Oh Joshua Tree, you lost us at hello. Walking in, we're met with skull-intrusive '80s music, the definition of starting off on the wrong foot. Mere paces later we are shoulder to shoulder with barely-legal boys who'd very much like to call themselves men, if only the pesky number on their IDs didn't say otherwise. The air is thick with Davidoff Cool Water and the pheromones of a hundred sweaty, frat boys and girls looking to get laid, some maybe for the first time. There may be some people out there who enjoy drinking $7 beers out of red Solo cups in close quarters with recent college graduates and throngs of women drunkenly wailing, "I WANT TO DANCE WITH SOMEBODYYYYY," in unison, and those people are douchebags. Enter at the risk of being considered one.