The mailing address

of my childhood gets its 15 minutes, foam included. 

Update: The friend of nearly 40 years(!) who alerted me observes: If it wasn't rabid when it walked in, it sure was when it walked out. 

Either it changed, or I did

because this place was pretty bad last time I went. Still sad to see it go; where else did the bartenders always greet me every few years as if I came in every night? (Note to the misty-eyed, though: In the mid-80s Columbus was anything but "a rough stretch." Can you say Silver Palate? We fled north in '86 because it was too trendy to navigate anymore.) 

(Filched from Eater) 

And where was the fraud?

Hanging out in a bar in Philadelphia? Are they serious? And I love how they are not voters but "fans."

Good job

Diana B.

Happy hour

at the Gramm Old Party Saloon. 

About as funny

as missing WMDs.