Today is Harry's 30th birthday. I had no idea this person existed, let alone for 30 years, until the bartender announces it and leads the entire bar in song. Only a guy with a scorpion tattooed on his bald head fails to comply as he intently plays pull tabs in the corner. "It's my fucking birthday!" a gangly, straggly-haired drunkard (presumably Harry) reiterates. And what better way for him to mark his final passage into adulthood than a bender at J Michael's Pub & Eatery in Redmond? A begrimed frat liveout of sorts, J Michael's looks like the kind of place where loggers would've eased their backaches before evils like Prohibition, and later Microsoft, chased them out of town. Driving home the theory is a giant buffalo head, mounted on the wall, that gazes stoically across the room. Next to him, a menu advertises $4.50 chicken gizzards and $2.50 corndogs. A majority of patrons come to J Michael's to drink beer, but the establishment's most notable drink is the "Power Outage," a potent brew consisting of Rumple Minze, Yukon Jack, Bacardi 151, and hot chai poured over ice and strained. Harry is acting like he's knocked one back, but it could very well be the consecutive shots he just took. "Who wants some fucking cake?!" he shouts, brandishing a large, glinting knife. I eye him warily, as do even his friends. The cake remains untouched and the knife unused the rest of the night. It's a relief, given the abundance of mother-daughter duos browsing fabric and beads at the sorely misplaced Ben Franklin Crafts and Frames Shop across the street.