An upstate cesspool populated by aging hipsters who live with their parents, professional DJs and other "artists", cokeheads, underachievers, self-absorbed (for no discernible reason) posers, alcoholics, drug addicts and losers. This is the place to go if you want to end up on welfare, with kidney failure, on an anti-viral cocktail, or if you have failed at every other juncture in life, an identity. If you kiss the owner's son's gigantic ass, you may end up with a temporary job, which granted is not easy to come by in the wasteland that is Binghamton, and the gratifying sense that a bunch of chronically aimless, unattractive, age-inappropriate, talentless wannabes think you are "cool". IMPORTANT: This sense of coolness and accomplishment will never be correlated by the outside world so it is crucial that you NEVER LEAVE THE BELMAR.
It's wing night at the Belmar.