CC Club is the dingy Minneapolis watering hole where Paul Westerberg, Tommy Stinson, and Tom Arnold all famously soaked their livers. But those were the days when the neighborhood was still an artist haven. In today's Minneapolis, CC Club has reverted to being a dive — an oasis of old-school in the creeping gentrification. Though the stage has been replaced, the bar is still rich with entertainment. In the back are pool tables where smoky barflies pop eight balls into corner pockets, and a fat Big Buck Hunter HD console sits obstinately under a giant tissue spider by the kitchen. The CC is the only bar in the Cities where you and your roommate can suck down a pitcher while sitting at a Breakout cabinet or where you can settle an argument with your boyfriend by sparring in Mortal Kombat II. Sure, you might run into some local musicians — you might even wedge yourself between a pair of shattered souls at the trough urinal — but they're probably just there for a couple stiff whiskey sodas.