Columbus Underground and Cbusr meetups

This past Tuesday I went to two separate meet-ups in Columbus. One was organized by Columbus Underground and held at The Jury Room and the other was held by Cbusr at the Woodlands Tavern. Keegan was too busy frolicking in the sand so I went solo.

The Jury Room is a very laid back, old school bar. It's owned by Liz Lessner and she is very cool. We actually got to chat for a little bit AND she bought me a beer. I gave her permission to tell her friends that she knew me. I'm cool like that. I also got to hang out with Thomas. Thomas always has interesting stories about hackers and social engineers.

After about two hours, I bailed on The Jury Room and headed over to Cbusr's event at the Woodlands. I called Freckled Jenn on the way over and she came and met up with me.

I went as @Fake_Dispatch to Woodlands because for some reason he seems to be more popular. Jerk.

I did get meet a bunch of people that I only knew from the internet. Jenn signed up on Twitter while we were there. You can follow her at @FreckledJenn.

Two people I finally did get to meet in person were Rogue Magnolia and The Naked Redhead. I was actually able to con them into taking a photo with me.

Awe, crap. Would you look at my teeth? I missed my dentist appointment a month ago and I look like yellow hell next to Redhead's pearly whites. This will not do.

Much better!

And would you look at that? Rogue is barely even smiling! We can take care of that!

Perfect.

See you at one of the next meet-ups!

Sad Quarters

One of the best perks at my job is that we have a pop machine with twenty-five cent pop. On top of the machine is a Tupperware cup with at least $20 worth of quarters in it. If you need a pop you take a quarter, toss it in the machine and pick your poison. Sometimes the Tupperware container runs out and people start looking under the machine for quarters. Every few days, one of our admins will open up the machine, restock it and put the quarters in the container on the top.

Today I realized that those are the saddest quarters in the world.

Most quarters get to travel. From a pop machine to a bank to a meter to a video game and back to a pop machine. I assume that quarters have 30+ years of use in them and they get around. This is the best kind of quarter.

Then there are the quarters that got put into a jar five years ago and will not see the light of day ever again. These quarters give up on life and go into hibernation. Maybe a poker game or a late mortgage payment will bring them back to life. This is the second best type of quarter.

The quarters at my work are depressed. They sit on the machine. Then they feel movement… will it be into a slot machine or maybe for a gumball? A toll booth or taco bell? No. Into the pop machine. Then, three day later, back to the Tupperware on the top of the machine.

Sad.

I will not stand for this.

Every day I am going to go into work with a few quarters. I’ll liberate the quarters from the top of the machine and then take them to my car. There they will live in my coin cup thing and wait to be spent on things like parking meters, Burger King, and peep shows at the dirty book store.

FREEDOM!

Trogdor the Burninator

I'm not sure if you were ever a fan of Homestar Runner, but I was and still am.  For about three years, all I ever did was reference Homestar in conversations and debates.  Strong Bad taught be that most debates can be ended by catching your opponents on fire.

Recently, I showed Greg the Strongbad e-mail about Trogdor the Burninator.  We watched it again tonight and he wanted to draw it.

I think he did pretty good.  Especially with the consummate Vs.

Portal 2: Coming Soon

Portal 2 is coming out soon.  I just noticed something about the two characters in the demo videos.

Miller Lite Masquerade

Dave was in town this weekend.  We had dinner at Barley's and then over to Char Bar for drinks.

While we were at Char Bar, a group of people came in with masquerade masks on.  After a while, Keegan couldn't take it anymore so he got up and asked one of the girls what was going on.  She said it was her birthday and dammit, she wanted to have a masquerade party.

So I decided to join it. I peeled two labels off two Miller Lite bottles.  In my wallet, I have a four leaf clover flattened between two taped together business cards.  I was able to peel some of the tape off.  Using Swiss Army Knife scissors, I cut holes in the wrappers and cut around the edges to make them mask like.

I went over to the girls expecting that they would be pissed.  The birthday girl was ECSTATIC!   They even let me take a photo with them.

Happy Birthday Masquerade Girl!  (She's the one directly to my right.)

That'll teach 'em

The BK Stacker Scientific Study

The price scientists over at Burger King think they have got their stuff together. They came out with a pricing system for the Single Stacker, Double Stacker and Triple Stacker at $1, $2 and $3 respectively. I decided to do some research to see if those scientists went to a school that doesn't have collective bargaining rights.

