The Rathskeller Pub is a filthy place and its typical denizens are of an undeniably absurd breed. But more frequently than I like to admit, I pay $3 to spend a few hours in that concrete basement. Why do I debase myself?

Now I don’t mean to pick on the Rat in particular. I don’t think any bar on State Street is well known for its cleanliness, and the people that pile into the Rat are often the same people that pile into all the other bars.

The Rat just happens to be Binghamton’s paragon of the sleazy, college dive-bar. It has it all: a lax ID policy, teenage girls dressed in shirt skirts in January, ridiculous lines for the bathrooms (which include, in the men’s room at least, a feeding trough-style urinal), a reputation for attracting masses of easy freshman and a name (the Rat Cellar?) that unashamedly accents its seedy nature.

So why do I go to the Rat, or any of the bars, even though I clearly hold these types of places in such contempt? I go in part for the humor of it all.

The first time I saw State Street it was impossible to keep on a straight face. The Vegas lights, the crowds of students desperate to hook up (it seems unlikely anyone is there for the intellectually rigorous conversation, or for the joy of dancing in the midst of numerous strangers); it’s hysterical to me how people are able to take themselves seriously while they go through the motions.

Sometimes I feel as though I’m watching a nature documentary on breeding practices when I’m at the bars. As squawks of “bro,” “brah” and “omigod” sound in the background, two potential mates approach each other. The male teases the female about her shoes, the female titters, they grind to Lady Gaga and then catch a cab together. The male hopes the female doesn’t vomit her scorpion bowl all over the backseat, in which case his clever shoe jokes will have been vain.

Some might call me pretentious, or perhaps embittered because I’m no good at working the mating rituals that typically occur Downtown. It’s true, it’s not the best context for me to meet or get to know anyone. But maybe sometimes I do go Downtown to try to hook up, just like everyone else. But by acknowledging that it’s hilarious and lame, I do feel a little better about it.