At Last, a Place for HK to Drink and Sleep in Luxury
August 6, 2007There were a couple pieces in the Gazette last week that featured, among other things, Your Health Care Dollar at work. Here, in the only western industrialized country where health care is considered a privilege rather than a right; and here, in one of the poorest states in said country, young dick doctor Julio Davalos and his 27-year-old wife have so much damn money that they’re turning the building at 225 Hale Street into an “upscale” bar, with luxury loft apartments on top, right beside of the luxury loft apartment they live in.
Finally! A place for the people of Charleston to live and drink in luxury. I don’t know about you, but that’s exactly what I’ve been holding my breath for.
Now, there’s nothing wrong with building luxury loft apartments in downtown Charleston, even if it is a little 1990-ish (what’s next–Craigslist?). Other than being able to pretend you live in a re-run of Friends, I honestly can’t think of a reason why anyone would want to live right in the middle of downtown Charleston. You might be able to walk to work. Maybe. Charleston pretends to be a lot of things, but a walkable city isn’t one of them. That means driving to the grocery store (none of which are close, I might add) like everyone else. It also means parking your car in a paid spot that probably isn’t all that close too your building, then carrying your groceries back up to your luxurious loft. As minor as it sounds, in practice it’s a major pain in the ass. Unless, of course, Dr. Longfinger had a luxury elevator installed in his building. That would render my point moot. Or moo, as Joey would say. If you have that kind of money to throw around, you can also pay someone to go the the grocery store for you. But still, why bother? Charleston doesn’t have much of a bar scene — our city’s other “upscale” bar is given to running customers out at 1 a.m. The handful of good restaurants close around 9. And then there’s Taylor Books, which closes around noon.
But safe in the 4 walls of your luxury loft, you and your dinner guests can pretend you’re living in Atlanta (without the traffic and racial tension), or New York (without the smell). And it’s a small price to pay to feel like you’re making your city a better place.
And then there’s the bar. Let’s all say this together now: CHARLESTON DOESN’T NEED ANOTHER UPSCALE BAR. It really doesn’t need any upscale bar. What Charleston needs is a casual place to drink beer that doesn’t smell like scorched brakes and and cat piss. Is that so much to ask for?
The line that really got to me was this one: “There are a lot of places in town that do live music or karaoke or have open mic nights,” she said. “They do what they do well and I’m glad they do those things. It’s just not the kind of place that I have in mind.”
What a clueless fucking snob.
Look. It’s not guys in suits drinking scotch that make a city a nice place to live. It’s not hooched up girls in pointy shoes drinking pomegranate martinis. It’s not doctors or lawyers at all. It’s kids, mostly, who wash dishes and play in bands. People who manage to put up with a crappy job long enough to do something they love after clocking out. (As opposed to people who work crappy jobs just so they can send Madison and Hunter to Charleston Catholic and go to Hilton Head once a year.) Gay people, who probably don’t want to drink around a bunch of asshole Republicans. People who play open mics. These are the people who make a city nicer to live in. At least that’s what some people say. And Doctor Davalos & wife are already intent on running them off.
Oh well. It’s not like vanity businesses ran by people who don’t need the money have such a great track record in this town anyway.