I went out and bought three Single Stackers, one Double Stacker and one Triple Stacker.

My server was Elbert!

Because of science, I weighed them:
Single Stacker = 4 oz
Double Stacker = 5.6 oz
Triple Stacker = 7 oz

The Single Stacker is 380 calories. That's 380 calories per $1 or $.25 an ounce.
The Double Stacker is 560 calories. That's 280 calories per $1 or $.36 an ounce
The Triple Stacker is 650 calories. That's 216.6 calories per $1 or $.42 an ounce.

The bigger the sandwich, the more you pay per calorie/ounce. That doesn't seem right!

The Single Stacker is comprised of a bun, one hamburger patty, two "segments" of bacon, a slice of cheese and some strange sauce that I will not be mentioning again.

Here's what the three Single Stackers look like separated.

The Double Stacker is comprised of a bun, two hamburger patties, three bacon segments, a slice of cheese and the sauce that I said I wasn't going to mention, but forgot.

The Triple Stacker is comprised of a bun, three hamburger patties, three bacon segments, two slices of cheese and more of the you know what.

There are three patties in there.  One of them is hiding in the cholesterol.


By the way, the people over at Burger King think this is what the Triple Stacker looks like:

Here's what mine looked like:

So just by looking at these components, I can tell you are getting screwed. For starters, there should be two slices of cheese on the Double and three on the Triple. And the bacon should be spilling out of the Triple.

So you could take a Single Stacker and a Double stacker for $3.00 and you would get 2 buns, three hamburger patties, two slices of cheese and five bacon. I call this the "1 + 2 = 4."

Or, you could take the three Single Stackers, remove the tops of two and stack them all. I call this the "Real Triple You Stupid Price Scientists."

Or you could just say "fuck it" and stack everything in one bun. I call this "The Lent Buster."

That's right.

OUMNNNNUNMNNNN

Fis engu mmn na frengh!

Yeah! Take that Price Scientists!

CONCLUSION: The price scientists at Burger King are idiots. Just buy singles. You can feed the ducks with the leftover bread.

I'm about to say, "It's Fucking Becky Wilson" so if your kids are in the room you might want to tell them to leave.

It's Fucking Becky Wilson!

Get your t-shirt at the HolyJuan store at Skreened!

Bald Men Outraged at Lack of Care for Hair

COLUMBUS OH (HJ) – Several area bald men are fed up with the lack of care and responsibility shown by fully haired men towards their completely, hair covered craniums. “They don’t respect their follicles”, stated Bill Newtswarthy, the President of the Bald Is OK Club in Columbus, Ohio. “These ‘Hairitics’ take their hair for granted. They don’t realize that it could all be gone tomorrow. They should treat their hair with respect!”

We caught up with several members of the Bald Is OK Club during their annual meeting at a local Best Western. The BIOK were discussing the merits of conditioner and repeating. “I think I would have had another three, maybe four more years of hair if I hadn’t scrubbed so hard,” stated one bald member. Others nodded in agreement while they looked accusingly around the room at the other bald men. Earlier in the evening, a man with a bald wig was caught and ushered out the door. “We can’t be too careful. There are a lot of people with full heads of hair looking to infiltrate the group.”

Member Erik was one of the more vocal members at the meeting, “I see them out there… dyeing… moussing… gel and butch wax in hand. They should be ashamed!” Many cheers from the four other people in the room erupted.

Local men with hair did not know about the group and were astounded at our description of their activities. We heard such comments as, “I thought bald was beautiful?” and “That’s what you get for repeating shampooing.”

We hit the streets and interview several local hair blessed and bald people for their opinions:


"These hairy SOBs need to be taught a lesson. I'm tired of stepping over my f*ucking roomate's hair when I get in the shower. Eighteen bottles of shampoo, assh*le? I use bar soap on my dome." - Greg A.


"I don't know what these guys are complaining about. All this hair gets in my way when I am fighting off the chicks at the club. Washing the smell of lust and sin out of my hair takes hours!" - Josh K.


"I shave my head in solidarity for my bald headed brothers. Then it grows back and I have to fight the ladies off, again. Will it never end?"- Jason (Last initial withheld to protect identity.)


