Songbird of our generation, Rebecca Black once coined our generation’s excitement in two words, “It’s Friday!” Alright maybe three or four if you repeat the Fridays. As much as I despise that song, it does capture something vital about our generation – excitement at the weekend. After a five day work week, you are finally ready to celebrate. Now comes the important question, how will you choose to celebrate?
Odds are that if you are like most twenty-somethings in America, your weekend will look something like this. The two main ingredients required are alcohol and a drinking establishment (either club or bar will suffice). So when do you go out to said drinking establishment? Shortly after dinner perhaps? If you have worked so hard, wouldn’t you want to celebrate as early as possible? No, my friend. The unwritten ten commandments of social conduct clearly state “Thou shalt not go out to a club or bar before midnight on the weekends.” Ironically, the Friday that was so great is not technically a night for going out because you must wait for it to be Saturday morning.
So if you cannot head out to the clubs how do you spend your time before then? Why the ever-illustrious “pre-gaming” of course! Time is typically spent consuming alcohol and listening to the same top 40 hits that one will hear at a club/bar and maybe even dancing. One might ask if you are drinking and listening to the same music what makes the club/bar so much better? Ay there’s the rub of this pensees. Why go out? What is so great about it? What can be gained from such an experience?
Is it the company of stout-hearted fellows? Nope. If you go out, you stick with your group and interact with no one else, especially if you are a woman. If any guy attempts to initiate conversation with said women, he is immediately labeled as a “creeper,” a status somewhere between the untouchable caste in India and the uncool table in the high school cafeteria. No one goes out to meet new people or make new friends.
Is it something about the establishment itself? What do they provide that so many young Americans treat it like a Mecca, travelling their en masse every weekend? Long lines to filthy bathrooms? No. Music? Mayhaps. Odds are it is the same music you can hear on any top 40 radio station. You might get lucky with a live band, but most girls I know who go out care not for a group of talented musicians and would prefer to hear Lady Gaga for the 18th time that week than watch a display of musical virtuoso. (My apologies to the fair sex in PLS for that potshot, but I find it a very hard thesis to refute)
So if it is not the friends or the music, that leaves the alcohol. Ah, yes. Take a look at that beer bottle, my friend. What does it say on the side? 4.5% ABV, or rather 4.5% life duller. Our generation’s soma from Brave New World, alcohol temporarily distracts you from the inescapable horror that is everyday life. That five day workweek is hell and now is your chance to escape from it before it begins again on Monday morning. Drink up, me hearties. Dull the pain and laugh heartily at the same anecdotes you’ve already told. It does not matter if the music is so loud that you cannot have a conversation. It would not be a real conversation anyway because you are wearing your Nietzschean mask of profundity. The music is so loud you cannot hear yourself think. Do not think. Do not try to think. Go to sleep. The hell of everyday life will be hear soon. Enjoy your reprieve. Drink in that life duller. As Aldous Huxley said, “one cubic centimeter cures ten gloomy sentiments.”
Odds are that if you are like most twenty-somethings in America, your weekend will look something like this. The two main ingredients required are alcohol and a drinking establishment (either club or bar will suffice). So when do you go out to said drinking establishment? Shortly after dinner perhaps? If you have worked so hard, wouldn’t you want to celebrate as early as possible? No, my friend. The unwritten ten commandments of social conduct clearly state “Thou shalt not go out to a club or bar before midnight on the weekends.” Ironically, the Friday that was so great is not technically a night for going out because you must wait for it to be Saturday morning.
So if you cannot head out to the clubs how do you spend your time before then? Why the ever-illustrious “pre-gaming” of course! Time is typically spent consuming alcohol and listening to the same top 40 hits that one will hear at a club/bar and maybe even dancing. One might ask if you are drinking and listening to the same music what makes the club/bar so much better? Ay there’s the rub of this pensees. Why go out? What is so great about it? What can be gained from such an experience?
Is it the company of stout-hearted fellows? Nope. If you go out, you stick with your group and interact with no one else, especially if you are a woman. If any guy attempts to initiate conversation with said women, he is immediately labeled as a “creeper,” a status somewhere between the untouchable caste in India and the uncool table in the high school cafeteria. No one goes out to meet new people or make new friends.
Is it something about the establishment itself? What do they provide that so many young Americans treat it like a Mecca, travelling their en masse every weekend? Long lines to filthy bathrooms? No. Music? Mayhaps. Odds are it is the same music you can hear on any top 40 radio station. You might get lucky with a live band, but most girls I know who go out care not for a group of talented musicians and would prefer to hear Lady Gaga for the 18th time that week than watch a display of musical virtuoso. (My apologies to the fair sex in PLS for that potshot, but I find it a very hard thesis to refute)
So if it is not the friends or the music, that leaves the alcohol. Ah, yes. Take a look at that beer bottle, my friend. What does it say on the side? 4.5% ABV, or rather 4.5% life duller. Our generation’s soma from Brave New World, alcohol temporarily distracts you from the inescapable horror that is everyday life. That five day workweek is hell and now is your chance to escape from it before it begins again on Monday morning. Drink up, me hearties. Dull the pain and laugh heartily at the same anecdotes you’ve already told. It does not matter if the music is so loud that you cannot have a conversation. It would not be a real conversation anyway because you are wearing your Nietzschean mask of profundity. The music is so loud you cannot hear yourself think. Do not think. Do not try to think. Go to sleep. The hell of everyday life will be hear soon. Enjoy your reprieve. Drink in that life duller. As Aldous Huxley said, “one cubic centimeter cures ten gloomy sentiments.”
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