Horsehead

We really weren't sure what to make of him, the chubby, late 40's, mustachioed man seated in a chair by the jukebox bobbing his head vigorously to the driving dance beats. Between games of pinball, Tegan ad I would take turns eyeballing him, as well as the rest of the room. At first we thought he was probably with a group playing pool nearby, but when they left and he remained, we had to reassess.

Maybe he was a new bouncer, his seeming ridiculousness merely a facade covering great experience. This theory was overturned by two points. First, as trouble simmering at another pool table began to become more heated, he paid very little attention, almost averting his eyes from the situation.

Secondly and possibly more importantly, he was regularly pumping several dollar bills into the jukebox to select music whereas employees wield a remote control. A group of very young girls were now shooting 9-ball, and his bobbing throbbing presence was causing an obvious anxiety.

I was almost certain that the songs were repeating, but their similarity made it difficult to be positive. Then over the thumping refrain, "Shut your lips. Shut your lips. Do the Helen Keller and talk with your hips." my suspicions were confirmed. As I pondered the reference to Helen Keller (I guess the more accurate "Do the Helen Keller and redefine how society teaches individuals with aural/ocular impairments" wasn't very euphonious) a heavily tattooed man across the room thrust his finger towards the jukebox bopper and yelled, "Dammit, I can only handle hearing this fucking song 5 times in a night. Quit playing the same fucking songs!"

Mr. Mustache continued to nod his head nearly in rhythm to the beat, eyes half closed, as if simultaneously agreeing with and ignoring his assailant.

Some strange spell had been broken, and others began to adventure into the strange man's sphere and select music to play. The early Pink Floyd "Bike" began and the head bobbing became more erratic. The beat shifts and modulations broke down his disjointed self-confidence and he soon departed, leaving a group of early-20 hippies playing Grateful Dead. Their tastes were more varied than Mustache, however, because they also played "Don't you remember you told me you loved me, Baby!" and an early rap song with lyrics politely benign.

The Horsehead always has fun people-watching.