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Truly Backwards

I rifle through the unfamiliar kitchen drawer until I find some food scissors. I dutifully cut up the homemade eggroll into 3 pieces, revealing the unmistakable pink meat of pork at the center. I should have known from the bite of the first eggroll as it had been too savory to be vegetarian, but at that point I was distracted, lifting the shirt of the doctor examining his chest for any signs of internal bleeding.

This struck me as odd, since that seems to be the sort of thing a doctor would suggest, but from the look of pain on his face I didn't think he was thinking very straight.

"Eat, eat, or it'll all go to waste!", he tells us.

Max and I exchange uncomfortable glances. We are both strangers in his house, and I hope to avoid the awkwardness of explaining our presence here upon his wife and children's return.


LTMS: On Happiness

In this edition of "Letters to my Son", I advise him on how to be happy.

Or, at minimum, describe the stuff I've tried to do to be happy that is entirely counterproductive.


Dance like your drunk aunt

My wife has been kind enough to keep me up to date on the issue of How kids these days are dancing

First off, before I begin, I feel it necessary to come clean about my initial reaction to this new trend of lap dancing. From what I understand, the evolution of it seems to be the girl grinding on the boy while both are standing, to the girl grinding on the boy while the boy is laying down.

Laying supine on a dance floor seems to be stretching the limits of the verb, but what had initially bothered me much more was that it had apparently become possible for a girl to dry hump their boyfriend in public, without any sort of social slights or sentencing of fabric letters.

And indeed, my first ugly opinion was that while sexual freedom and liberation has been the goal of our fairer sex for some time, this seemed to be a bit of a slice off the goal into the rough.

Luckily, battling against inches of hardened driveway ice gave me plenty of time to ruminate on this conclusion, and I eventually identified it as not belonging to me, but belonging to the angry old man I was to become years in the future. Someday I may very well clutch to that opinion as if it were an american flag that had been my comfort blanket, but in the meantime I identified it for what it was, snippy and mean-hearted woman hating.

Blaming the woman for this act which logistically requires a plurality to accomplish is just straight-up unfair. Especially if her peers don't slight her for it. I mean, high schoolers will flay your corneas off if given a chance, so clearly there had to be something else afoot in here. A cultural truth I lacked the perspective to see.

Other people, such as the guy in this video brought out all the old standbys: "Unknowable generation gaps", "Kids like to shock us" or "They don't know how else to dance"

But I don't buy it.

Then I remembered something I learned while in Miami checking out a datacenter. I was talking to the marketing guy assigned to wine and dine me while down there, and conversation turned to our children, and he mentioned he had a 15 year old daughter, and he mentioned something very interesting, and seemingly completely at odds with the thrust of the "each generation of kids do more perverted stuff" explanation.

The way he painted dances (which he chaperoned) was that the kids mostly clung to the sides, sitting, texting one another. Barely dancing at all.

This thought saddened me at the time. Not because I was ever a fan of dances, in fact, I most likely chose video games or roleplaying games over them more than once. In fact at the time I might have been somewhat bitter towards "those kids" who gleefully attended every dance, especially the boys who were well-groomed enough to warrant female attention.

But on a macro scale, teenagers are at the height of their passion for each other. Their brains bursting with chemicals encouraging them to mindlessly rut at any chance. To have that force tamed by the safety of exchanging naught packets of information with each other seems like a conquering of something greater. The taming of a piece of humanity that ten years ago I would claim could never be caged.

It was then that my opinion of this new "dance fad" changed completely. Since now I thought I understood who the couple on the floor were dry humping for. Surrounded by dimly lit faces staring down into screens barely a square inch, these brave kids did what had to be done to get the attention of their despondent classmates. An act that would force them all to look up, thumbs stilled, and take in a site of mock coitus that was sure to redirect some amount of blood to their nethers.

The dancing pair are not perverts, but rather perpendicular heroes. The woman not one of ill-repute, but a torch standing alight, the same passed down for millennia from each harvest dance. The yearly expression of our lust for life, and the desperation we share to find another to share that with.

If getting to second base on the gym floor is what it takes to blow some fresh air of the dying embers of the vis vitae of humankind, I say to you crazy kids, hump on!

That said, you're still completely wrong about Twilight.