Distaste for the Illogical

I’ve humored myself recently amidst proliferating talk of remedies for the economic recession. Despite being sick of coworkers and friends arbitrarily citing “the economy” for their individual predicaments and also despite not caring, I’ve decided to read into what exactly is predicted to be the best help for fixing our broken country.

I decided to forgo my important and previously planned train of thought (scheduled to address the reasons why the notoriously inexpensive Stella Artois brand beer pretends to be classy by wrapping its bottlenecks in paper) in order to deal with a more global issue.

So I decided to check out what is being done about our ‘crisis.’ Despite not knowing a ‘Bull Market’ is, I read up on the changes the new administration is making to our economic…thingy. I’ve come to a couple of conclusions;

-Since the Obama administration is planning on making things easier to write off and giving tons of tax credits to everyone who is capable of breathing, then by my utterly inadequate logic, I stand exactly 0% chance of being audited. I can make a lot of money this tax season by double and triple dipping (despite also not knowing what that means), and by finding as many stray infants as I can and claiming them as my dependents.

-In a closed-doors meeting with the new electorate (meaning that Washington’s homeless couldn’t pop in for ten minutes to stay warm), Obama justified his willingness to seek counsel from representatives regardless of party affiliation by claiming that “The monopoly on good ideas does not belong to a single party. If it’s a good idea, we will consider it.” By that logic, I expect thoughtful consideration in regards to a letter I sent to President Obama about shaking down Bill Gates for “protection money.” After all, I’m sure Mr.Gates wouldn’t want any “unfortunate accidents” to “befall his face” should he not provide a small sum to keep the country from financially imploding.

-Despite the fact that President Obama’s economic plan largely fails to “focus on the housing crisis,” Obama certainly believes that the situation will eventually work itself out. After all, despite the fact that homes are becoming increasingly more difficult to purchase, the price of corrugated cardboard, conveniently enough, is becoming much more affordable.

With all of these new developments, I wouldn’t be surpised if our wonderful nation comes screaming out of the recession and back onto easy street. Which is near where I’ll be living once I’m able to set up my new cardboard mansion–my friend just bought a new refrigerator.

While doing typical things throughout my daily routine, including thoroughly pondering why men think it’s perfectly acceptable to leave chewing gum inside bathroom urinals, I had a couple of interesting tangential thoughts on the sexes.

Granted I have nothing newsworthy to bounce off of these theories, I’ve decided to post them here anyway.

In the past couple of weeks, I’ve been given the chance to notice several things about how women behave in nightlife, real-life, and other social scenarios, all with a generic sense of social consistency. While an unscientific gallup poll of random female acquaintances revealed that women almost unanimously would like to talk to or get to know “nice guys,” very few of them actually enact behavior in public which enables this.

When dancing in clubs, most women wear strikingly revealing clothes and  dance suggestively amongst themselves. This in and of itself isn’t necessarily a bad thing, but their individual reactions to the advances of various males makes it hypocrisy. I always see men move over and rub themselves against any woman they choose, paying no regard to the woman’s will, physical boundaries, or least of all, the rhythm of the music. Almost all women allow this to happen, so I can only assume it’s because they actually enjoy this.

Recalling my unscientific poll about what women ’say’ they want, I decided to try an experiment. I approached fourteen women at a club and asked each of them if they would like to dance. I asked kindly, confidently, and assertively, eager to hear a response, in the fashion which my imagination deemed that a “nice guy” would do. Thirteen of them either said “No,” walked away, gave a rude gesture/angry face, or called security. One of them actually said yes and danced with me for a while, although I strongly suspect it was out of pity.

Chalking it up to simply not being a good dancer, I decided to take on a different approach later on in the week. I went to a much tamer club, where dancing and conversation seemed in better balance. I walked around with a colorful drink and asked a few ladies if they felt like chatting for a little while.

The first woman I approached was crying, so I decided that the problem was out of my hands and that I should move on. After all, emotional instability was not a preconceived segment of my control group. The next couple of ladies were not terribly receptive to the idea, and continued to ignore me and return to their previous conversation (which I can only assume was about random losers trying to talk to them and had nothing to do with me). I moved on.

At last I found a pair of friendly females who were perfectly fine with a healthy, reasonable conversation. They even laughed at my humor and generously allowed me to purchase them alcoholic drinks. Their greatest source of surprise, however, came from the idea that I was not trying to bring a strange girl home, or even so much as touch one of them on the shoulders or breasts. This put us all at ease, and we enjoyed our temporary impasse in the friend zone. At least, until their boyfriends showed up with angry looks on their faces.

In the end, I realized that there was only one means to make headway into the grand heterosexual gladitorial arena. I decided to try something unconventional for someone like myself, in an effort to figure out how the female mind works. In the masculine world, blind confidence is rewarded, while sensitivity and politeness are shunned and outcasted.

I went to an undisclosed location, used a handful of words, and copped a rude, cocky attitude. The whole approach worked in under twenty seconds.

In order to play the game, one must compromise one’s integrity. Apparently, there’s no such thing as an honest victory.

Superstars of Dance is a new television show which has captured the attention of millions of viewers (including my family and coworkers). Thrown into a new season of tried and true television shows on NBC, the show is a somewhat Olympic-style competition where 7 countries from six continents showcase their country’s national dances and place them at the merciful judgment of the other countries’ delegates.

Well, that’s ideally how it would work anyway.

As I walked through the cocktail lounge of my workplace, all of my managers and coworkers were glued to the television, watching the Chinese duet performance (the majority of my managers and coworkers happen to be Chinese).

As you can see, it was a fascinating and acrobatic, extraordinarilly graceful, touching frequently on the roots of ballet. I was struck, wondering how it was possible for human beings to DO something that unbelievably difficult.

Afterwards, we heard from the horrible old crone representing Argentina. Instantly condemning them for their lack of movement, dance, or gracefullness (I wondered exactly what she was watching, because it wasn’t the Chinese dancers), she gave them a seven out of ten, much to the chagrin of the booing crowd.

The rest of the judges followed suit, India giving a seven, the rest awarding sevens, maybe an eight if they were feeling generous. The Russian delegate quickly became my favorite judg, commenting that he was slightly envious of what the guy must have been looking at during the dance, followed by an eight.

The Russian dancers were fantastic, performing acrobatic and energetic traditional dances, hearkening the layperson to a cossack-styled celebration. When describing his country’s ethnic dance and traditions, he said;

“Many people think that Russians drink vodka in the morning. This is simply not true, many of us prefer cognac.”

And his country’s dancers certainly looked like they’d be the life of any party, despite angry Argentia lady’s unforgiving seven.

And then it hit me; everything that was wrong with the show just jumped right out in front of me like the South African Gumboot dancers.

The creators of the show were shooting for an Olympic-style competition, where the individual countries were showcasing their dances to the world. The problem? In a fierce nationalistic competition, the countries were judging eachother. What failsafe is in place for when the other countries decide to sabotage another country’s chance at ‘winning the gold’ with a poor rating or low number, despite a flowless and elegant dance performance?

Objectivity is the problem. Granted the individual country delegates aren’t allowed to judge their own country’s dancers, the rest of the judges aren’t at all objective. They can’t be.

So I decided that since the countries represented were from six different continents, we should be searching the neglected remaining continent for a trace of fairness for the show’s benevolence.

That’s right, all the judges should be from Antarctica.

Besides, penguins don’t really dance much.