A Night Out at the Bar

I just wanted to analyse the composition of this candid bar shot (featured above).

Let's start with the two gentlemen with their heads looking to our left. Notice how they look like models. I think they are surprised to see other men around them who look strangely similar to themselves. The fellow on the right appears a bit more shocked to see the all the pomade dripping off square jaws then does his buddy who seems to be pleasantly enjoying the satisfaction of a returned stare from the red-headed gay man with suave pink shirt and matching red tie. Also note how the fellow on the right is the only one not wearing a tie; a fact he wishes to detract from by wearing a horribly expensive sweater. A knit conundrum unfolded every morning when he slides into alpaca/merino blend, the man is off his rocker thinking that he can replace a tie by accessorizing sunglasses and a hankey that matches his sweater. Go give yourself a handy and cool off sweater man.

One man and one man alone stands out in this composition, the tuxedo clad bartender. Sadly, he is embarrassed because he has no liquor to serve and realized his life is a joke. "I work at a fake bar", he thinks as a melancholy resin secretes from every pour in his body.

Moving on to the androids, we take an peep into the lives of two mechanical men that we see staring straight forward. With nothing exciting to anticipate, they neither care for glamour or anything else. They are hired as phony people to make a bar void of alcohol even more legit because they can't drink alcohol. I mean they can, but it wouldn't do anything more for them then you drinking a virgin strawberry daiquiri after burning all your taste buds off on a hot cup of coffee. See? Nobody wants to drink with an android.

This being a perfect time to segue, we finish our examination with the two gentlemen with heads turned toward our right. Our friend in the corner we shall leave for last. His chum to the right is the only decent fellow of the bunch who is craving a drink bad enough to look right past the two androids at the bar tender. The barkeep of course is ashamed of his lack of booze and is ignoring his only customer by looking into the corner. The sassy lad in the far left is not unlike a working class individual as he simultaneously cups his hands to cover up his half erection while with his fingertips messages the tip of his man part.


Nobody can blame the guy because of the great deal of sexual tension in the room. Ninety percent of all hands are reaching for the down-there-area.

Nutria Family

There turns out there is a father, mother and baby nutria in da hood. It's a little different than the bear family from the famed tale of lore, "Goldie Locks", but not so far off. Both have three sizes of varying proportions. Both eat cold cereal. Both have exposed their child to "adult" situations, like arguments, binge drinking and profanity. Both of them have defecated while having a luxurious dip in the river. Should I keep going?

The baby seems to have the closest bond with its mother. While the Papa Nute keeps his pace farthest up stream, child and mother keep close and personal. Being a cultural historian, I also employ a degree of animal sociology. Observing the situation at hand has led me to conclude that the baby nutria is a male. Let me tell you why.

While Freud was on his island adventure observing the evolutionary changes on finch beaks, he made some revolutionary observations about family interactions within the nutria species. He saw that the infantile male nutria seemed to have a natural attraction to its mother, while female nutria sought after their father. He concluded that the nutria rat had developed an ugly rat tale instead of a nice beaver tale or decisively more cute and thick-ish tale of the muskrat because of its peculiar and rude family interaction.

My ideas did not come to full fruition until I remembered this historical story of soft science. Despite the father being a bit of a lone wolf, I still raise my glass. "Long live the nutria!"

Nutria

There are a small yet thriving community of nutria rats at the Nike World Campus where I work. Dividing North Campus from South Campus, flows (not unlike a menstration cycle) a destiguishable, stagnant stream as a boarder between the two spacial areas. Two foot bridges provide ample oportunity to skan for sightings. Oh the excitement when I see a brown furry rodent gnawing on a stick mid-stream! I have caught one taking an afternoon saunter across the soccer field without a care in the world. What a lucky boy I am!

One day begrudgingly typing on my computer while florecent light soaks me motionless like a tanning bed, I hear Robert's clearly excited voice over the radio, "Two nutria sightings from the Nolan Ryan bridge!" My heart skips a beat! It's been over a week since anyone has even heard a rumor of a sighting and I was starting to wonder if the endangered species list was becoming inevitable. Within the hour I found my feet thumping across the wooden ties of the same bridge wondering if fate would toss me nutria, or just common malard. On my right side, mid "flow" swam the best nutria i will ever see. His (or her) fur was clumped in that funny way that becomes beaver or muskrat when wet; just like an anime character the hair comes together in a fashion of spikes that are half cute and half hairy grossness. I just love'em! My day had been completed.

I can't wait till I see my friend again!