courtship

men have a funny look on their faces when their in clubs. its a very focused look, staring straight ahead at something. its a blank stare, however, and they are never actually looking at anything. rather, its a look that endows them with purpose. this far seeing stare, across the crowd, towards some hypothetical person or thing on which has caught their attention, is an attempt to deflect attention from their not having any purpose. they glower morosely into the distance because they cannot and must not admit that there, right in front of them, they have no rationale for being there. this is essential in a club because the rationale is an unspoken and desperately avoided one, they are there to rub themselves against other people.

cellphones and other little meaningless devices are also pivotal tools of avoidance and deflection of the rubbing themselves against other people rationale. in theory, a cellphone provides an infinite portal into a whole other world in which the man is invested. it supplies him with a structure against to lean, a world full of motives like love, beauty and friendship which theoretically occupy his interest, much the same way he would like you to interpret his staring into the distance. there, you must imagine, he is preoccupied with beauty love and friendship and such motivates his intense observation of that neon thing on the other side of the room. he does this because he is terrified that you will look at his base, horny and utterly straightforward self and so tries to foist attention onto auxiliary objects in which to find meaning (or, importantly, make conversation and further obfuscate his obscene simplicity).

things like waiting in line are actually great for this man. it provides him with purpose: something to follow, to cling to. waiting in a line, the man can even dispense with his distant stare, his waiting speaks for itself. he now has something to complain about, a waiting external to himself and hence ripe for commentary -- as anything external is very ripe for our ever deflecting man.

he has probably been doing a lot of furtive and diffident smiling at this point. openings often appear for something beyond the uncomfortable period of trying to get something from nothing. which brings us to what our man really wants. what he wants would best be satisfied without talking. talking complicates matters for our man because he could stumble and is altogether unable to speak very well right now because he's become so accustomed to his silence and his autonomous and disinterested staring. he will never look anything he actually wants in the face because he is so terrified of rejection or, even worse, exposure of his simplicity, which is why he is always staring at inanimate or otherwise neutral objects. this is his way of being cool and trying to be attractive because it helps establish a comfortable layer of indifference to his environment, "hey look i could totally care less about any of these individuals." if this was actually true, he could totally succeed in getting all the rubbing against other people any man could possibly want, but by and large it isn't. his blasE attitude and aloofness are unhappily belied by the seriousness and above all shyness of his demeanor. the stakes are high.

this is of course a hilarious thing to bear witness to. these men in clubs, hungry and abashed, are almost endearing in a way. even when they're armed with a brusque, unpleasant and often wholly contrived machismo (note the way people going clubbing dress, it is a special occasion), they evince an agonized, and very suppressed desire. he is a tortured soul, our horny clubber.