The Sad Hour - Further Scientific Proof that Entropy Does Exist
The Sad Hour
30th of January (and every final Sunday of each month)
3pm - Late @ Ric's in Fortitude Valley
30th of January (and every final Sunday of each month)
3pm - Late @ Ric's in Fortitude Valley
Alright, here's the thing. I hate fun. Every time I go out, everybody has more fun than me. It doesn't matter if they're ugly, depressed, single, in a shitty relationship, in a good relationship, gay, heterosexual or bi-sexual. It doesn't matter. No matter who I go out with, no matter where we go and no matter what's happening at the place we go to; everyone has more fun than me. EVERYONE.
All the attractive people I go out with are dancing with attractive people of the opposite sex. All the unattractive people I go out with are so free-spirited and carefree that they're perfectly happy to dance away regardless of whether anybody is dancing with them. I hate dancing. And there I am, sitting uncomfortably in between, not liking the shitty music played in clubs enough to actually enjoy myself on the dancefloor and not being attractive enough to draw amusing amounts of attractive women to occupy my attention. An average night out for me would involve pretending to enjoy myself on the dance floor for about 35% of the night and spending the other 65% of the night sitting by myself pointing out in my mind all the women in the club who are far too attractive for me (which is basically every woman).
I don't get it. I'm 19 years old. I'm more or less in the prime of my life. I enjoy drinking. These clubs are designed for people like me. So why do I find them so fucking loathsome? Why does god fart in my face by prohibiting me from taking any pleasure in the most basic and popular leisure activity for people in my age group and situation? WHY!?
Well, just last week I think I found out why - and I proved that a well known scientific phenomona extends to social situations as well. That phenomenon I speak of is entropy.
Entropy. n. The tendency for all matter and energy in the universe to evolve toward a state of inert uniformity.
Basic translation: everything evens out in the end. You can call it karma if you like. Call it whatever the fuck you want. The point is - the universe just hit a newfound state of inert uniformity with my discovery of the Sad Hour at Ric's.
The Sad Hour, my little children, is a night hosted by the great Ben Corbett (of Gentle Ben and his Senstive Side) and his brother, Geoff Corbett. The basic idea of the night is that from 3pm until late, the DJ (supervised by the Corbetts) spin depressing songs to the audience - all of whom spend the night wallowing in self pity as they down their drinkings in relative silence whilst abstaining from the smutty and desperate pelvic girations normally brought on by club music. That's right, people: no fucking dancing.
And so the universe evens itself out. Little Yuri gets to spend the night enjoying himself whilst listening to great music (sad songs are grouse) and being charming around women whilst all the dancing scum look on at me and say 'why the fuck is he having such a good time?' The tables truly have turned.
God bless you, Gentle Ben
posted by Biggles @ 7:57 pm
4 Comments:
This sounds very suitable,
right now its 9:49 on saturday morning and I'm already listening to Nick Cave.
Redbeard
I love your style
A vaguely connected rant:
Like many things in life, going out is destroyed by hope.
The vast majority of the population is under the impression that going out is fun. And whilst it can be, it usually isn't. Nonetheless, that same vast majority still get there hopes up.
No one out there is actually having fun. They're just running around like puppies with their tongues hanging out under the impression that they're about to have fun. Between 7pm and 9pm of any night is always enjoyable, as no one really expects anything good to happen. Its just as it gets later, and expectations of decadent pleasure arise, that misery sets in.
Accordingly, not that many people actually have a good time. Extraordinarily good looking people do, as do people who have really low standards and expectations. Angry alcoholics, and people who've just been dumped - aside from their personal pains - usually also make a good fist of things.
For everyone else its just an attempt to replicate the situation of being in one of those four categories. Women wear scanty clothing in an attempt to parallel the extraordinarily attractive. Men pick fights in a sort of distant worship of the angry alcoholic. And so on.
My advice to any aspiring night-clubbers out there is two-fold. Firstly, if all else fails, make sure you go out with as little hope as possible, and no expectations of sex or romance.
Secondly though, and the far better option, attend events where it is difficult to have the conventional type of fun. The Sad Hour is a good example. Toga parties (where everyone looks equally silly) are along the same idea.
Two things in this world spoil everything else within it: sex, and hope. Maybe they're the same thing, I'm not sure. They will never be eradicated, and will always condemn us to pain.
J.Sinclair
meh.
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