"These baldies need to get used to their lack of hair. I mean, so what if their testosterone is low and their hair falls out? They can borrow some of mine!" - Kevin S.


"Please don't use my real identity. " - Erik Burbank


"You don't like this hair, bitches? Your wife does!" - Levi

Good Times at the Jury Room

We went to The Jury Room the other night. It's an old bar that has been refurbished to look like it is still old.

While waiting for a table, we flipped through their drink menu. Well, Jenn flipped through the menu and Keegan looked at me menacingly.

The Jury Room carries a lot of "Old Man" drinks which a lot of hip, cool people drink. One of those is an Old Fashioned. The Old Fashioned at the Jury Room is so nice, they use bitters twice!

We got a table and Meghan showed up. Michael came later but he is not in this story except for this mention.

Keegan had suggested a beer out of Lancaster from Rockmill Brewery that he liked called Dubbel. I'm no beer expert, but dubbel is a Belgian Trappist beer naming convention. The origin of the dubbel was a beer brewed in the Trappist Abbey of Westmalle in 1856. Westmalle Dubbel was imitated by other breweries, leading to the emergence of a style. Dubbels are now understood to be a fairly strong (6%-8% ABV) brown ale, with under- stated bitterness, fairly heavy body, and a pronounced fruitiness. This beer comes in 750ml bottles (that's three gallons for those of you that don't speak French)and are meant for sharing.

Earlier on in the evening, I said I would chip in for the Dubbel, but after drinking a few PBRs, I knew that my palate had become as sensitive as a pallet and I wouldn't enjoy a good beer. Or maybe I'm just cheap. Keegan called me one of several names and our waitress said she would bring three glasses and a shot glass so that I could at least try the dubbel.

Cheers!

I ordered artichoke and other stuff spaghetti. It was really delicious.

At the end of the meal our waitress brought our checks. She split the dubbel between all those that drank, including me.

She charged me for 1% of the bottle! 33% each for Jenn, Meghan and Keegan and .20 for me. Oh, how we laughed. I wish I could remember her name. She was awesome. I know that Jenn will remember and I'll post it later. It's Laura! Crafty Laura! Thanks, Laura!

Check out the Jury Room and the Rockmill selection of beers as soon as you get the chance!

A Quick Story

I feel like telling a story. I'm not sure which one yet. I assumed that as soon as I began to type, it would come to me, but it hasn't yet and now I am just stalling for time.

While I am waiting for my mind to catch up with my fingers, I'll tell you about the roads in Lancaster.

The roads in Lancaster are the same as most others. Especially in the city. Curbs. Asphalt. Sometimes there will be a random street that is poured concrete or one that is all brick. These are not special.

The special roads in Lancaster are the ones that lead out of town. The ones that now lead back in. They are not fun in the winter. But in the spring...

In the spring you roll your windows down. If you are lucky you can pop the sun roof. If you are Jeff W., you take the T-tops out of the Trans-Am. And if you are Keegan you ride your motorcycle.

Turn off of Rte.33 or Rte.22 or Rte. 37 or 188. Take a road with tilted road sign or no road sign at all. It will more than likely immediately start to go up or go down. There is likely to be a field and then a thick wooded area. Watch for the arrows that tell you to prepare for a turn. Most have a few bullet holes in them.

The smell of spring permeates the car. You cannot help but stick your arm out the window and hold the door with the flat of your palm. The ones with no regrets make their hand fly like Superman.

If you time it just right, you'll pass a field full of fireflies as they begin to flicker. When your car drops down into where the road goes deep in a small valley, you can feel the temperature drop. And the the cold is chased away as you pop back up again where the heat of the road fights off the chill.

There is curve after curve and straight aways that will take you on to bridges that they say can only take one car at a time. Sometimes the signs that tell you to slow down are suggestions. Other times those sign have been run over by people who don't take suggestions well. Just be careful. Of course, there is nothing like the feeling of making it though a curve that you thought for a split second you weren't.

When you see another car, wave.

You've probably had your radio on. Turn it off. Take in the sound of the wind. Of the trees passing you by as you pass by them. The hills and twists are short lived as you can't drive too far without bumping back into civilization.

Spring is a time for renewal, but it also can't help but remind us of the past.

