Rock & Roll Hotel

Go figure, the capital's got a wild west saloon in Northeast. Main floor music stage a church for Myspace addicts, toe-tapping waifs who maybe cut their own hair. Upstairs bar the quintessence of town and country cool: great-grandmother's wallpaper, flying guitars whiz overhead, private parlors for huddling. Velvet loveseats and faux Queen Anne chairs likely yanked from a burning bordello. Perfect for making out with doe-eyed strangers. DJ's mix unstoppable dancing to never-ending supply of blonde chicks.