For those interested in meta-blogging, this one’s coming together a few hours prior to publication, with a couple other “Places” ideas lying in fiery wreckage along the side of the information superhighway. And it’s being written in real time, in the place featured: that wonderful, delightful, colorful little tavern in the slender half of The Hill, Pop’s Blue Moon.

The elements that are usually at play at Pop’s are all happening, as expected. Monday night bartender Leroy is walking the boards, serving up a mix of martinis and pints of the namesake draught, Blue Moon. In between he’s firing up an iPod, which has just kicked Shuggie Otis into the room’s consciousness. Owner Terry Grigaitis held up this end of the bar for the first half-hour of our visit, before retiring to his abode above the bar, a classic touch at this classic spot. As if on cue, he’s been replaced by his son Joshua, recently featured in our digital pages for his work at the new 2720. The emphasis of the room shifts from quiet to a bit more active for a few minutes, until the bulk of the attendees pour out in the spill room, a rear-of-the-building smoker’s den that’s illuminated by burning cigarettes, candles and Christmas lights.

The patrons are a mixed lot.  A trio of friends out to celebrate a birthday. Another visitor’s talking about merch sales on the road. Yet another’s showing off a t-shirt and poster design. There’s a regular who frequently plays the second Tuesday jam sessions. Most would be considered friends of the house, a status that you earn within your first half-dozen visits. Conversations are hushed an sedate on this evenng, reflecting the interior’s dimly lit vibe, a mix of reds and blues. It’s calm enough that a single round on the vintage pinball game, a Williams’ “Rancho,” echoes through the room. In theory, it’s a night for people to bring in their iPods, to show off their latest and greatest and favoritest tracks, but tonight we’re all out of iPods and the funk’s coming in waves.

On nights when live music is featured – a happening that takes place about three evenings a week – the venue’s got a different feel. For a room this size, with a shallow ceiling and narrow footprint, the sound can boomerang and bounce, drowning out conversation and giving the room a quick-to-party feel. The focus of the room is definitely on-stage, then, where musicians from their early-20′s to mid-60′s can be found, depending on the gig. On nights when there’s no set show, The Moon is a different place. Quieter. A place to pen notes or have those early-date conversations. We’ll even offer an opinion as to a best time of day to hang at the Moon: twilight. Looking out the front door, the headlights on Highway 44 zip by, a continuing series of blurs; meanwhile, the sun’s departure for the night creates a shimmering front wall of light-dappled glass brick. With the right sounds on stereo… man, there’s no finer place to begin your nightly rounds.

Tonight, though, tonight…

The little rush of post-10 arrivals have slowed. And we’re back to four people in the bar. A pair of regulars, a pair of employees. And like any good bar, the place is reflecting the mood set by the staff. Leroy’s got it chilled out right now, courteously asking after people without being overbearing; every once in a while, a funk bassline grabs his attention and PA goes up, his fingers tapping out a beat, on the bar or off to his sides. On nights when Julie’s back there, the energy’s different, a whole row of artists lining up along the decades-old bartop. When Sarah and Abbie are on the case, they’re consummate pros, looking effortless in dispensing rows worth of drinks on the busy nights.

There’s potential for change tonight, there always is, as at any bar in America. A group of 20-somethings could pour in, asking for shots and amping up the energy level. Or some old-timer’s from the neighborhood might drop through, kvetching about the no-smoking policy in the main room and holding forth on the history of this place. My hope is that things stay pretty much. I like the room like this: buzzing enough to keep the energy going, calm enough to think.

And come to think of it, right now, this could just be the perfect bar.

Gotta finish a drink. Out…