Catbirds
From Wikipedia: "Bowerbirds and catbirds make up the family Ptilonorhynchidae. The most notable characteristic of bowerbirds is the extraordinarily complex behaviour of males, which is to build a bower to attract mates. At mating time, the female will go from bower to bower, watching as the male owner conducts an often elaborate mating ritual, and inspecting the quality of the bower. Inevitably, many females will end up selecting the same male, and many underperforming males will be left without mates."
Yup, that about sums up Catbirds, a bar that has as eclectic a clientele as the bar on Tatooine, which apparently is called the Mos Eisely Cantina per the Star Wars Databank (and the fact that I didn't know that off the top of my head is an ultimate relief to me). The bar is 99% men, with about 1% of those not so subtly bragging about the fact that they own a condo (or bower) and the other percentage remain the "underperforming male" type.
Truly, I could pen a novel about the personalities found in this place: Jerry, who prefers to call himself Vader; his "son" who at 24 thinks "dating an older woman would be soooooooo coooooool;" Chris, a 26 year old with well chosen piercings and who does Xgame activities for a living and who can't understand why I don't have a myspace profile; Nerfherder, the scruffy looking bartender; Jay and Silent Bob who look like a Simpsons drawing of Jay and Silent Bob with the only exception being that the silent one is the skinny, long haired type; Ninja, the man who is from my spirited 88 year old grandma's home town in Louisiana, and who wishes he was a woodland creature so that he could huddle under my awning ass; Genevieve, a drag queen who asked if I would accompany her on her trip to the doctor when she makes the official transformation so that the doc would know exactly what she wants to look like (Genevieve is about the size of a middle linebacker and is/was an athlete but at this point I can't remember what sport)--ah, the list goes on.
Yes, Catbirds is the new devilport, only I have no desire to ever return there--EVER. While the Devilport may still hold a place in my heart, Catbirds doesn't even hold a place in my bowels. It makes Fin's look like Studio 54, which reminds me that Fin's has officially bitten the dust with a sign that reads: "Final Final Last Call Tonight."
Ok, back to my Vault and a heaping plate of angelhair pasta. G, craft night cannot start too soon for me, ma petite soeur. I think I'm retired from barhopping.
Yup, that about sums up Catbirds, a bar that has as eclectic a clientele as the bar on Tatooine, which apparently is called the Mos Eisely Cantina per the Star Wars Databank (and the fact that I didn't know that off the top of my head is an ultimate relief to me). The bar is 99% men, with about 1% of those not so subtly bragging about the fact that they own a condo (or bower) and the other percentage remain the "underperforming male" type.
Truly, I could pen a novel about the personalities found in this place: Jerry, who prefers to call himself Vader; his "son" who at 24 thinks "dating an older woman would be soooooooo coooooool;" Chris, a 26 year old with well chosen piercings and who does Xgame activities for a living and who can't understand why I don't have a myspace profile; Nerfherder, the scruffy looking bartender; Jay and Silent Bob who look like a Simpsons drawing of Jay and Silent Bob with the only exception being that the silent one is the skinny, long haired type; Ninja, the man who is from my spirited 88 year old grandma's home town in Louisiana, and who wishes he was a woodland creature so that he could huddle under my awning ass; Genevieve, a drag queen who asked if I would accompany her on her trip to the doctor when she makes the official transformation so that the doc would know exactly what she wants to look like (Genevieve is about the size of a middle linebacker and is/was an athlete but at this point I can't remember what sport)--ah, the list goes on.
Yes, Catbirds is the new devilport, only I have no desire to ever return there--EVER. While the Devilport may still hold a place in my heart, Catbirds doesn't even hold a place in my bowels. It makes Fin's look like Studio 54, which reminds me that Fin's has officially bitten the dust with a sign that reads: "Final Final Last Call Tonight."
Ok, back to my Vault and a heaping plate of angelhair pasta. G, craft night cannot start too soon for me, ma petite soeur. I think I'm retired from barhopping.
posted by Cranky at 6:32 PM
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