Were this Aussie parliament, I would support this like a proper back-bencher (Laura Smyth, Federal Membah - La Trobe); so maybe a low, dignified, but-not-so-low-you-can’t-definitely-tell-its-me “here, here!” Punctuated with some appropriately-timed nods indicating our mutual disapproval of the thing spoken-out against. And lots of furrowed brow and other serious-owl type facial expressions. Here’s hoping you won’t mind yet another: See, put this way, and also as others (who would most likely prefer to stay out of this altogether) have often described it, it just really seems like several very distinct sites or groups of consumers/customers all merged into one. For the sake of simple economy. So, the brick & mortar type of example that comes to my mind is necessarily that of .a hotel, not necessarily a particularly fancy one, but more like the middling type of what you often find near the airport. Like, it’s not that-good, because it doesn’t really have to be; it’s near the airport, that pretty much, by itself, serves its most basic function. But, then again, it’s not that bad because it’s a hotel. And not a mo-tel. As such, there’s also a restaurant. Because, practically-speaking, any decent sized hotel pretty much has to have one. So, that can go in (at least) two different ways: Generally (lots of broad generalizations here, but just bear with me, just having a bit of fun here) the restaurant is either very good; like, better than you would’ve expected, just because you’ve been to your share of hotels just like this one and, on the balance, the attached-restaurants are typically not-so-good. Or, kind of, more in-line with what you were expecting, the restaurant is basically crappy. I mean, it can be any of a number of things that actually make it crappy; food, service, value, closes too early....opens too late doesn’t really matter. But, the point is, the restaurant is not really a destination unto itself. Outside of, maybe, a select group of people. And that’s only, like, when it’s particularly, uncanningly good. And then (just rounding out here), there’s, like, a bar. But it’s not just a bar like you’d expect to see in any restaurant. (In fact, extending the metaphor, the restaurant-itself has its own physical-bar that drinks are served out of when the restaurant-itself is actually in service; but that’s not really a bar anyone would just sit-at and drink. Unless they were, in theory, waiting for a table or the rest of their party. But, obviously that never happens here because the restaurant is not that busy; there’s always plenty of tables and, there, people always/only show up as complete parties). It’s more like a night-club, singles-club, etc But. It’s not, like, the type of club you might see on Ocean Drive/Collins in Miami, okay? And it’s not, like, the Limelight. Or what you might expect to see in some of the bigger casinos out in Vegas. That’s not really . It’s not even, really, trying to be like those places. This place, the type of place this is ., there’s no pretense. Or maybe there’s just a little: I mean, yeah, there are some very young 20-something modely types with foreign accents as well as some young-money type thugs, who would just be par for the course in any of those other spots. But here, those people really stand out, and as much for how much everyone else-taken individually does as well. It’s just a very mixed bag. Like, there are very cliché divorced guys in vettes and comb-overs; as, inevitably, some of their ex-wives as well. There are mechanics and guys who own gas stations; who, certainly, LIKE the smell of their own cologne. (Liberally splashed over a good amount of body-hair) And that wear a bit of gold, whose general enthusiasm & speech volume more than effectively compensates for whatever lapse in syntax. (Those guys all drive older Benzes, with good speakers, the better which to broadcast their respective mating signals. And, by way of magnetization or ready-applied adhesive, decorated with whatever applicable or otherwise-appropriate religious imagery or symbols; although, tonight, they are most certainly on a mission of another kind!) As there are 40 year old virgins. And people who use wheelchairs. (More than just one, who don’t even know each other) Dancing with others who don’t. And little old ladies who just want a drink with an umbrella. People on vacation, who otherwise wouldn’t dare. So, too, there are, obviously, obviously, people of all shapes & sizes, across substantial ranges in age or whatever other demographics, all unified in their participation in a kind of masquerade; hiding, perhaps, from the circles from which they’re most ordinarily known ..in order to cheat, somehow. Just as they’re solidly married couples, who’re friendly enough, and just people-watching, being social. As there are actual-swingers, wannabes, & some couples who’re like something out of cartoon. If Steven King wrote it. (Or, perhaps, Edward Albee) There are people who’re, however temporarily, just trying to get-through something, like a break-up or loss of some sort. Or, possibly, reconnect with something, even if just one more time, as it inevitably fades; as all things eventually do. As there are those who don’t yet have even a clue of how difficult things are about to become. And so, the people from the hotel, all travelers in their own right, as well; they, naturally, walk into all of this with a feeling of being, kind of, nonplussed. Like, wtf is this? Who are these people? And why are they all here? What are they even .doing here? That is, maybe, the first time. Or the second. But, maybe, on a yet another trip, they wrangle a friend or co-worker to just “Hey, check this out you will not believe this place. I mean, I can’t really describe it; you just have to see it for yourself. It’s just out of this world.” And then, maybe, through this surreal type of experience, they somehow decide for themselves to just merge into this thing, for however long it lasts, to actually feel its energy, to somehow be a part of it. To just experience it, even if on its own terms. Or, they don’t. So, instead, in lieu of that; they just, you know, drink too much and throw up all over one of the sub-woofers. Or they smash a glass right onto the middle of the dance floor. Or they get really pissed off because not everyone (not every single guy in the place, not every last swinging dick) agrees that she’s the very fairest of them all. And so, just keys all of the cars in that same row as one she thinks brought the others. Except, as it so happens to turn out, it’s actually my car that gets keyed. My innocent, (not perfect!) but certainly-special-in-it’s-own-right car that never really hurt anyone.