Step Sung
The Crimson Blues
Josh Anderson
Issue date: 2/20/08 Section: Opinion
It is nearly impossible to deny the fact that one of the most convenient solutions in an embarrassing situation is a little piece of black magic known as the “lie.”
Deception comes in many shades, and while some are revolting in their repugnance, many are as trendy and entrenched as Step Sing.
Much like our own bizarre spectacle, an almost innocent seed usually spawns an awe-inspiring symphony of such convoluted complexity that the uninitiated are left motionless with mouth agape, attempting to reason away the utter uselessness of it all.
Of course, when people don’t understand the logic behind a seemingly meaningless web of deceit, they scratch their heads. And yet, at our glorious institution, when people don’t understand the reason for the show (read carefully, for in the next phrase lies one exasperating characteristic of our university), they applaud.
The youths scream, the elderly stand and clap, scales forsake eyes, the lame leap with exuberance, newborn babies cry tears of pure gold, divinity students find their long-lost razors and UCF is scheduled for an additional night per week. Samford smiles, and it is well with her soul.
The humble roots of this modern circus known as Step Sing stretch back to a simpler time, when different choral groups would stand on the steps of the library and compete, a cappella, all the while blissfully ignorant of the time-consuming fire they had kindled.
Lies often start small, so small as to go unnoticed. And most of the time, we never see any devastating consequences.
Perfect example: several nights ago, I was waiting in line at Wal-Mart, marveling at the efficient and enthusiastic customer service, when I realized what I was about to purchase.
I held a black-and-red striped flannel shirt, two plungers and a John Grisham novel. As the hours stretched into decades, I began to laugh, thinking of what the cashier would think of my selections.
“A plunger, a lumberjack shirt, another plunger and that new Grisham book…I hope the cameras are getting this. My manager will never believe me.”
I found myself in a moral dilemma. My first moral dilemma, in fact, to involve more than one plunger: should I deliver a casual lie about this mildly embarrassing situation, or just swipe my card and be on my way?
I decided on the easy route: tell a lie, wrap it in a joke and exit as soon as I could.
When I heard the total, I informed the cashier that only a man in boots and a flannel shirt could hope to sneak into the Sigma Nu house and perform heroic acts of covert toilet resuscitation and escape unnoticed. As the conversation expanded, I found myself becoming increasingly inventive as I covered my tracks at an alarming rate.
And just as Step Sing gradually evolved from a calm night of beautiful music and mutated into a monster capable of distorting the academic schedule and consuming unbelievable quantities of time, so will a lie metastasize into a complicated series of catacombs, leaving the victim dumbfounded and wondering at his own applause.
Deception comes in many shades, and while some are revolting in their repugnance, many are as trendy and entrenched as Step Sing.
Much like our own bizarre spectacle, an almost innocent seed usually spawns an awe-inspiring symphony of such convoluted complexity that the uninitiated are left motionless with mouth agape, attempting to reason away the utter uselessness of it all.
Of course, when people don’t understand the logic behind a seemingly meaningless web of deceit, they scratch their heads. And yet, at our glorious institution, when people don’t understand the reason for the show (read carefully, for in the next phrase lies one exasperating characteristic of our university), they applaud.
The youths scream, the elderly stand and clap, scales forsake eyes, the lame leap with exuberance, newborn babies cry tears of pure gold, divinity students find their long-lost razors and UCF is scheduled for an additional night per week. Samford smiles, and it is well with her soul.
The humble roots of this modern circus known as Step Sing stretch back to a simpler time, when different choral groups would stand on the steps of the library and compete, a cappella, all the while blissfully ignorant of the time-consuming fire they had kindled.
Lies often start small, so small as to go unnoticed. And most of the time, we never see any devastating consequences.
Perfect example: several nights ago, I was waiting in line at Wal-Mart, marveling at the efficient and enthusiastic customer service, when I realized what I was about to purchase.
I held a black-and-red striped flannel shirt, two plungers and a John Grisham novel. As the hours stretched into decades, I began to laugh, thinking of what the cashier would think of my selections.
“A plunger, a lumberjack shirt, another plunger and that new Grisham book…I hope the cameras are getting this. My manager will never believe me.”
I found myself in a moral dilemma. My first moral dilemma, in fact, to involve more than one plunger: should I deliver a casual lie about this mildly embarrassing situation, or just swipe my card and be on my way?
I decided on the easy route: tell a lie, wrap it in a joke and exit as soon as I could.
When I heard the total, I informed the cashier that only a man in boots and a flannel shirt could hope to sneak into the Sigma Nu house and perform heroic acts of covert toilet resuscitation and escape unnoticed. As the conversation expanded, I found myself becoming increasingly inventive as I covered my tracks at an alarming rate.
And just as Step Sing gradually evolved from a calm night of beautiful music and mutated into a monster capable of distorting the academic schedule and consuming unbelievable quantities of time, so will a lie metastasize into a complicated series of catacombs, leaving the victim dumbfounded and wondering at his own applause.
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