I see the hopeful. The slick— collared, aggressively slouching homies and their mini skirted, pushed out and painted on female counterparts, waiting behind the chord at certain hip Sixth Avenue dance spot on the weekends. The faux “line to get in” is brilliant — so the management can try to draw a crowd with a crowd. It’s no surprise this spot does pretty well. They're just about the only game in town for people that want to show off their really expensive car payment, get a little eye-fuck return on the eight to 12 grand they spent on their after market tits, or assault their ilk's senses with their yellow cake uranium powered, satellite aligning, bowel release inducing sound systems, all while seriously retaining hope, however slim, that at some point Paris and/or Lindsey may show up with Jay-Z and Beyonce.

There is a happening in Tacoma that reminds me of the movies, but this Sixth Ave. spot on the weekends is not it.

Monday evenings from 9:30 to 12:30 p.m., for the last four years, Jazzbones has been hosting "Rockaraoke" – basically, a killer live rock band playing any one of hundreds of songs, with a singer from the crowd. The band does three 45-minute sets, and in between, spins records to shake your booty to. By midnight there is always a (real) line up to the corner. Inside, it reminds me of a cross between the high school/college-y party at the end of Superbad (where Mclovin puts the shoes to the little redhead), and a porno Web site. It’s easily the greatest, consistent happening I've seen in a bar on a Monday night since Steel Panther was Viper Room's Monday night house band, calling the band and the night Metal Shop — where, incidentally, a "really close friend of mine" got with Tila Tequilla one night in my SUV, parked half a block away down the alley from the club.

But back to Jazzbones and Monday night Rockaraoke. I've been to a few weekly, world-class gatherings, and I am crapping you negative when I say the girls that show up to this place are top fucking notch.
 
But that isn't ever what amazes me, or strikes me as amazing. It’s not even what’s completely “Tacoma” about it. What I love is this: Not only are there the hottest college age girls, who have perfected the flavor of "fresh off the parental chain, oozing disposable income" cross-pollinated with "aching to, at best, be bad, and at worst, end up on the Girls of Jazzbones Gone Wild DVD — but the rest of the crowd is made up of every color size and shape of person you can imagine.

What ever you got, it’s all there, and it’s all accepted. I've never see anyone fronting off. Even the real homies (who are not over vibing the place, but still give off the coolest and least impressed air in the room) seem to lay back and just enjoy all the delicacies that shake it on the dance floor.  I've never seen a fight, or even anyone unhappy with how their night was turning out, or how they were doing, or how they felt about themselves. I've never smelled even the slightest odor of clique-y judgmental vibes.

It’s a goddamn thing of beauty — just a straight up good time, where all are welcome.

Don't take my word for it. Go see for your self. 

[Jazzbones, 9 p.m., no cover for ladies, $4 guys, 2803 Sixth Ave., Tacoma, 253.396.9169]

Drummer Geoff Reading – who will be writing a bi-weekly column for the Weekly Volcano online called “Holding Down the 253” which will post every other Friday — has played music in tons of Northwest bands. Green Apple Quickstep, New American Shame, Top Heavy Crush and most recently Duff McKagan's LOADED — to name but a few. He's toured the world several times over, sharing stages with the likes of Slipknot, The Cult, Buckcherry, Korn, Journey, The Sex Pistols, Nine Inch Nails and on and on. He has called Tacoma home since 2005, and he holds down the 253 in the North End with his wife and son.