Born and raised in the America of the 1980s, I spent a considerable portion of my childhood watching reruns of the now-classic television serial "Cheers." For those unfamiliar with the program, "Cheers" was a situation comedy set in a Boston bar, and focused on the relationships between its regular patrons. During the afternoons I was sipping from my box of Hawaiian Punch in front of the television set, I certainly never would have predicted that twenty years later, I'd have the type of job that would require me to sit around shooting the sh*t with the bar management like the characters on "Cheers." Then again, I also used to be under the impression that China was the name of the restaurant from where my mother used to purchase take-out, so go figure.

Since I spend so much of my time here in Beijing hanging around in bars and clubs, it's inevitable that I would develop a rapport with the other individuals I see on a regular basis at them. Nonetheless, there are few others I know who personify the "creature of habit" as I do: the head waiter at my favorite restaurant in town doesn't even bother to take my order anymore, the lady who runs the fruit stand at my xiaoqu reserves a daily produce stash just for me, and the bar staff at the small handful of venues I frequent generally greet me by name, with a hug. Since I value consistency much more than novelty, I rarely grow bored with the things I enjoy.

At the same time, I've heard accusations that my preference for the regular undermines much of my sense of objectivity as a critic. Though I believe, on an intellectual level, that everyone is entitled to his or her own opinion, I have to admit that deep down inside, I often consider my own tastes superior or more refined. Maybe this sort of haughtiness alienates me from others, but I feel largely justified because of the fact that, given a plethora of choices, I've actually settled on certain decisions, and expended the time to explore my orginal motivations for having made them. And if anyone feels like getting in the ring with me to discuss the finer points of what I like, he or she had better be ready to put on the gloves and spend a bit of time in there, because I can be a rather inexhaustible opponent in defense of any of my pet causes

My favorite venue in Beijing is not a perfect place. It's not very big, the bar service is sometimes slow, and it's not exactly the classy sort of watering hole I'd bring my parents for a quiet cocktail. Nevertheless, the music is always fantastic, so I've been going every weekend since it opened last year. I don't even mind going two nights in a row, because I always know that I'll have a good time, as it's probably the only spot in the city where I can dance comfortably to exactly what would be on my headphones over a 20 kuai Tsingtao. It may not be for everyone, but I'm under the impression that one would be hard-pressed to find another venue serving up the same sort of atmosphere.

I suppose that it's easy for someone who generally enjoys generous media access at the door to say that the cover is worthwhile. On the other hand, I will go out on a limb and say that I would be more than willing to pay however much to listen to what's on the musical platter for any given night. I'm usually a cheery, polite, and even-tempered sort of individual, but few things have upset me as much as listening to the complaints of potential party-goers when they discovered that they would have to (gasp) pay to enter a club.

Amazingly, it's seldom the regulars who dutifully cough up the entrance fee every weekend who are bitching and moaning about the supposedly exorbitant cost, but the people who end up there randomly. One of the most respectable spectacles I've witnessed in my life was watching one particularly well-connected member of the Beijing media elite pull a 100 kuai bill from his wallet without argument as the totally clueless person at the door simply told him that his name was not on the list. And this, from someone who could have just as easily pulled out his mobile phone and created a major scene of the "Don't you know who I am?" variety.

Promoters and venue managers in town are attempting to run businesses, so it's to be expected that they'd love to spread the word and foster interest amongst new clientele. However, I wonder how valuable it is to fill those very businesses with the type of patrons who are simply there to throw stones at all of their work rather than the same people there every week who'd prefer to offer advice than criticism, wait patiently for a their drinks, and even tell the drunken idiots berating the doorman to stick their asses in cab back to Wudaokou if they have such a problem.

This weekend, I'll tip my glass to the regulars.