Go ahead a take a lap through Rising Park. And another through the McDonald's. Drive past where Thomas' Fair Play used to be. Loop back around and head down Main Street and down where The Family Restaurant once stood. And then cut over and drive past Fisher Catholic and finally past Lancaster High School and the football field.

Spring will be here soon.

Uncle Ben's 10 minutes is different from my 10 minutes

I cook dinner sometimes. Sometimes it actually works out. I also like to pretend that I am a real chef where I can time things out perfectly so that when the mac and cheese is peaking, the hot dogs in the microwave are heated up and the waiters take it to the table and do the reveal simultaneously.

The other day, Miss Sally shared a recipe with me that would require some timing. As one component was wrapping up, rice was to be cooked and then everything brought together at once. So when the time came, I called on Uncle Ben.

Uncle Ben told be the rice would be "Perfect Every Time."

He also told me that the rice would cook in 10 minutes.

So I waited until the meat was 10 minuted from completion and gave everyone a 10 minute warning.

And then I flipped the box over and read the instructions:

Step 1 is to throw water and rice in a pot. That took about 10 seconds, but I won't count that. T-minus 10 minutes until dinner!

Step 2 is actually 2 steps Step 2a and step 2b:

Step 2a is to boil the components. That takes about 5 minutes. T-minus 5 minutes until dinner!

Step 2b is to simmer for 10 - 12 minutes. That takes about 10 - 12 minutes. I picked 10 because it is less than 12. T-plus 5 minutes.

Step 3 is to let is sit for 5 minutes or until the water is absorbed. That took 7 minutes in my case. T-plus 12.

So what was supposed to take 10 minutes took 22. The kids almost staved to death. At least that's what Greg reported twice.

And yes, I know. I should have fully read the instructions. But you've got to admit that the box freaking says, "Cooks in 10 minutes." I call bullshit.

It also took me about 10 minutes to write this article(if you don't count the extra 12 I took to make this Scumbag Ben version of Scumbag Steve.):

Laminated List Week 2011

It’s the third week of February and you know what that means! It’s UPDATE YOUR LAMINATED LIST week.

As you all know, a laminated list is the three famous people with whom your spouse will allow you to have sex with if ever the opportunity presents itself. If you happen to run into one of your three famous people and they are drunk enough to let you jump in the sack / couch / Charlie Sheen's basement with you, then you have permission to have guilt free sex with any one of the three people on that list.

Every year, during the third week of February, you are allowed to update the list.

So here is my list for 11’ – 12’…

1. Sarah Silverman
2. Christina Ricci
3. Zooey Deschanel


My previous list was : 1. Sarah Silverman 2. Christina Ricci and 3. Leelee Sobieski

Who’s on your list for this year?

Do It Yourself Funeral

Yo. This is a bummer article and if you are looking for the standard penis jokes then I apologize. This is for someone who's got a stiff they are looking to bury, burn or dump.

I just read the post below by sethra007 on reddit.com. Basically it says that you are going to get screwed over by funeral services if you don't do your homework ahead of time. It's worth a read.

My uncle is a mortician, and I can tell you from him that funeral homes are all about sales and mark-ups. Funeral homes deliberately try to have you make decisions where you're at your worst emotionally, because you're more likely to spend money that way.

When I buried my mother five years ago, it cost nearly $6,000.00, and that was for a basic funeral (which was all we could afford at the time). According to the Los Angeles Times, the average cost of a typical American funeral is now $7,755.00, and that only covers the basics.

Imagine my rage later when I discovered we didn't have to spend that much money. I could have gotten a casket (our biggest expense) for $2000 less via CostCo or the Trappist Monks. Online companies like Star Legacy Funeral Network offer caskets at up to 50 percent off retail, and many offer next day delivery or free shipping. Or I could have built one. If you're being cremated, you can do a rental casket. Heck, I didn't even have to have a casket--I could have used an alternate container.

In my state, I didn't have to have Mom embalmed (which not only would have saved money but would have been better for the environment) or have a burial container for the grave. I had online resources for getting grave markers.

I couldn't do too much to minimize other expenses because my mom had already purchased a grave site. But there were still quite a few things I could have saved money on had I known about funeral planning ahead of time.

