People love theme parties, especially when that theme is the cheesiest, most cliché of all themes— the 1980s. It gives them a chance to tease their hair to White Snake-groupie heights, wax nostalgic on a bygone era and dance like a coked-out Don Johnson to Duran Duran's greatest hits. It's like Midnight in Paris, only with uglier clothes and less interesting people. Hell, '80s nights are even No. 29 on the blog Stuff White People Like, though I think it's safe to say that these cornfests transcend all race barriers.
For those who refuse to get over the “Where's the beef?” era, there's Porky's Place on the corner of Calle Sexta and Avenida Revolución in Tijuana. It's basically an '80s party that never ends, with its checkered walls, non-stop '80s hits and nod to one of the raunchiest movies that decade produced. Let's just hope there aren't any peepholes in the ladies' bathroom.
Porky's has a special place in my heart. It was the first place I became a regular when I turned 18. It used to be located within Plaza Fiesta in Zona Rio in a space smaller than most apartments. My best friend Monica and I went nuts on the teeny dance floor to the Porky's playlist, which consisted of The Smiths' “This Charming Man,” The B-52's “Rock Lobster,” “Just Like Heaven” by The Cure and, for the sake of variety, songs by Blur and Pulp.
On my recent trip back there, I was saddened and angered when, instead of spinning Britpop greats for that dose of variety, the DJ went with Bon Jovi and—gasp!—Sublime.
Sublime! Like, gag me with a spoon! I exited at once, but not before yelling “Seriously?” at the DJ.
I'm not sure I can ever forgive this transgression. I can only hope they learn from their mistake after seeing the disappointment on all the faces.