Is the NFL considering banning the "Trump Dance"? Really? I'm not in favor of celebratory dances anyway. That is not my culture. I come from a hillbilly/cracker/redneck background where praise for doing something like scoring a touchdown was non-verbal, as were most things other than extreme anger. When you made a really good play, you'd get a head nod, or maybe, just maybe, a hand clap. We all thought about something like that as, "Look, he did what he was supposed to do." It was the failure to do what you were supposed to do that shamed the defense. They didn't stop it. So, after a touchdown or a spectacular play, we simply tossed the ball to the ref and walked stoically off the field.
Since childhood, I've suspected praise and blame equally.
Having said that. . . WTF? You might ban one thing but not another? Screw that. I do the "Trump Dance," but I am not a Trump supporter. It is the dance of an old man. It is funny. In truth, I can dance no other way. Arthritis, etc.
If you want to really laugh your ass off, go to one of those bars where they have a band playing old rock songs. There you will see it, old people reliving their youth. . . in their heads. Their bodies, however, are telling another pathetic story. I don't mind. Everybody should sing and dance. But we should laugh to. Laughing is good therapy. So, I say, sing, dance, and laugh away.
But Jesus H. Christ. . . don't go banning things. I mean, truly. . . look inward for your own hypocrisies. We are all hypocrites in one way or another.
Hell. . . that's the center platform of deconstruction if I think about it in a certain way. None of us can perform the theory. More importantly, though, we all stray from it from purposefully from time to time.
How in the holy hell, though, do I live in a world in which Trump is the central figure? Don't tell me. I know.
These are End Times.
There is no other explanation. Look for the coming of The Beast with Two Backs.
I mix up my scriptures and Shakespeare sometimes. They sound somewhat similar to me. But Red States will cure that. They are certain to teach only one. Shakespeare? Are you kidding? Who needs that?
I am writing long before sunrise. I think I am going to feel much better today. I've been taking in an average of about 800 calories a day since I got sick. I've had no liquor and hardly any food, just clear soups, rice, and eggs. Today, however, I might try some fruit. I plan to stay off the hooch at home at night alone. It is the solitary drinking that has turned me into Quasimodo. I have become hideous. I decided last night that I would go to bed "straight," too. Nothing to help me sleep. I slept for a couple hours at a time. The last time I woke up, it was just before five, and I said "fuck it" and got up. I'm going to try to break my sleep aid habit. My body is a temple. . . etc.
Bodies are temples, of course. You know how I feel about that. They are beautiful things. . . for awhile. Then. . . the worse. . . and worst. . . . Though, I think, that is very much an American advertising thing with which we have been inculcated. It is not so much that way for Europeans. They are more used to seeing the aging body, I think. They were not sold the whole youth movement Pepsi generation thing, or at least they didn't buy into it. . . as much. But what do I know? I shouldn't opine about what is or isn't European culture. It is a myth, foreign soil. . . .
But I started watching a new show last night, a French series from 2010 that takes place in an upper class brothel in the 1800s. I watched two episodes but I can't remember its name. It may be set in the 1900s. Jesus. . . and I wasn't even drinking. It is subtitled, so there is that. It runs for two seasons and seems pretty good, so now I think I"m an expert on what "Europeans" value.
About the series. . . I'll keep you informed.
The sun has just come up. The world outside my door is rosy pink. I will take a walk and try some exercise at the gym. Maybe I'll take my camera somewhere later and pretend. As they say, pretending's fun.
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