If I Were In A Fred Astaire Movie, I'd Punch His Smug, Tap-Dancing Lights Out...

I watched a Fred Astaire movie from 1935 last night... it was one of those really believable ones where there's a small problem...

(like, say, a Nerdy girl gets a makeover and becomes pretty, and falls in love with a Hunky Navy guy, and salvages her dead father's cargo ship, for him, because she thinks he's going to marry her, but he's a real gadabout, and his fleet takes off for a while and he forgets about her, and ditches her, and by the time she realizes it, she's had Kindly Old Captain Whateverhisnameis, mortgage his business so that she can re-float the ship...and he's going to lose his business and innocent people who did a nice thing are going to be in a really bad way and... eh who cares...)

which is usually solved by having a tap dancing show. Oh, and also, most people in the Navy can, and love to tap dance at every opportunity.

And it made me think this: What if life actually was like that... if people didn't think it was weird to spontaneously break into a song with a tapdance number in it...

If life was actually like that, and I was one of Fred's navy buddies, I'd totally hate his guts.

You would too.

Know why?

Because Fred would be an attention hog, but the bad kind, not the good kind like me, because I'm charming and cute and hilarious, and I can work a party like no one's business... no, if you had crappy old Fred the Attention Whore around, your daily routine would be constantly disrupted with a song n' dance number, during which you'd have to shut up and pretend to be interested in the Taptacular Movements of Mr. Astaire.

He'd be the attention hog (unlike the kind I am) where everyone has to stop talking, nay, stop moving, and clear a space on the floor for him, so he can croon, and sway, and break into wild circles of tapdancing frenzy... He's akin to your annoying Drama Club friend at parties who plays the piano for a little while, and you're cool with it for like a song or two, but then you're like "Okay, Asshole, you're playing Scott Joplin without sheet music, that's awesome, now will you fucking stop that so they can put Britney back on the Ipod?!"

Are you fucking kidding me? If I was chillin' on the fore deck smoking a cigar and playing cards, and suddenly I had to move my table over and stand up against a wall and watch Asshole Fred chirping about love, or how "We joined the Navy, to see the world! And what did we see? We saw the sea." I'd indulge him for about two songs TOTAL during our relationship, and then I'd club him with a... what's on Navy Battleship Decks...? A wrench. I'd club him with a wrench.

Because that would get SUPER annoying... if every five minutes you had to stop what you were doing and grin robotically at some beanpole schmoe attention whore who is taking away YOUR audience by holding everyone else captive with his singing and his fancy footwork...

I guess what I'm saying is, if life were a Fred Astaire movie, I wouldn't have much patience for it, before I gave ole Fred a sock in the kisser.