In-Tacoma.net

Sorry peeps, I guess the Goldfish isn’t really In-Tacoma; it should not be on the best bar poll whatsoever, it should be kept a secret. Not too long from now my fear of the inevitable might come true and the goldfish will spoil with the new condos being built on Ruston way flooding the place with yuppies and fiendish bores. This tavern is at its best serving a regular maximum of 15 people on a Friday night which is why I love it.

Besides the small crowd, what else do I love about this place you ask? What makes it a worthwhile place to visit with a stale beer atmosphere and wait your turn bathrooms? The people. Red necks, old couples, blue collars, white collars and the average soul gather on a regular basis in this tavern to convene and shoot the sh&@. Notice I said regular, every time I set foot through the large green door I not only recognize the bartender but also the familiar faces I have had at least one intellectual, goofy and fascinating conversation with.

With the beer at an affordable price, I can warm my feet on a cold northwest day next to the crackling fireplace while listening to the scratchy sounds of Shane McGowan’s lyrics blaring just loud enough from the jukebox. Strike a match under a kindling conversation and be on my way to bliss. This kind of place is where beer is a social lubricant not a depressant and comfort is never an issue. The Goldfish is not a place to pick up chicks, go elsewhere to embarrass yourself. The last fight was almost 3 years ago so don’t bother picking a fight either, the old codgers will clown your face, shatter your ribs and pull a Kano (Mortal Kombat) on you before you know it. Did I mention the last fight was three years ago?

If you’re looking to network with all walks of Tacoma life, have a great time, drink beer and be yourself the goldfish is where it’s at because “sometimes you wanna go where everybody knows your name.”

update: The goldfish is indeed on the tacoma side thanks to everyone that messaged us!

The Karpeles Manuscript Museum, 407 South G Street. Across the street from Wright Park this ominous and often overlooked building stands tall and sports classic architecture. The cannon in the front of the lot guards the door to a free admission and in my opinion a waste of time. History fascinates me especially priceless artifacts from all cycles of cultures and people both important and obscure. I’m not writing a negative piece about this museum, just an honest one.

Upon Entrance I was greeted by a gal freckled from candy abuse and vitamin D. she doesn’t ask for a donation because there is no donation box. She then yammers about the visiting exhibits “hieroglyphics Noah Webster, and more Hieroglyphics.”

The manuscripts, supposed delicate paper are held in frail wooden boxes lined with velvet and guarded by 50 cent locks. A confused curator interested only in the woes of her cell phone chattered away as I saw there were no security measures to protect any of these priceless pressed pieces of pulp. Everything locked in these wooden boxes looked fake, the crinkles and torn edges bare shadows not of the illumination from this musky hall. The bust of good ol’ Honest Abe held my attention longer than the dummies in shining armor. I was troubled by the prints, all but one looked like an original, the handwritten page out of Noah Webster’s first dictionary everything else looked like a laser copy almost pixilated. The laminated descriptions above each box held no information about where the artifact came from; its preservation from the erosion of time, just a translation of the tiny handwriting of history’s greatest.

The Hieroglyphics were encased in ½” Plexiglas locked in by a convenience lock used at stores like k-mart. The descriptions held only the meaning of the symbol and did not describe what tomb or Egyptian monument they were cut from. The sandstone looked manufactured by Quick-Crete and was in perfect condition making yet another artifact here look counterfeit.

All negatives aside, I did enjoy that the walls in one room were covered in what looked like paintings created for 80’s fantasy pulp novels. Two outrageous glass sculptures created by the local Evan Schaus (see Michaels post), and last but not least a limited edition of a limited edition Declaration of independence, the icing on the cake……

My questions and your mystery to solve for a reward of two beers from myself are: How do they pay taxes on this building if no donations are needed nor accepted? How come there seems to be no authenticity to the artifacts? Why were the levels of security so low when some of these priceless pages could be stolen so easily?

Overall, I was stumped by the time I left and felt a strange feeling of being ripped off even though I didn’t pay! What do you think?

photo credit: http://www.flickr.com/photos/maybelline/342866156/