The Funeral Consumer Alliance has a great article on how funeral homes manipulate their customers, and the Federal Trade Commission has valuable information on what your rights are when buying funeral goods and services. I highly recommend people read those sites, as well as explore the Funeral Consumer Alliance web site in general. And even though it's dated, I recommend reading Jessica Mitford's classic "The American Way of Death", which dissected the American funeral industry of the '50s and '60s.

I think funerals in general are good things for the surviving loved ones. I know my mother's funeral brought me a lot of closure after her long illness. But I also know that when Jessica Mitford died in 1996, her funeral arrangements cost around $400. I may not be able to get it down that low, but I am most definitely planning on minimizing the cost. I'm sparing my family the expense and either having a low-cost green burial or donating my body to science.

tl;dr version: Funerals cost way too much, but there's ways to cut significant costs. Know your rights, pre-plan your own funeral, and visit the [Funeral Consumer Alliance] (http://www.funerals.org/).

Valentine’s Day Surprise

I went to Taco Bell on Friday night early Saturday morning and ended up shooting chili cheese burrito down the front of my jacket. Sally had just washed that jacket for the first time in two years and now it was going to go in the wash again for the second time in a week.

I threw it in the washer after scraping the 35% beef off the front and spraying it down with something that I think I was supposed to yell “BAM!” while squeezing the trigger. I stuffed other clothes in the washer because my jacket would be lonely and the environment would weep if I didn’t.

Into the dryer.

Out and on to the coat rack.

Because it was a balmy 36 degrees the rest of the weekend, I didn’t see my jacket until Monday morning as Greg and I walked out the door to the garage. My assumption was that it was going to be warm enough to not have a jacket so I just threw it on the front seat.

We pulled into the preschool parking lot and when I jumped out, I realized that it was actually way freaking warmer in my garage than the outside, so I grabbed the jacket off the passenger seat and threw it on.

As Greg and I walked to the doors, I felt something folded up at the pocket flap by my sleeve. I thought my cuff was stuck, but there was something there. As we got up to the door I looked down and saw what it was.

It was Miss Sally’s underwear.

It was stuck to the Velcro that keeps the pocket closed. With several other parents coming and going, I deftly grabbed the undies and stuck them in my pocket. I snickered to myself as we entered and Greg kept asking why I was laughing.

Many women’s magazines suggest spicing up the love life by having the woman stick her underwear in the husband’s pocket so he’ll know there will be some loving later on. As this was Valentine’s Day, I asked Miss Sally if this was the case. Not so much.

Well, in lieu of a Valentine’s Day gift, I told her that I wouldn’t speak a word of this to anyone.

Happy Valentine’s Day Miss Sally!

PS Check your jacket pocket tomorrow, Sally. Hubba hubba!

This would make for a great Erik Eats episode

Half Tie, Beer Leg... Two Tales of Friction

Here are two related tales that I like to call, "Half Tie" and "Beer Leg" which both hold hands with our good friend, friction. Enjoy.

Half Tie
Handsome Joe and I used to wear ties out on the town at Ohio University. It seemed like a good way to pick up classy chicks. I had an awesome flowered tie that was obnoxious and suave. I wore it out one snowy night in Athens.

The ties didn't work and Handsome Joe and I headed home alone together. On the way, we ran into a number of students who were sliding down Jeff Hill on stolen cafeteria trays and cardboard boxes. Half drunk kids would slide down the frozen, brick street, screaming the whole way. At the bottom, they would generously hand off their makeshift sleds, giving guys in ties a chance to sled down.

We ran up the stairs that paralleled the street with drunken stamina. At the top of the brick street I took a running dive and flew down the hill. It was exhilarating.

At the bottom, I handed off the tray to another student. Handsome Joe almost took me out as he flew by. He handed off his sled and noticed that my tie was sticking half out of my jacket. Actually it was all sticking out of my jacket, just that half of it was missing.

My tie got caught under the tray. The brick street, though nicely iced, caused a bit of friction. The tie was frayed. It was destroyed. I still wonder why I didn't choke to death. God bless the Double Windsor.

Beer Leg
One beautiful snowy Athens evening, Joe, Knitter and I were stealing beer out of a friend’s screened porch. It wasn’t really stealing because it was rightfully ours. Had we been inside the house at the party, we would have polished the entire case of beer. Since we didn’t like anyone at the party, we took our beer to go.

