The Dume Room
Tucked into an ageing strip mall along an affluent stretch of PCH in Malibu, The Dume Room squatted like a transient on Rodeo Drive (pronounced roDAY-o, for you fly-over dwellers). Dislodged former locals and current celebrity neighbors squeezed into this smoky, apartment-sized den of iniquity to swill stiff cocktails and suck up lungfuls of carcinogens.
The thought of a fight breaking out in Malibu invokes visions of botoxed celebutants, or litigious suits. NOT at the Dume Room. Liquid courage flowed freely there. Nearly every weekend saw misplaced Pepperdine students and disgruntled former residents taking deserved swings at each other. Refreshing, I must say, for this southern boy. In fact, I nearly joined the club when a first date decided to opt out, and hitch her wagon to Martin Sheen's lesser-known Hispanic son. Can't really blame her though, I took her to THE DUME ROOM! Nice of the bartender to make sure he picked up my tab along with my date. She resurfaced a few days later with some pretty cool stories.
The Dume Room's fate was sealed from the start. Money can't buy cool, but it can sure get rid of it. The place closed back in '06, and last I checked, they still hadn't opened the Starbucks that was slated for it's spot. Hmmm...