Summer Nights

I watched the film Grease once, sometime in primary school, so my memory and understanding of the film isn't the greatest. What I do know about it though, is that the song Summer Nights is probably my least favourite thing in the world (on a side note, I hate the US spelling of "favorite", because it ruins my favourite thing about the other spelling of it, which is that it contains every vowel (thanks Gerry O'Shea)). Anyway, back to the point. My dislike for the song is three-pronged, like a poor man's fork. I'll elaborate, unprovoked, and unnecessarily on my reasons for hating this song in the following paragraphs and let you in on some of the finer experiences of my previous career in hospitality.

Firstly it's got really shitty lyrics, really, really shitty lyrics. If you analyse the lyrics in isolation, as I will due to my deficient recall of the film's context, the sentiments promoted are superficial, creepy and a little rapey. Let's have a conjectured look at the lyrics and their possible implications:

Summer loving had me a blast              sexual innuendo? 
Summer loving happened so fast          premature ejaculation sexual innuendo?
I met a girl crazy for me                        someone's pretty confident         

Met a boy cute as can be                      superficial

Summer days drifting away                 nothing inherently wrong with this, except that it's completely
To, oh, oh, the summer nights             inane. Days turning into nights is hardly a noteworthy occurrence.

Well-a well-a well-a, huh               
Tell me more, tell me more                  gossip sluts 
Did you get very far?                           vicarious inquiry from Travolta's uglier friends?
Tell me more, tell me more                  gossip sluts again
Like does he have a car?                    superficial

She swam by me, she got a cramp     she mustn't have waited 30 minutes after eating lunch          
He ran by me, got my suit damp         another sexual innuendo?      
I saved her life, she nearly drowned  someone's lying... but i guess that's the intention... so i'll let it slide             
He showed off, splashing around       what is he? a Magikarp Pokemon? A splash for a pash my dear?        

Summer sun, something's begun        meh       
But, oh, oh, the summer nights           ugh    

Well-a well-a well-a huh               
Tell me more, tell m,e more                always gossipin' 
Was it love at first sight?                   superficial and retarded
Tell me more, tell me more                 still at it 
Did she put up a fight?                       was it rape?

Took her bowling in the Arcade         I like bowling, so this is fine     
We went strolling, drank lemonade   cool story, bro           
We made out under the dock            did the vagrants enjoy the show? Also, anyone who's been under a dock knows that it is definitely not the place for romance. They always reek from a strange mixture of decaying sea creatures and feces, there's usually a lot of rubbish there, and the occasional used needle.
We stayed up 'till ten o'clock            this picture sums it up

Summer fling, don't mean a thing      k         
But, oh, oh, the summer nights         k      

Well-a well-a well-a huh               
Tell me more, tell me more               
But you don't gotta brag                  stop feeding his ego then
Tell me more, tell me more               
'Cause he sounds like a drag           Negative Nelly   

He got friendly, holding my hand       is 'friendly' her euphemism for rape? the second clause could imply restraint...         
She got friendly down in the sand     i've never understood the appeal of sex on the beach, it sounds like a gritty, chafing time

He was sweet just turned eighteen   k              

Well, she was good you know what I mean   they'll definitely want to know more

Summer heat, boy and girl meet               
But, oh, oh, the summer nights               
Tell me more, tell me more               
How much dough did he spend?      back to the money again        
Tell me more, tell me more               
Could she get me a friend?             randy randelson, tuck that boner away 

It turned colder, that's where it ends    couldn't think of anything funny to say for this, which is arguably staying consistent with the rest of my writing            
So I told her we'd still be friends    what a consolation, their ~10 hour "friendship" will persevere! 
Then we made our true love vow   she's looking to take half of what you've got you sucker            
Wonder what she's doing now        what happened to still being friends?         

Summer dreams ripped at the seams    well, Travolta's had a drastic change of heart over the past 3 minutes, he seemed pretty nonchalant before       
But, oh, those summer nights               
Tell me more, tell me more         I think we've all heard enough, thanks.      

My second reason for hating the song spawns from emotional scarring. During my first two years at university I worked at The Matthew Flinders Hotel, only the best pub/disco/bistro/pokies venue in the north-west sector of the south-east Melbourne suburb of shopping mall fame, Chadstone. Matty Flinders was THE place to be if you were a middle aged, middle class, working for the weekend divorced lass or lad who wanted nothing more than to get shitfaced drunk and forget about how shit your ungrateful four children and ex-husband/wife are. For the most part of my employment there I served as a bus boy, bestowed with the honorable duties of gathering depleted $9 Jim Beam and Cola bottles, and emptying ash trays (when smoking was still permitted), among other exciting tasks. I kind of enjoyed the job though, despite it's vapidity, because I was usually pretty busy and I could let my mind wander as I went about my duties. Typically though, as you might have gathered, I didn't really like the crowd. Whether it was the pissed up slappers who would tickle my armpits and ask "are you ticklish?" as I carried a tray full of empty glasses above their heads, or the blonde-tipped-gelled-hair, Ed Hardy clad beefcakes who would turn around on the attack as I pushed passed them to do my job, these were people I was comfortable not knowing in any intimacy.

The second worst thing about the job, after the clientele, was the music. Every Friday and Saturday night for almost 2 years I had the pleasure of hearing the same 2 DJs and cover bands. I can't remember the DJs names, I'm pretty sure it was something creative like DJ Steve and DJ Rob, but I can remember the two band names; Louis and the Party Boys, and Scat. I never did find out if Scat knew all the definitions of their name, but I can attest to the fact that their sound was described succinctly by one of them. Anyway, the DJs and the bands typically played the exact same songs every night, with "Summer Nights" being a DJ set staple. Every fucking Friday and Saturday night as that bass riff would start it would be welcomed with the shrill cries of liquored up and sugared up hussies. "IT'S MY SOOOOOOOOOOOONG" they would cry, as they'd sing along in voices more nagging and grating than those of the original, splashing their hard earned Guava and Vodka Cruisers over their surroundings as they crumped along to the the beat. So to this day, every time I hear or even think of that song I recoil in terror as I recall oh, those summer nights.

I guess the final reason that I hate that song is that it's catchy as fuck and kind of enjoyable. I hate that it presents me with a cognitive dissonance, a guilty pleasure that's as addictive as crack. Just the bass riff alone  kills me, I'll find it in the corners of my brain when contemplating the nature of circles, it interrupts my thoughts as I argue with friends, surprises me as I'm drifting off into sleep, or even unconsciously take over my fingers and the fretboard of my guitar as my mind wanders. So yeah, in conclusion, Grease can get fucked. Especially John Travolta, you dimple-chinned scientologist cunt. Thanks reader/s.