Sunday, September 20, 2009

Greasy is as Greasy Does.

As I get a little older, my gregarious nature seems to get even more focused. I just can't be around non-greasy people anymore. Hippies are easy to hold in contempt, they are so predictable and and obvious. They are easy to spot because they all like the same stupid shit. Thinking they are such individualists, yet are all slavishly devoted to all the leftoid way of thinking, shitty music and ridiculous clothing. They are easy to ignore and making fun of them is akin to shooting fish in a barrel.

What continues to perplex me, however, are squares. They are everywhere. They come from all walks of life, have different occupations and work so diligently at becoming even more square.

They are not fashionable and will seek out clothing that makes them look even more conservative. They sport really bad haircuts and speak like politicians.

I sometimes end up at parties filled with squares. I am always shocked at their absolute squareness and how clueless they are. It is painful. Needless to say, I, and any other greasers who happen to be there, stick out like sore thumbs.

Lost in their own post-modern microcosm, they try to outwit each other with platitudes. It's a miracle that they don't bore each other to death.

The underlying motivation is a subconscious attempt to acquire nobility. They don't want to be a regular Joe, they must acquire possessions and adopt ridiculous affectations.

Greasers are impervious to this social phenomenon, and to squares, it's like hitting a brick wall. We don't openly show our disdain, but rather, just seem pleasantly amused.

The greasy pomp is a source of endless fascination for the squares. They cannot believe, or fathom, that anybody would willingly walk around like that 24/7. They are threatened by the greasy demeanor with all it's connotations of testosterone, loud engines, debauchery, and copious quantities of beer.

The ask endless questions about rockabilly, they are trying to fit it into their well ordered, shallow lives, but they can't comprehend it. A simple explanation is given as to the roots of the music, but it doesn't seem to register. A square peg in a round hole.

Feeling threatened, they don't want to understand. They just want all these greasers to get the hell off of their property so they can get back to their delusional lives and pretend that they never heard of rockabilly.

They can go back to their neo-victorian dogma and discuss the merits of various wines.

I am always amused at how easily squares are shocked or get offended. I have been to many square parties, and I noticed that pretty much everything about greasers just completely disorients them. Here is a partial list.

Expressing the desire to punch somebody in the face, as in " If I hear pirate talk one more time, I'm gonna punch somebody in the face".

Showing up with 12 Pabst and chug 'em down while they are holding their over-sized wine glass filled some shitty wine, like Chateau Migraine. They sip from the wine glasses and watch in horror as we crack beer after beer.

Saying " fuck" for emphasis. Extra shock value if you are articulate. " That fuckin' douchebag has an over-inflated sense of self-entitlement".

"This music sucks!" At pretty much all house parties, the music will suck. Squares, however, have especially bad taste in music. It usually ends up being dance music, or for the more pretentious squares, world music. That one statement throws them into a state of confusion.

Pulling out a mickey of booze from your engineer boots when the beer runs out.

Big belt buckles, wallet chains, engineer boots and cuffs. They get scared just looking at those and seriously think that we are bikers and the looting and pillaging will begin soon.

Turning up our noses at all the unidentifiable hors d'oeuvres and munchin' on a big bag of greasy chips ( a nice belch afterwards is a bonus).

The greasers don't mingle. They are out in the back yard like a pack of dogs, howling with laughter, talking about obscure bands. The squares scratch their heads and ask themselves what the hell they are talking about.

Trying to outwit a greaser is like hitting a raging pit bull on the head with a shovel. Nothing happens. They are left even more perplexed.

More greasers show up. Thanks to the wonderful invention of cel phones, the lone greaser can get a whole bunch of his buddies to show up. They arrive in bunches of two or three, clutching large bags filled with beer, increasingly alarming the squares. The only benefit is that the squares will cash in big time from all the empty beer cans.

Like a dog chewing on a squirrel carcass, the greasers will eventually tire of the party. The weird looks and annoying questions about their hair will get tedious, they will eventually leave, but not until the beer runs out. They will go to another greaser's place and get more beer. The greasers and the squares go their separate ways.

The next day, the greasers will have some hair of the dog beers at a buddy's place. They will keep on being greasy, not even remotely affected by the previous evening's culture shock.

The squares will probably go for brunch in an expensive restaurant. They will need 5 or 6 lattes and try to forget their first encounter with greasiness.

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