Cinebar, that venerable watering hole located at 69 E. San Fernando Street, may soon be sold, according to sources familiar with the situation.

However, fans of the long-running dive—which pours stiff drinks at easy-to-swallow prices—need not fret, at least not right now, according to Cinebar’s manager, who goes by Kate Skate.

Skate has been serving as the bar’s executor since the owners died, in 2009 and 2011, respectively. In a statement on her Facebook page she wrote that she is in the midst of negotiations with a potential buyer. “I cannot give details, but rest assured the kids ain’t going nowhere if I have a say,” she wrote, adding that nothing has been finalized and promising she will release more details when she knows more.

Furthermore, just because the bar changes ownership doesn’t mean the bar will change much at all. One Cinebar regular who asked not to be named said it would be “pretty dumb” to change the bar’s dependable formula, which draws a steady stream of patrons day in and day out.

Yesterday, Jan. 6, a notice of application for ownership change was posted outside the bar (see above), listing POS Enterprises as the applicant. Cinebar has regularly been recognized by Metro—winning “Best Dive Bar” on numerous occasions in Metro‘s Best Of issue.

Staff from Cinebar posed for this shot when the bar won back in 2011:

Read Skate’s full statement here:

Hey friends, since someone decided to post a pic of the application, which is an application only, I thought I would say a little something to quell gossip and rumors as well as true concern by our loyal friends. The owners of Cinebar passed in 2009, and 2011 respectively. The bar has been in court since then. The court ruled mandatory sale, which is a large amount I cannot disclose. I did my best as executor along with the staff, but the judge ruled a sale must happen. I cannot give details, but rest assured the kids ain’t going nowhere if I have a say when I meet with the new guy!Later on when I have a set plan with prospective new owner, I will post again. Thanks, love you all. Cheers!

Whether you believe it or not, not too long ago people were perpetually under the influence of alcohol. Booze, that permutable antiseptic, was added to all drinks to prevent bacterial infection. Luckily, we as a species enjoy the stuff very much—some of us, a little too much.

If alcohol consumption were a religion, bars would be the shrines where pilgrims consult the oracles on the future, the past and everything in between. There is wisdom to be found at bars.

Wisdom, and often a lot of fun. This city needs a resource that can explain the joys and pitfalls of local bars—an investigative team of experts, a “special forces” unit that specializes in bar culture.

Mr. Harada and I are up for the challenge. He’ll be illustrating this effort, and I’ll be taking notes, asking meaningful questions, forgetting the answers and reporting back to you as soon as I find my notes.

We’ll share stories from the lowliest dives to high-roller havens tucked in the creases of Silicon Valley’s tech office sprawl from the perspective of two painfully awkward barfles. Cheers!

A Night at Patty’s Inn

Mr. Harada and I rode past the two-headed tiger that shone its laser eyes across the light-rail station playground. We headed to a local spot that claims the “oldest bar in town” title.

Some will suggest that the Cinebar is actually older, but in a town that places little value on maintaining historical records of bars, it’s hard to tell. I always thought the old Faber’s bike shop that just burned down was the oldest drinking establishment in San Jose, but since it hasn’t held a liquor license since it was Ben’s Corner in 1913, and is now a pile of ashes and charred lumber, I suppose the point is moot.

Patty’s Inn is a simple building, framed with ancient redwood and probably sided with the same stuff. It’s made out of the kind of wood that even termites won’t mess with, out of respect.

Above the door, there’s a large fan, housed in a cast-iron frame that reads “Ventilation Company, Chicago, Ill.” Its blades are caked with a mix of tar, grease, dust and whatever else floats in the air at a place like this.

Inside, Patty’s is pretty comfy. Interior decorators have never been invited to update the space. This bar has aged like the people who frequent it: naturally and with character.

An alligator-skin steamer trunk hangs above the bar; the flavored vodkas hide underneath a thick layer of dust; the urinal is a trough; and the walls carry the patina of decades of cigarette smoke. A large black and gold clock looks like it was lifted from a Robert Palmer video. In general, the place is era-ambiguous.

