By Erin Randolph erin@dmcityview.com

Polk County Paul predicts an early spring

There aren't many occasions when one can justify being at a bar by 7:15 a.m., drinking by 7:45 a.m. and buzzed by 8. And though the Bar Fly was a bit disheartened about having to get out of bed while it's still dark outside, she decided to drag herself out from under the covers for the High Life Lounge's first anniversary party on Groundhog Day.

It's been said before, and the Bar Fly will say it again, but drinking at the High Life Lounge is like drinking in somebody's outdated basement. With tacky wallpaper, wood paneling and old-school High Life memorabilia covering the walls, the bar is meant to recreate a simpler time when the term "High Life man" conjured a vision of a working-class guy tipping back a bottle at the end of a long workday. It's a place where Bud Light doesn't exist, but Tang does.

On this unseasonably warm morning, appropriately enough, "Groundhog Day" is playing on the knob-style televisions in the bar (TVs so antiquated that it's hard to believe a VCR or DVD player can even be hooked up to them). And though the Bar Fly is 15 minutes later than she'd planned on showing up at the downtown theme bar, her drinking assistant, who was a bit noncommittal the previous day, was missing in action. Thankfully there were some familiar faces to help ease the discomfort that comes with drinking free beer - alone - at a bar so early in the morning.

But soon it's 7:30, and everyone's piling outside for the holiday's festivities - the promise of an appearance from Polk County Paul, the High Life Lounge's groundhog, who will predict the weather like Pennsylvania's Punxsutawney Phil. The Bar Fly didn't quite know what to expect, but she definitely did not expect the man in the mascot-style groundhog costume that emerged from the workingman's bar, or for his impish attitude.
"Are there any pretty ladies out there who want to feel my felt?" Paul says. "I'm a red-blooded American groundhog, but I've always been into beaver."

Though his East Coast counterpart, Phil, sees his shadow, predicting six more weeks of winter, the only (5 o'clock) shadow Pete sees is on some guy standing next to him. So with the promise of an early spring, the crowd packs back into the establishment to get a few more beers before time runs out on free beer at 8 a.m. The Bar Fly finally spots her drinking assistant, Michael, on the other side of the bar.

We decide to double fist - a High Life in one, and a Tangermeister - the lounge's signature shot, a mixture of Tang and Jagermeister - in the other. We take a seat on "Big Shitter's Curve," so named because the "big shitters" sit there, we're told, and are amused by the conversations going on around us.

"Nothing says 'Thursday morning' like a bong hit and a Tangermeister," says some guy in a dress shirt and tie, perhaps the unlikeliest of sources to hear such a comment.

That's also where we meet 33-year-old Kyle, who's sporting a day-appropriate T-shirt he bought at the actual Punxsutawney Phil/Gobbler's Knob event from the year before. He seems anxious to talk about it, so we oblige, asking him what the biggest difference is between the High Life's rendition and the real thing. We expect him to say something about free beer or that he's in Iowa instead of Pennsylvania or that one groundhog is real and the other's a guy in a costume. But alas, all he says is, "This one's a lot warmer."

Bored with his tale, we return to our drinks, which we continue to sip on until about 9 a.m. One beer and one Tangermeister later, the Bar Fly's surprisingly buzzed. However, considering she hasn't eaten anything in 12 hours, she reasons she shouldn't be all that surprised. Though a few drinks made our early morning a bit more fun, the next time we tip 'em back that early it'll be college football season. CV

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