Something about the kid’s expression…I can’t quite place it. It wouldn’t be out of place on a DEVO album, especially with the plate of giant sausages floating next to him.

These bright, saturated orange and yellows popped cheerily on the shelf and drew me right in. Then again that could be due to placement next to a refrigerated case full of de-fleshed cow legs. Whole cow legs, hoof and all. Mmmmm boy.

Dancing made me feel awkward and gangly and extremely stupid, like I had no idea how to operate the various limbs attached to me outside of walking and occasionally running. It followed that I saw no point in dancing, as from a nonparticipant’s standpoint it resembled ritualized exercise in the service of mating ritual at best and more active standing around the rest of the time. I went to exactly one dance in elementary school and was shockingly disappointed to realize the only things to do there were a) stand around and b) dance. I assumed they’d have carnival games in the hallway or activities, you know, something to actually DO while you were there. For some reason this lesson didn’t stick as I assumed the EXACT SAME THING when going to prom. And again I was shocked to find no mini-haunted house, no apple-bobbing, just a big ol’ dance with fancier dresses.

The rest of my family, however, had no problem with this strange coordinating of limbs and in fact quite enjoyed it. My mom was a disco diva through and through, with her only prom disappointment being three ‘Stairway to Heaven’ themes in a row, thanks to the stoners running prom committee. My sisters took several years of dance classes- jazz, modern, no ballet though; those kids looked like fierce automotons. I have hazy memories of attending a recital, mostly because my parents bought a video camera to tape the occasion and I was fascinated by the device. The girls grew into champions of the dance floor, absorbing new moves with ease. One sister in all seriousness wanted to be a Fly Girl when she grew up and I thought this a perfectly appropriate and possible job opportunity for her.

To this day they’re still ace, with the other sister working towards her dream of one day becoming Dance Hall Queen of Jamaica (good luck beating that crazy Japanese girl who won in 2010).

I, on the other hand, still flounder. While having vastly improved my Robot skills, the flailing of limbs to rhythmic beats still leaves me slightly panicky and extraordinarily self-conscious. Therefore I was shocked to discover how much I enjoy ‘Just Dance’, a Wii game, over this winter break. My mom, still loving dancing, had purchased the game as an extension of her ‘Zumba’ classes. To this day I am still unsure what Zumba is/means but was nearly driven insane listening to her class remix:

(Skip straight to 1:19 for the majority of what I was hearing. Please imagine your mother driving around shouting these lyrics at the top of her lungs while fistpumping violently).

The game is simple as its title: move along with the dancers on screen while holding a wiimote, and try not to punch your fellow gameplayers out while doing so. Through the same magic that convinced thousands playing Rock Band they were musicians, for the first time in my life I thought, huh! I can dance! And thanks to Mom’s overexuberant buying sprees, I had at my disposal Just Dance, Just Dance 2, Just Dance 3, and Just Dance: Michael Jackson Edition.

As someone with exposure to every iteration of this game in a short span, I noticed an evolution – the first ‘Just Dance’ is merely a ‘Now That’s What I call Music’ compilation brought to choreographized, rotoscoped life, aimed squarely at those who enjoy and enjoy consuming disposable pop culture, ie tween/teen girls and teen girls at heart. ‘Just Dance 2′ takes into consideration the other members of the family with songs by The Jackson 5 and The Rolling Stones for mom and dad, some Beastie Boys and Wham! for older siblings and relatives, Harry Belafonte and Quincy Jones for Nana, and…Boney M, for the historian with an appreciation for rhythm.

‘Just Dance 3′, the one I purchased, is insidious in how it considers those who would normally just sit and watch and LURES THEM IN. What be this madness where a Madness song, not even a radio hit, makes it on?! And there’s an interpretive dance thing to ‘This is Halloween’, yes, from ‘The Nightmare Before Christmas’- WHAT?! Even Brahms is represented (well, as ‘played’ by the ‘Just Dance Classical Orchestra’). Well, now I’m hooked. I still don’t want to get on the dance floor, but should I have to I’m less inclined to run as I’ve become acclimated to this strange jiggling of body parts called ‘dancing’ through this silly game. Below is a breakdown of the standout hits (for me) of the game:

Madness – Night Boat To Cairo: The theme’s a little on-the-nose with mummies and a camel. Bonus points for including actual Madness dance moves including the Group Stop & Swoop and Everyone Step Together.

(For your dancing consideration.)

Donna Summer – I Feel Love: This one’s extra sneaky. You think you’re getting a straight disco song only to find they’ve crossed Klaus Nomi with Kate Bush for choreography! Plus a very Björk hairdo! Sooo fun.

Chemical Brothers – Hey Boy, Hey Girl: This is the closest I ever hope to come to a rave. Still, points for letting me dance inside the head of the glowstick set while being an extra in ‘Put Your Hands Where My Eyes Could See’.

A-Ha! – Take On Me: So…so much twirling.

The Sugarhill Gang – Apache (Jump On It): Thanks to a generation’s exposure to this song through ‘Fresh Prince’, they took the delightful lazy route and went with similar choreography. Best done in groups and surreptitiously filmed.

African Ladies – Pata Pata: Whee! You and a pal get to coordinate easy moves and learn the basics of body rolling!

Scissor Sisters – I Don’t Feel Like Dancin’: for when you DO feel like being sassy.

KISS – I Was Made For Lovin’ You: This song is proof positive KISS sucked at being a rock band (but excelled in self-promotion). The choreography acknowledges this and takes it to another level with line-skipping and coordinated fist-pumpery.