A man name Larry Limo danced and pantomimed the music playing on the juke. It’s the only type of interpretive dance that I can stomach. Larry Limo was pretty good, and he even caught the attention of two women. His Jheri curl bounced to a James Brown track, and his fingers sparkled from various oversized gold rings as we took our place at the bar.

Eddie the bartender, a sexagenarian of mixed heritage (Filipino and Korean, I believe), poured two generous shots of Jameson. We toasted each other, the bar and the night in general.

Patty’s Inn is the kind of place where you can find a private corner to reflect with a friend, even if you’re sitting in the middle of the bar. The juke switched from James Brown to Muddy Waters. Mr. Harada began drawing the scene. One of the women took a break from watching Larry Limo’s peacock dance and put her arm over Mr. Harada’s shoulder.

“Whatcha’ doin’ honey? Are you drawering or sumptin? You some kinda artist?”

The woman was having a good night; if a mosquito bit her, it would probably black out. She was being the kind of friendly that sober people don’t understand and can’t appreciate. Mr. Harada was fairly sober at this point, so his response was to look the woman in the eye, slowly nod and look back down to his pencil and paper. It took the woman a few seconds, but she finally got the idea.

“Geez. Why so serious? Soooory.”

I scooted down the bar to Francis and Benny. Francis was born in San Jose in 1947, and her friend Benny in 1950. They visit Patty’s to reminisce about a time, as Francis puts itâ “When it was pretty around here.” It’s probably the only bar in town that hasn’t had a facelift since then, so I get it.

Benny, whose nickname is the “Mayor,” recalled a show he saw at the Bodega for $2.50. The lineup included Bo Diddley, Janis Joplin and Tower of Power. Back then, the roller derby and wrestling were San Jose’s sports of choice. The local youth would convene at the Civic Auditorium to watch both.

Back in Francis and Benny’s time, Garden City Casino and Harry’s Hofbrau were located at the end of Post Street right downtown. There was also a Mexican joint called Stokes. Rags, the shoeshine guy with no teeth, was also a constant figure on Post Street during those days.

Benny said something about Khartoum’s in Campbell being filled, wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling, with tropical ferns.

It was 11:44, and I decided to reconnect with Mr. Harada, who was conversing with Larry Limo. I noticed a dusty bottle of red liquor in the way back of the bar. Was that a tax stamp sticker near the bottle cap? I asked the bartender what the mystery crimson liquid was.

“Sloe gin.”

I had never tried sloe gin, and now wish I had continued that trend. At least, I wish the introduction was made by a more recent rendition of the stuff. I’m not sure what sloe gin is supposed to taste like, but this stuff tasted mean, angry, confused, like it had been incubated in an old athletic sock. It was a scheming, untrustworthy kinda flavor.

No offense to the sloe berry, which I’m sure is a fine berry and a hoot at parties, but even the memory of the taste gives me a strange tingle in the spine. Speaking of memories, the sloe gin was one of the last ones I have from that night.

Somehow, I managed the trek home, and Mr. Harada arrived safely at his domicile as well. I woke up the next day in the same shape as I did the day before, which means the night before went well.

Stay tuned for more adventures with Barfly and Mr. Harada…

Monkey may very well be San Jose’s longest running, consistently-active band. The band emerged in 1995, but unlike a lot of Monkey’s contemporaries, it never mixed punk rock and ska. Monkey always stuck strictly to the traditional more R&B-based sounds of ska’s first wave.

We caught up with Curtis Meacham (vocals/guitar) to ask him about the side of San Jose he knows best.

What part of Silicon Valley are you from?

Originally, I grew up in Sunnyvale, but I’ve lived in Downtown San Jose a couple of times and it’s always been a blast. There is actually a lot of community feel that can be experienced in San Jose on different levels. In a way, it’s always entertaining.

What’s your favorite place outside of San Jose?

Well, I like Telluride, Colo., for the beauty, Victoria, BC, for the people, and Belgium for the amazing food! Right now, I live in Campbell and it’s pretty cool… only, not as cool as Belgium.

