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by Tim Corwin<\/p>\n\n\n\n

If you are civilization watcher, you probably already noticed that the American bar is a nodal point for socialized pastime. How can I justify this?

By examining several bars throughout the area, I have come across one that is a classic or neo-classic example of American home-spun bar milieu.

What are the classic conventions?

A simple and obvious catalog would include:<\/p>\n\n\n\n

A jukebox<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Booths<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Tables<\/li>\n\n\n\n
A pinball machine<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Friendly bar tender<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Beer signs<\/li>\n\n\n\n
A beer clock<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Mirror behind the bar<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Foot rail<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Graffiti<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Beer nuts<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Pickled eggs<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Tombstone pizzas<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Indigenous specialty drink<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Beef jerky<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Sporting events calendars<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Low illumination<\/li>\n\n\n\n
Regular specials on the house. <\/li>\n<\/ul>\n\n\n\n
Some bars promote some of these classical allusions but rarely does one find all and more in one place. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
One recent evening, this cub chronicler decided that the local bar environment was getting too familiar. The senses were refusing to respond to the ethereal kharma that is necessarily half the reason why we congregate in public places to stimulate our bodies with drink and our minds with witty repartee.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In short, I was looking for new horizons for the billowing circle of my poetic imagination. If you are a lucky bourgeois college student like I am, you probably do drugs and finger-twist your hair to relieve the tensions and neuralgia of Campus Angst, but that\u2019s beside the point.

What I am getting to was this little one room bar in Dundas called Marguerite\u2019s that has a 16 oz., 40 cent draught that beats the wind out of any other local or otherwise merchandising schemes. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
As I navigate my ton of Detroit flesh to this temple, I recalled the friendly matron lady bartender, the 10 cent Roll-a-ball, the unpretentious out screen door and the teutonic epiphany of the illuminated beer signs. It was a very maudlin moment for sure.

Once there, my very metaphysical mind floated through the door of the establishment and said \u201cyour 40 cent draught please!\u201d

It was all there: the jukebox heavy on Merle Haggard, the pinball machine stabbing the wall, the renowned Roll-a-ball game.

Other patrons stand up, take notice of your existence and sometimes touch your destiny with some verbal communication.

In fact, in this bar, Mick Jagger couldn\u2019t even shroud the presence of a Roll-a-ball champ (I knew I could work the Rolling Stones into this article somewhere). To those uninitiated to this peculiar game, it\u2019s a mixture of darts, shuffle board, bowling, poker and Lacrosse that doubles, then triples the stakes in the final rounds.

Ezra Pound, in fact, kept one in the rec room of his Italian villa and attributed his longevity to its daily use. After being thoroughly defeated and deflated in three dime trials, I retreated to the four dime drink and capriciously decided to bleed my libidinal artificial desires into a pinball machine.

This peculiar device has always been a trial for my psychokinetic powers and they are usually found innocent. This evening was no exception so I quit the machine after it acquitted my powers of manipulation.

When I was leaving this Wander Lust haven, I discovered what was the most singular element that made this particular bar classically unique: it had a bar tender who cared, really cared. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
This matron lady (Marguerite herself) often gives out helpful aphorisms to guide the conduct of the departing pilgrims:
\u201cDon\u2019t take any U-turns!\u201d and \u201cDon\u2019t take your drinks outside!\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
My spirit was this renewed and I was able to grimace again.<\/p>\n<\/div><\/div><\/div>\n\n\n\n