Embrace your inner dag

It was bugging me why the episode at the Builders Arms had affected me so much. I've never particularly cared what other people thought of me and I don't feel old in spite of my creeping age. And you know, I'm actually still rilly rilly cool, so how could anyone not appreciate my incredible dance style?

Then. Revelation.

I've spent the last two years in a country where the "Tall Poppy Syndrome" is some kind of illegal drug (which, ahem, Japan doesn't have in any quantity. Just ask the Government.) Watch Japanese TV. The person who is the biggest fool, the biggest total inutterable dag is often the most popular, the 'tarento' everyone wants on their show. If any of those furry anklebiters on Saturday had seen Katori Shingo work his magic on a dancefloor, they'd have committed him.

It's why Karaoke in Australia could be a really scary place. We don't have the same level of acceptance of shithouse singing and people who want to be stars. Which is strange, because a vast majority of people in Australia, really want to be stars. 10,000 people showed up to the audition of Australian Idol in Melbourne. 10,000. And only a handful could actually sing. It's like us Aussies are deluding ourselves, but we can't handle anyone else's delusion.

Ugh. I think I really let my true self bubble to the surface (read: explode) in Japan. There's no way I could rip out "Hit me Baby, One more Time" in a bar in Australia and survive. I loved the Japanese concept of "Be a Dag and Let the Riches Come to You". I'm still wrapped up in that little coccoon to some degree. It was a safe haven of knowing you could go out at night and not worry about people looking down at you for being yourself. If you were having fun, that was enough. Bitchiness absolutely existed in Japan (and in really unhealthy packages) but never toward strangers.

And never when you were a drunken mess, sitting astride atop a karaoke machine, crooning, "Jealous Guy"...

Would you hire this person for your next party?