Indie kids, poppy punkers, and other Valley vagrants gradually drained in and boozed up, filling the dance floor with steel-toed boots and patent leather pumps. Resident DJs William Fucking Reed and Sleazy Sean kept the limbs flailing to their synth-punk '80s disco beats. As the night wore on and the crowd increased, outfits became more nostalgic, harking back to a time when 20-hole Docs were cheapest at the Leather Outlet on Indian School Road, and The Party Gardens charged 10 bucks at the door for a NOFX show.
After hours of punkish patrons sucking up secondhand smoke and earning sufficient sweat rings, Marky Ramone was ushered to the DJ booth. People whipped out their digital cameras, and the flashes looked like a million strobe lights. "Do You Remember Rock N Roll Radio?" blasted from the speakers, and even the stiffs by the pool table got out to kick their Converse around. Marky Ramone held a cocktail and leisurely earned his DJ title with heavy-handed help from the resident DJs, showing that Ramones Mania lives on!