If you're planning to hang out at Trio Club (909 E Burnside St., 234-5003), a word of advice: Sit by the windows. Far more entertaining than the gelled-up Beavertonian mangling "In the Air Tonight" on the light-up dance floor is watching passersby peer inside the gleaming-white karaoke palace and mouth, "What the fuck is this place?" No one mourned the demolition of overpriced dungeon the Galaxy last year, but who thought it'd be replaced by a business that looks sprung from the mind of Parks and Recreation's Tom Haverford? It might be the weirdest place on the "weird side" of Portland, and it isn't even trying—though if you ask me, Las Vegas is much weirder than our town could ever hope to be. And with its luxury-suite sleekness, fluorescent lighting, $5 cover plus security pat-downs, $4 PBRs, lack of well drinks, Jumbotron lyric screen, behind-the-bar waterfall, smoke machines and three rooms separated by soundproof glass—including a rentable party room where you can apparently order a sparkler-topped bottle of Grey Goose for your birthday—Trio Club's owners are clearly trying to trick suburbanites into believing they can relive that one wild weekend in college just over the Beaverton-Hillsdale Highway. That's all fine for an Old Town meat market, but there's a reason the most popular karaoke joint on the eastside is a rundown Chinese restaurant: The appeal of spending a night publicly butchering popular songs is the besotted egalitarianism. Everyone sucks, no matter how many lasers and how much fake fog you surround them with, and that's the fun. But Trio Club mistakenly believes everyone wants—and deserves—faux-VIP extravagance. What the fuck indeed.