What’s the best show you’ve seen in San Jose?

Easily, Prince at the Shark Tank a couple of years back. He came twice in the summer and I caught both shows—absolutely amazing. Aside from that, there’s the crazy Cactus Club shows, like the Twinkie fight during Big Sissy Brigade’s show, or the on-stage beer enema during the Diesel Queens.

Who’s your favorite local musician or band?

There’s a lot of really cool talent in San Jose. For fun factor, there’s always FTB. For good songwriting, there’s David Brookings. For ass-kickin’ guitars, there’s the Gillbillies.

Where’s your favorite place to get a drink in San Jose?

The Cinebar is always the cheapest, but aside from that, I always visit Rachel and her band of merry men, down at the Caravan.

Where’s a cool spot to get clothes?

Working Man’s Emporium. You can get some cool Dickies, Carhartt and Ben Davis there.

What’s your favorite spot for a cheap meal?

Any Vietnamese restaurant—and I do mean amy! Seriously, how can you make such a rockin’ sandwich for $3? it boggles the mind.

What’s the best thing about living in Silicon Valley?

It’s close to everything: 30 minutes from the beach, 40 minutes from SF and three hours from serious mountains.

Where’s the best place in SJ to go relax?

The back room at Trials pub. It’s low key and there’s a fireplace. How much more relaxing can you get?

Where’s the best place to see a show in San Jose?

Believe it or not, it’s the X Bar at the Homestead Lanes in Cupertino! Hands down. But then you say: “Hey, that’s not in San Jose, proper” …and to that, I say “Suck it Trebek!”

What’s San Jose’s best kept secret?

That damn orange sauce.

The Cinebar is fairly easy to miss. Located on 69 E. San Fernando, the Cinebar‘s entrance is a bland, nondescript wooden door, the kind one passes on the street without giving any thought. Sandwiched against the flashier Azucar—with its bright lights, blaring music and floor-to-ceiling windows—this door looks like the staff exit of the adjacent restaurant, rather than the main portal to a pub.

Hidden behind this ordinary door, though, is an extraordinary bar—one so stereotypically dive, that any person who has never seen a dive bar can walk in and recognize it as such. The joint has a run-down sort of feel to it (essential to any dive bar), with the wood fixtures worn from years of use. The floor is scuffed, the corners of individual floorboards chipped, while the wood-panel walls are scratched and gouged, the white paint flaked from the walls.

The bar is fully stocked with popular brands of alcohol, shelves of rums and vodkas and whiskeys running ceiling to floor the length of the counter. Flanking the bar is a row of leather chairs and wood tables. Affixed to the wall is a line of lanterns, the soft red light easy on the eyes. In the back, sits a jukebox, blaring rock tunes, and propped too close to the wall is the ubiquitous pool table, the felt stained with spilt beer. Rounding out the dive-y feel is a lone disco ball, hanging from the ceiling.

It could be a movie set on some Hollywood studio’s back lot, were it not for the artwork adorning the walls: stencils of Hollywood heavyweights like Marilyn Monroe, Herman Munster and the Three Stooges—the “Cine” in Cinebar. With its gimmicky artwork, the Cinebar could easily be a bar in Hollywood, a watering hole across the street from Paramount, where extras and crew mingle after a day’s shoot, were it not for the fact that the bar is located in San Jose.

The bar is often standing-room only. Patrons are typically of the alternative crowd, so after the workday ends, tattooed forearms, pierced noses and flannel shirts fill the stools. Many customers hail from the alt. crowd, but they do not have a monopoly on the bar. Anyone is welcome. Frequently, men in dress slacks and women in little black dresses sit alongside the band shirts and the blue-streaked hair. All are united in their common desire for a stiff drink and their belief that a night of drinking shouldn’t eat up a week’s paycheck. The bar offers $2 pints of PBR—all the time—and $5 shots, so it’s the place to drink on a budget—a welcome location for those in today’s economy.

Check out more photos of Cinebar in the MetroActive photo gallery.

Bar Fly is a new Metro column exploring Silicon Valley bars and clubs.