AS TOLD BY COLLIN KEEFE: It all started for me one night back in the Fall of 1999 at Juke, Jerk and Jive, the dearly departed Wednesday party at Bob and Barbara’s where DJ Oz and Chef Jeff Simmers rocked soul music while serving up lip-smacking soul food. I had just moved back to Philly after a summer spent in suburban exile. With my new bachelor pad and a steady stream of dotcom cash – my first real taste of an “adult salary” – I had a newfound hunger and thirst to exploit the city, its nightlife and citizenry for all they were worth.

It’s a wonder that I can even remember it now. Half-cocked on PBR and Jim Beam and with my maw stuffed with fried chicken, collard greens and watermelon, I found myself cornered by two babes – Sara Sherr and Megan Geckler. Above the howl of vintage Stax jams, they demanded my email address.

Why?

I couldn’t hear.

I handed it over, figuring that the worst that could happen if I gave it up was that I might get an email booty call or something.

I didn’t – I mean not from either of them – but to my surprise when I fired up my Commodore Vic 20 the next morning, I learned I’d been inducted into a listserv called Dummytown.

Its origins are still a little murky to me. I was late to the online party. Best as I can tell, Sara and Megan started it to while away the hours at their temp jobs that summer. Brian “Chester’s Fun Spot” Veen came up with the name. As he saw it, Philadelphia was a town full of dummies.

In the earliest days, there were just a small handful of folks onboard – essentially Sara and Megan’s inner circle. By the time I was jumped in, the ranks had swelled to hundreds. Everyone from old WKDU heads and CDNow staffers to the entire former lineup of the Wishniaks and most of the Fresh Air crew, save for Terry Gross, were signed on. As I recall, nearly every music and arts writer from Philadelphia Weekly, Citypaper, Inquirer and Daily News regularly chimed in.

Back then most of the conversations centered on whether Stereolab was still relevant, who got naked at Brother JT’s last show at the Troc, where the party was that weekend, and just what in the fuck was emo?

I still don’t know the answer to that one.

If you weren’t invited, you didn’t miss much. By today’s standards, it was essentially a primitive hyper-local social networking experiment – like Facebook strung together with two tin cans and twine. Philly’s hipsterati (we still considered ourselves scenesters back then) exchanged idle chatter, fought, raged, fawned and made fools of themselves from the safety of a dial-up connection. Contrary to popular myth, it was not all about slandering Joey Sweeney. Believe me, I was there and if anyone was shit-talking him, it would’ve been yours truly.

Some of highlights included Joe Paone’s sidesplitting Monday morning Eagles recaps, repeated attempts to out who was behind Cherry Coke and some guy who said his cat’s asshole reminded him of a banana with a bite taken out. Oh, and Neal Pollack proving to us on a number of occasions that he was complete and utter prick.

Though it peaked somewhere around the dawn of the new millennium, like a big and dumb but loyal dog, Dummytown still chugs along today. As a group we’ve seen members come and go, marry and divorce, go crazy, die, spawn offspring and move to far away lands. If you’re still interested in joining look us up, and drop us a line. We’ll be happy to sign you up.

This entry was posted on Friday, August 29th, 2008 at 12:26 pm.