Tonight Mark and I walked into a pool hall and the door guy took one look at us and said, "Studio Bar?" We nodded because we thought, for some reason he was asking if that was where we had come from. Back home, we would have thought, "Why would he care?" So then he very politely showed us out the front door and told us the rock bar was upstairs. About half the guys in the Studio Bar have long hair and a beard. Mark has long hair and a beard. Pair that with our perpetual look of discombobulation and it probably seemed pretty obvious to the guy where we belonged. But we had already been there, already had our beers (Stejar Strong) and listened to some hard rock. Wondered why some of the tables were reserved. Commented on the decor. (For those of you back in Augusta, it reminded me of a very small Metro Coffeehouse.) Wondered where the door with the stop sign led to, and if the seats were made out of stereo speakers.