Distaste for the Illogical

I was watching Monday Night Football this evening after wiping down my last table at work, drained from eleven straight hours of waiting on sushi-starved middle-classy types. The commentary sounded like typical football commentary, including the announcers’ playful banter about individual athletes, team history, and the repetition of which yardline was fortunate enough to be the present line of scrimmage.

Then I heard something I didn’t quite believe.

While riding a fairly innocent but coherent train of thought about the Indiannapolis Colt Defense being exhausted, the announcer speaking was coopting a cliched simile about a tired athlete.

“It’s like the Colt Defense is down on its knees, sucking…” He said.

My ears perked up instantly, a suspended moment of disbelief accompanying the pause in the announcer’s speech.

“…wind. Sucking wind.” The announcer finished, not sure if it was the right fit for his conveyed meaning.

I turned to my right, one of my friends from the kitchen staff laughing along. I was laughing as well, but I figured that in our great society, we feel strongly enough to censor what we say intentionally, not realizing that frequently, almost saying something but then not saying it can convey the exact same message. We can’t censor people’s thoughts the way we can censor their words or actions, and only we can decide what it is we’re going to let sink into our fragile psyches.

I thought I’d try a little experiment; titling a blog entry about something the average Joe would click on for the intriguing purposes of exploration. Now, I don’t presume to insult your intelligence, for I have something quite poignant to talk about; club politics and the penchants of members of the opposite sex to get together.

I recently told many people (and friends) that I would be cutting down to near nil with alcohol consumption, and it brought me to a few key realizations about American culture. It, (and by ‘it’ I reflexively mean the entirety of American Club Culture) without embellishment of any kind, completely condones drinking. It both excites and disturbs me almost simultaneously.

Here’s an article and subsequent forum about Dance-Floor-Politics , as I like to call them;

Clubs seem to bring out the scum of masculinity in modern society. Without rhythm, conscience, or social grace, men of all races and creeds feel the unprecedented need to “grind ” themselves into an unwarranted sexually-frustrated frenzy on pre-specified feminine targets.

Often it is seen as not only acceptable, but permissible to rub one’s genitalia with wild abandon against someone else’s said parts with no provocation. I seemed to be the only one in the entire establishment bothered by this, and was looked at awkwardly when I tried to convince two females that I only wanted to engage in social conversation.

Now, I don’t really blame the culture of dance clubs in the modern era, because it seems commonly accepted to perform and conduct one’s self this way. What I imagine construes the problem is modernity and its role in the average counter-life subculture. It is seen as ‘acceptable,’ or ‘average’ to partake in rubbing against a total stranger in order for one to strive towards a personal kind of “take-home” acceptance. Males who are uncomfortable with this act seem to abstain from a move towards partaking in it, resulting in a futile attempt to socially assimilate.

I presume that there are people out there like me, who are willing to take a step back in order to further the demeanor of a chivalrous mankind. Is that too much to hope?

Just looking at AOL news is making me sad. Apparently, it’s customary to immortalize actors in wax form, sending them into an egotistical tizzy over a pointless feature story. I know I used the word ‘immortalize’ in the last sentence, but what I meant was that these wax idols will have an awesome shelf life until someone takes an inspirational trip to Yankee Candle.

Here’s the story.

The pitch of the story is that many actors look creepy in their poses when compared to their wax likenesses. I would like to infer that many wax likenesses look creepy when compared with their real-life look-alikes.

The negative connotation about celebrities is that they are rich, vain, and insecure. I like to think that the average American enjoys watching the plights and everyday shortcomings of famous figures. It humanizes them, shows everyone that similar to Xerxes in the movie 300, that they too are mortal.

I’ve never been able to figure out why this is. Like everyone I’ve ever known, I’ve always wanted to be a famous movie star. Hell, I’ve even spent some time as a professional actor, knowing full well that I was doing was exactly what most of the people we heavily scrutinize do almost daily. But I also realized that doing what I did as a regular guy would have gotten me so much negative attention from the press. Maybe even would have gotten me a wax likeness eventually.

So I digress, but not extensively. Perhaps we should look at each and every celebrity with objectivity. In fact, I hope that happens soon.