The thing about venues like Pyramid is that they make me feel about eighteen again. Not just because Chrissy and I were wont to wander down for Electra-City and Malfunction back in the misty prehistoric era of 1999, but because the space itself - especially the lower level - feels like someone’s basement that everyone used to hang out in on angsty high school weekends. It might happen to have a well-stocked bar along with the scruffy couches and christmas lights but the atmosphere is the same. Not that that’s bad, exactly: I did after all lounge rebelliously around plenty of clove-smokey basements in my day. Downtime used to have sort of the same thing going on - maybe less like a basement and more like an oversized garage someone’s older brother pretends is an apartment - but then they went and redecorated. Now it looks like an interior decorator from Starbucks got high and watched a lot of anime. Not that that’s bad, either.