names.

There is a buzzer behind the bar at Henry’s that will summon a waitress from the adjoining Capitol Park Café.  Within a few minutes of ordering I was digging into some of the finest corned beef hash I’ve ever had – at the bar!  The corned beef was obviously house made, perfectly salted, and was studded with small chunks of potatoes and bell peppers.  The hash serving was thin and perfectly crisped on the outside.  It was topped with two textbook over-medium fried eggs.    Liv ordered a bacon skillet and it was truly a sight to behold.  It was a massive mound of bacon bits, crispy O’Brian potatoes, and melted cheddar cheese, with an egg cresting the summit, Shackleton-style.  The flaky biscuits topped with meaty pork gravy are a good choice as well.  One of the finest greasy spoon breakfasts around and did I happen to mention that you can eat at the bar?

We emerged blinking into the sunlight to a chorus of farewells from our new pals and headed to our next destination: The Chambers Room.  The Chambers Room is a friendly dive.  It’s lined with cheap wood paneling and the ladies’ bathroom is painted a bright rose with turquoise trim.  I bought a novelty in there for a quarter and it turned out to be an ancient, thick, unlubricated condom.  I blew it up at the table as I quaffed a two dollar can of Oly and grooved to the sounds of the Chili Peppers singing “Californication”.  More ladies showed up and things began to get loud and boisterous.  We were informed by some regulars that they needed our table for a memorial that they were having for a Henry’s bartender(?), so we took that as our cue to leave.

We decided to class it up a little and walked over to Frank Fat’s.  I got all 8 of us a round of tai tais on MidMo (sorry about that Tim, but it was 80 bucks well spent).  Our polished blond bartender breathily posited that “day drinking is fun” and expressed regret that she couldn’t go with us.  Our group was a little out of place among the hushed, expense-account crowd so we didn’t tarry long.

Next stop: Pre Flite Lounge.  We put a feminine spin on raging when some ladies broke off to go rage on some free samples from Sees Candy.  We also once had a dayrage where we stopped at my house to pet my new kitten.  We will never be able to break the glass ceiling of dayraging unless we accept that men and women rage differently.

I had heard tell of the Pre Flite but had never been inside.  Now I’m like one of those people who get born again and can’t stop telling you about their new best friend Jesus.  The Pre Flite is that good.  It’s tucked away inside an alcove under the mall and it will make you feel like you’ve traveled through time. The jukebox at the Pre-Flite is not only awesome-looking but is also stocked with real vinyl records of sweet tunes like the “it keeps you running” by the Doobie Brothers.  If it skips, the hostess, Julie, will bump it with her hip.  She may also put on an obscene ditty called “The Pussycat Song” if she takes a shine to you.  It contains some very subtle jokes about a bald…kitty.

At this point I was about 2.876 sheets to the wind.  That may be why ordering a tall, room temperature glass of ouzo seemed like such a perfect idea.  And by perfect idea I mean fucking stupid idea.  I have no idea how long we were there or what we talked about.  I know there was a lot of laughter and maybe a few tears.  Ouzo-related tears.

Things get fuzzy after this and my notes stop.  We headed through the Indo Arch to Old Sac.  We met a couple of young, shirtless juggalo types and I forced them to pose for pictures with us. We decided to eat at Fanny Ann’s.  In between bites of my school cafeteria-style grilled American cheese (with pickles) sandwich I stretched out on the bench and took a much needed beauty rest.  We drank frosty bottles of beer ordered from the enticing ice bed behind the bar.

Due to the unseasonably cool weather this June our dayrage did not end in the water at Discovery Park as it should have.  We decided that being close to the river was close enough for jazz and ended up on the Delta King.  I made another stellar decision and went for some foofy iced drink with amaretto and coffee.  As the working day drew to a close we felt pity for all the working stiffs who have never known the carefree joy of the dayrage. Suckers!

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  1. 3 Responses to “Operation: DAYRAGE!”

  2. avatar

    By sharon watson on Jul 14, 2010 | Reply

    Love this! I’ve never heard the term ‘dayrage’ before..I’m on it! Like tomorrow 🙂

  3. avatar

    By Jackie Miller on Jul 15, 2010 | Reply

    Loved it – excellent article by a talented writer!

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