Dance Dance Revolution

I hadn't hung out with my buddy Dave since a few days before I left for London, so to make up for lost time we decided that nothing says "male bonding" better than a whole afternoon of DDR. DDR (Dance Dance Revolution) is what you usually see bi-curious dudes playing on at the local arcade, stepping and stomping on platform arrows to the synchronization of really tacky dance music. I used to ignorantly walk past these guys and what I previously called the Flaming Gay Dance Machine in favor of more manly things to play at the arcade, such as video racecar driving or fooseball.

My, how times have changed.

I showed up at Dave's apartment and saw the dancing pad along with his DDR Extreme game for his Playstation 2, and I just couldn't resist. I JUST HAD TO GET ON THAT THING. And so without any shame whatsoever, Dave and I danced and stepped and stomped the afternoon away. We did stop occasionally to turn on the Cubs game and play darts, if only to remind ourselves that we were still macho, macho men.

Apparently I did pretty well for a first-timer, and after the passionate performance I did for the remix of the song Planet Rock, Dave asked what in the world came over me.

Panting heavily and wiping the sweat off my forehead, I said, "I... I just wanted to express myself."

I'm not a good dancer, although I used to be. When I was five I would dance like Michael Jackson as my aunts would all cheer "Woooooo!!" Then one day I turned fourteen, became awkward, and never recovered. You should see me. At the club or at wedding receptions, my idea of dancing is to ball my hands into tight fists and run in place as fast as I can. But if you give me arrows to follow and put me on a DDR platform, well, I can be freakin' Fred Astaire out there.

At the end of the afternoon as I made my way towards the door to get ready to leave, I turned to Dave and said, "You know, dude, what we just did, this Dance Dance Revolution thing, you know it's kinda gay, right?"

Aghast, Dave said, "What? No... Fuck no, it's not gay, man."

"Alright alright," I said. "It's not gay. I'll see you next week, bro."

"Later dude. And I'll bring the dance pad."