Against my better judgment, I recently moved back to Capitol Hill after deliberately staying away for the better part of 10 years. Adjusting isn't easy, particularly given the distinctly painful absence of good, unpretentious bars. Where on earth do you people go to drink around here that isn't an overcrowded scenester nightmare? As soon as I walk into Ballard's Tin Hat on this unseasonably warm Thursday evening, I feel all is right with the world. The Gories are blasting out of the jukebox and the smoky dive is pleasantly buzzing with a dozen happy regulars, none of whom are wearing ironic T-shirts or whipping their necks around every time someone walks in the door. One of the many things to love about this bar is its unexpected bonuses, like bartenders who are naturally friendly AND use fresh-squeezed juice for many of their cocktails--no cantankerous attitudes or shitty powdered mixes here. I order a pitch-perfect bartender's margarita and grab a table with my girlfriends, noticing the weathering yellow paper sign above the bar instructing patrons to "drink up and be somebody." I happily comply and order another drink just as local writer Paul Fontana shows up with crates of records in tow for his DJ shift, followed by a handful of boys from the Cretins motorcycle collective. As Fontana drops the needle on a Fall record, I head for the ladies' room and overhear a fortysomething woman tell her companion that "this is the only bar around here I can see coming to for the rest of my life." Contemplating where I'll go drinking as I approach 50 seems a bit depressing, but I certainly agree with her sentiment--few neighborhood watering holes can beat the Tin Hat's genuine warmth. HANNAH LEVIN