The porch was locked, but the window was not. I crawled through the narrow, screened window, flopped on the porch floor and passed the case of beer out to Knitter and Handsome Joe. Someone from the inside started to come outside so I dove out the window and we ran laughing through the back yards.

At Mill Street Hill, I took the case of beer from Knitter and did a running dive down the icy sidewalk on top the case of beer. It was just like a sled! I made it about half way down the hill before I ran out of ice. Knitter and Joe caught up and we continued home.

Once we got back to 19 Palmer Street, I made two observations and one conclusion: 1. My right pants leg was wet. 2. Eight beers had holes in the bottom of them. Conclusion: The cardboard was eaten through in half circles by the ice and sidewalk and the little smiling faces were drooling beer. The case somehow retained structural integrity so that the beer could leak out and on to my jeans. 16 beers is not as good as 24, but always better than zero.

Friction is a bitch.

Ask HolyJuan: How to Build a Mancave?

Dear Holy Juan,

In a few short months I will be getting married. This means my future wife and I will be moving into a new home soon. You've given advice on moving, keeping your wife happy, even parenting lessons (which I will undoubtedly need someday). One topic I have yet to see addressed? The home oasis of every American male. I'm talking about the Man-cave.

Holy Juan, I will need a Man-cave in my new home. Since I've never been married or a proud home-owner before I am at a loss. Does a finished basement automatically become the Man-cave, or will I have to flip a coin with my wife to see who gets dibs? If the basement is unfinished, but I use my considerable talent to change that, is it automatically mine? Will a shed in the backyard suffice as a Man-cave? Can I even hook up satellite TV to a shed?

My only solace in our current condo is the computer room/ office which I share with my fiancé and there's a goddamn poster sized picture of Marilyn Monroe on the wall. It's not even a sexy or seductive one either. This trend cannot carry over to the new house.

Help me, Holy Juan. You're my only hope.

Sincerely,
Mr. Phip


Dear Mr. Phip,

Buying a home can be a very stressful… wait… you are getting married? Married? Have you thought about the repercussions of this? You realize that when you are married, you lose the right to say “man.” Everything after that is “us.” What you are asking me is how to build an “Us-Cave.”

How To Build An Us-Cave

Step One: Buy a house
Make sure your house has a basement or second bedroom. This way you can fill those large, unused spaces with the boxes of sports memorabilia and man crap that you will not be allowed to unpack.

Step Two: Watch Home Improvement Shows
By watching home improvement shows, you will start to begin to gain confidence in your abilities to think about how great it would be to have an Us-Cave. Please note, you will have to record the Home Improvement shows and sneak out of bed in the middle of the night to watch them.

Step Three: Reminisce
Soon the DVR will be filled with other shows like “The Biggest Loser” and “The Real Housewives of Atlanta” and “16 and Pregnant” and there will be no more room for DIY shows. This will give you plenty of time to sneak into the spare bedroom and sort through the boxes with your old Xbox, baseball cards and baseball gear. Weep quietly to yourself now. Do it in the baseball glove so that with every sob, you inhale the sweet , sweet smell of bachelorhood.

Step Four: Construction!
Surprise! Your wife sold all your man crap and now the spare bedroom is empty (actually she threw the shit out and the guy with the trash truck just made a cool $1,500 off your collectibles.) Time to think about filling this now empty room with stuff! You repaint. You re-carpet. You buy a bed and an end table and a set of drawers. What’s this? A recliner! And your wife allows you to buy a 44” LCD, wifi enabled flatscreen. Your Us-Cave is almost a reality.

Step Five: Mother-in-law moves into the Us-Cave
Now all that is left is to await death. I’d suggest eating two pounds of bacon a day to quicken your inevitable end, but now that your wife is vegan, so are you. You’ll live to be 100. Until then, mother-in-law needs her colostomy bag emptied. Get to work, Mr. Phip.

Congratulations on your pending nuptials!

Fake Dispatch Top Tweet!

Yeah!

REVIEW - Skully’s: The Retro Party

We’ve been going to Skully’s Ladies 80s night for the past eight years. It used to be that we would go twice a month. Then once every month. Then once every two months. After Dave left, we wondered if we’d ever go again. We got over that bullshit pretty quick and now we are back to once every six weeks.

For those of you who are unaware, Ladies 80s is held on Thursday nights at Skully’s in Columbus, OH. Girls get in free. Boys pay five bucks. They play 80s dance music. Most the time the DJ does a great job putting together the right mix of great dance songs with only a scrunchie’s worth of overplayed Madonna/Love Shack crap.

