Return to the mothership.

108: My Dance (Dance) Revelation.

In Season 1 on January 20, 2011 at 10:59 am

Dancing games, like many rhythm based games, have never really resembled the real thing. I for one have always laughed a little inside as I walked past Asian school kids furiously sweating it out on Dance Dance Revolution at the top of the Myer Centre, in the comfort of knowing that I would never play a dancing videogame, and that even if I did, I would look cooler.

So when Dance Central (a legit dancing game) came out I decided to give it a go. I can safely say that I ate my words as I actually played one, and no, I did not look cool. Even though I was performing the moves “flawlessly”, I still looked like a tool. So when they say, unleash your inner dancer, you need to know that at best you will look like Napoleon Dynamite.

It’s hard not to feel a little bit silly with little Australian flags jammed in your car windows. It’s made even worse by the air con in my car refusing to work. So when I see people driving with the windows down and no flags I can’t help by yell “show some pride and be like a bogan for once you unpatriotic bastard.” But they never hear me because my windows are wound up so I my little flags don’t fly away.

It’s hard shaking hands with cool people. They all have their own fancy handshake, that all the other cool people seem to know. For me, not only do I have to remember their names, but oh that’s So-and-so, her hand shake starts traditional, goes to the fingercurl, which transitions to a fist bump that explodes into spirit fingers on the follow through. And then I have to meet her friend, Blah-blah, and his hand shake is a flat five that sticks into an arm wrestle grip, then pull in for the one armed man hug.

Sidenote on the one armed man hug, the timing is critical. Pull away too early or pat too quickly and you’ll give the impression that you’re not friends. But linger too long or pat too slowly and you’ll give the impression that you want to be more than friends.

There are only three kinds of people who wear matching tracksuits. Young children, pensioners and teenage bogan mothers. No matter what brand names and teenage bogan mothers will tell you, there is no best of both worlds for comfort and style.


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