The previous week had been a long one for reasons magnificent and maddening. The usual tasks and obligations had, of course, applied, which in and of themselves were enough to make one lightheaded. In addition to all this, however, Thursday evening brought with it the adrenaline-pumping, ear-splitting, dizzying heights of the sold-out Law Revue band gig at the DC9, whereas Friday had then served up a series of logistical catastrophes associated with turning in a Van Vleck brief. All of this took place on two hours of sleep. To paraphrase the late Hunter S. Thompson, the possibility of complete mental and physical collapse was very real.

But the worst was over, and after some tots and a pulled pork sandwich at Tonic, followed by a good night's sleep, the danger had passed. At least for the present. Nevertheless, as the sun rose on a dreary Saturday, there could be little doubt that this author needed to throw his cares to the wind a cut loose for a few hours.

Happily, some months earlier a large group of friends and I had purchased VIP tickets to Das Best Oktoberfest. And so it was that, yesterday, a group of some twelve to fifteen current and former GW Law students, dressed as yodelers and beer wenches, bravely assembled at Pennsylvania and 20th to hail cabs to deliver us up unto DBO, with visions of beer, sausages, and greatness in our heads.

DBO is organized by Trigger Agency, the same group that brought you the Beer, Bourbon, and BBQ festival this past summer (indeed, the wristbands at DBO were recycled from the B-B-BBQ fest). These events are held down Maryland way at National Harbor, a 20-minute cab ride from Foggy Bottom. Depending on your cab driver, this may or may not be a pleasant drive. In my case, yesterday's journey to National Harbor was somewhat...malodorous, and upon arriving at our destination, the driver told us to "have a good life." An omen? Indeed, and a good one, at that.

Trigger Agency events are popular, and for that reason, despite having VIP tickets, we had to wait in line for about 20 minutes. Even so, the wait was pleasant enough, as the line moved quickly and was populated with enthusiastic ticketholders, most attempting to look as Bavarian as possible (save for the guy wearing a Scooby Doo costume, which, although marvelous, is not especially Bavarian). By 12:45, we had our tasting glasses and an hour and fifteen minutes to sample the beverage selection before the non-VIP ticketholders were unleashed upon the festival.

The VIP tickets came with several perks. First, we did not have to deal with tokens-sampling was unlimited. Second, we each received one free Bavarian soft pretzel. Third, we were allowed in the VIP tent, which was dry and served free Bavarian pickles. These factors, combined with the extra sampling time allowed VIP ticket-holders, easily made the VIP tickets worth $50 (regular tickets were around $30).

During the unfettered tasting extravaganza that took place before 2:00, I found at least three highlights. First, there was some sort of beer that tasted like bacon. I have no idea what its name was, which saddens me, but my melancholy is offset by the fact that I have lived long enough to sample that beer, the existence of which in turn directly proves the existence of a benevolent higher power (or at least proves the magnanimity of Trigger Agency). Second, there was some sort of white wine. It wasn't Riesling, but it was tasty. Here, too, I have no idea what its name was, but I think it included the words "zeller" and "schwarze." Third, there was Rumpleminze.

In addition to the beverage tasting, DBO offered a nice array of foodstuffs-at least that is the impression that I received. In truth, I was fixated on the idea of bratwurst, and lo, there was a bratwurst stand. The brats served there were mighty tasty, so I have no complaints, although I do feel compelled to note that there were stands serving Memphis-style BBQ, which didn't exactly square with the overall theme. This was also true of the live music. One stage featured an oom-pah band, lending an air of authenticity to the proceedings, but the other, larger stage mostly featured bands playing mediocre covers of The Doors.

The only other downside to the entire afternoon (apart from the rain) was the guy in the Portapotty line who tried to pick a fight with me and one of my lady-friends after we unwittingly cut in front of him. Although I retreated the eight or so feet to the back of the line, my lady-friend stood her ground. The guy started in on my lady-friend, who responded with "Whaddya gonna do? Hit me? You'd hit a GIRL???" Five bystanders turned around to see how my new friend would respond to that; he turned away with a discouraging word, unable to respond to that logic. This, dear readers, is a fine example of defining the terms of the debate in such a way that you win, even if you're wrong. In any event, the bathroom lines could have been much better-defined, and the gentleman surely could have found something better to get so impassioned about.

Out of a possible five Bavarian pickles, DBO receives five, because I ate five of ‘em.