Our modus operandi is to go out to a nearby bar beforehand at 8:00pm get our drink on and chit chat. At 10:00pm or so, we’ll head over to Skully’s. At that time, the place is just starting to awaken. Usually there are six or seven teachers’ conference attendees that have been drinking since 5:00pm getting their 80s dance on. These folks will be gone by 11:00pm to make the mistakes that people at conferences make. We usually sit up front and drink beers, waiting on anyone who said they would catch up with us later. At some unspoken time, Aha’s “Take on Me” or something by INXS will come on and we will make our way back to our spot. You can see that spot marked here with an “X”.

We usually dance for a few songs and inevitably someone will show up with a handful of beers. We’ll dance some more and if a crappy song comes on, we will step out side and those that smoke will smoke and those that don’t will think about why they quit. Then back inside. Repeat as necessary.

By about midnight, Skully’s is packed. In the past three years, people have begun to dress the part, wearing pink leggings and jelly bracelets and sunglasses that weren’t even popular in the 80s.

We still play the guessing game: one person leans over and says to another, “I think X band will play next.” Person two will think for a moment and say, “I think band Y will play.” And then we wait to see who is right. If you are brave, you can guess song and artist. Saying Madonna’s Borderline will get you kicked in the pants.

At 2:15am, you cannot believe it is 2:15am and we all stumble out into the night, ears ringing with the memory of a keytar and reverb.

So a few weeks ago, Freckled Jen sent me a photo of Skully’s door:

No more Ladies 80s? We were aghast! How could they fuck with the formula!

But we are getting old. Really old at this point. I was old the first day I stepped into Skully's. We knew things would change over time. It's just no one wanted to admit it.

Recently it was Jenn’s birthday weekend and she wanted to get a group of folks together. When she called to ask about Friday, I had to decline as Miss Sally was going to be heading out of town. Jenn asked about Thursday and I said sure!

It was a few hours later that we both realized that we could check out Skully’s new Retro Party. We agreed that we would do a little light recon and see what was up.

We met friends after work at Surly Girl. We drank and bought Jen shots.

At 10:15pm, we headed over.

It was still free for ladies and still $5 for dudes.

Once inside, we expected to hear a mix of 80s and 90s. But it was still all 80s music.

So we danced.

And an odd thing happened. I’m not sure if it was the DJ or the new format, but the DJ started playing really good songs, back to back. Really good ones. Usually the DJ will choreograph the evening by playing a mix of good old dance songs and then pulling out a dead ringer that everyone likes. On this night, it seemed like the DJ was pulling out all the stops and playing back to back to back great songs.

And I was a bit disappointed. Call me a hypocrite, but I like the build up. I like a few good songs topped off by an ELO or Cure or Depeche Mode song that can’t go wrong. And then I like when the DJ plays a (what I consider to be) a crappy, stereotypical 80s song, so that I can take a break for three minutes and twenty seconds.

When we did finally step outside, we chatted with one of the bartenders. He seemed to help us do the math. The DJs will play the standard 80s music early on. As the night goes on and all those 30 somethings leave at midnight to go home and take Advil, the young kids start showing up. Then the 90s music starts to mix in.

And wouldn’t you know it. Around midnight, the 90s songs started kicking in.

Sadly, the 90s songs they played were not all that good. I know there are some danceable 90s songs, but we really didn’t hear to many. Especially since we left right after midnight to go home and take Advil.  I guess we will have to go back and do some more testing.

Fear not, friends. Skully’s is still the same. It was inevitable that the 90s were going to creep in to 80s dance night. They had been already. Every so often we’d turn an ear to the music and say, “Was that is the 80s?” and then continue with said dancing. There aren't bookends on the 80s demarking where good music starts and stops. I’m not sure there was good 80s dance music until late 1983 anyways.

So do not let the new name fool you. It is still the same fun. Still the same fun, dance music.

Still the same Terminator Guy.

Still the same Shake Weight Guy.

And the Old Guy.

The same Converse.

All and these fuckers:

And when a really good song comes on, we call Dave and leave a message on his phone to piss him off and remind him that even though The Retro Party is the same as Ladies 80s, it's never the same without him.