Broceries

I was provided a rare insight into the bro mind last weekend when I happened to spot some coming back from Big Y with their grocery shopping. All I saw, unfortunately, was a giant box of energy drinks. Perhaps that's all there was to see. I've begun thinking about energy drinks the way I think about ties: they're accessories that can tell you a lot about a man. They're vivid signifiers about which one can make a snap judgment from across the room. The streamlined classic silver-chrome can of Red Bull, the inconspicuous NoS shot, Monster's green claw-inspired logo which falls somewhere between Christopher Lloyd and the USA Today Crossword on the SBN Scale of Super Intimidating Things. How and why do we choose our envoys to the world, the metaphors that we hope will carry some part of some meaning, idea or vague sense? Because they look cool, because they're not Tab Energy,() because they're what our bros drink, because they give us a buzz? When is an energy drink just an energy drink, and when is it that night we snuck into Eyes Wide Shut with our off-again crush and got totally buzzed on box wine? Is such shorthand even fair? Shouldn't we make our own cans if we want to be known as total semiotic champs? But then there's also what we like, which should count for something. And Tab Energy actually tastes pretty darn good.

Look for Part II sometime in the nearish future, where I analyze the meanings of various energy drinks.