Robin Sparkles – Let’s Go To The Mall: A friend had to explain to me this isn’t a ‘real’ song, but a character from the TV show ‘How I Met Your Mother’s Canadian 80′s pop hit. The strangeness of a fictional character’s actual song appearing in a dance game outside its fictional reality aside, the song is indeed infectious and Canadian. Man, I hope other countries make fun of us with as few tropes as we use to mock Canadians. ‘Eh’, ‘aboot’, hockey, politeness, maybe a mullet. That’s it, that completely covers mocking Canada for the United States.

I recently learned of the existence of ‘Just Dance: ABBA’ and will be purchasing it as soon as a used copy turns up at the Bushwick Game Stop (this may be a while).

Alternate titles: Confessions of a Wii Addict, Apache: Jump On It, Dance Dance (Secret) Revolution, Indoor Jazz Hands, Strange Love or: How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Just Dance

As I continued to stuff my face I noticed an additional detail- just as their illustrated counterparts were drawn, the gummies themselves had little Santa hats in red or green. Charming! And also delicious.

They have an Apatosaurus:

…a Stegosaurus:

…a Pleisiosaurus WITH FLIPPER ACTION!:

…and the result of a Pteranodon/tiger mating:

…all with the promise of more to come. It’s sad seeing pictures of families enjoying a stroll through the Prehistoric Forest on the site interspersed with giant red text saying ‘NOW CLOSED’. America’s highways are becoming one long, monotonous strip periodically dotted with a clump of chain restaurants identical to the clump before and the one to come after. Roadside attractions are fewer and far between as the families running them grow older or can no longer afford to keep operating. It’s a shame that this is how I’ll come to own an eight-foot Stegosaurus lawn ornament, but at least I’ll keep one small flame going for American weirdness.

For those of you unfamiliar with the wave of ‘girl’ games fobbed on young ladies in the early 90s including Mall Madness, Girl Talk, and Dream Phone, here’s the commercial:

(I love that it flashes the warning ‘PHONE IS NOT REAL PHONE AND CANNOT BE USED WITH ANY PHONE NETWORK’ at the bottom.)

The game’s a more gossipy version of ‘Guess Who’ with the added creepiness of tasking you, presumably a teen, with calling 30-year-old gym and mall rats to find out who ‘likes’ you. Whether this is better or worse than Mall Madness’s goal of moving your piece around pretty much at random to ‘buy’ stuff is hard to tell. None of either game’s horribly reductive gender stereotypes were new, though the addition of voice-chip technology was a modern twist:

Oh, GIRLS. Always wanting to shop and talk about boys! Perhaps it’s the lens of time but the dud looks totally fine to me. Maybe by 50s standards not having rigidly Brylcreemed hair qualified you as Hobo McBeatpoet or something. The dudes of ‘Dream Phone however….well, take a look:

The weird effects of a disrupted global economy would be funny, if the causes weren’t so horrifying. The tragedy in Japan still unfolds, yet one of the repercussions has already hit America, hard. Tape stock, particularly beta (yep, the large, archaic consumer format is still an industry standard) is now severely limited due to damage and shutdown of operations at Sony’s Japanese manufacturing plants. The plants won’t reopen for at least two years, and the delay has larger entertainment companies all over panicking, hoarding and recycling what tape stock they have.

This is a strange way to filter a tragedy, though perhaps the more immediate the inconvenience is, the easier it becomes for the average person to grasp the full scope of damage. Japan suffers greatly, a year from now you don’t get to see ’30 Rock’ webisodes. It’s also no small shakes- entertainment is one of America’s largest and most successful exports, and several major studios’ workflows grinding to a halt would severely impact the American economy.

Still, it’s a bizarre side effect, that the raw material we need to send episodes of ‘Entourage’ out into the world won’t be available due to a natural disaster. We’ve felt it before on a smaller scale; the price of orange juice rising after hurricanes ravaged Florida, for example. It just highlights how fragile our modern state of existence is, how unnatural, to assume the year-round availability of products made across the globe.

Each is like an eccentric family member – charming, obstinate, a little worn around the edges, and most of what’s said is completely irrelevant save to them. Below are some of my favorites (click on any to see them larger):

This one deserves a further post; the author admits to a lonely childhood leading to friendship with the irascable prairie dog.

Oh boy! To think, one day women can treat the brave men who venture into space! Truly it is the most exciting profession for women, especially given the other options.

It seems to me this book will be read as long as bored teens continue not knowing how to use the card catalogue. THIS IS FLAGRANT FALSE ADVERTISING.

“Uh, sir, phrenology was dismissed as quackery 160 years ago.” “Of course you’d say that; you have the brainpan of a stagecoach tilter!”

In the realm of Absolute Bunk Studies With Awesome Graphics, Phrenology ranks second only to Alchemy.

I wish I could say this is the only romance novel involving Laird title claims and psychic peasantry written out entirely in a bad Scottish burr, but I’d probably be wrong.

Even the cover color scheme is patriotic! USA! USA! USA!

From the co-founders of the Campfire Girls and authors of ‘The American Girl’s Handy Book’, this charming tome is filled with all sorts of crafts and games kids can make and entertain themselves with.

This sounds exciting as watching slides of your friend’s visit to the DMV.

Doesn’t Rip look like he just woke with a wicked hang-over?

Wait, what?

(Psst, it’s that way).

Apparently they’re really into parasailing.

This is a charming knick-knack found in souvenir shops all over the colder tourist spots: a little log cabin incense burner to use with balsam fir sticks. It’s the opposite of hippie-dippy patchouli in all shapes and forms. The sticks are short and stout, the smell redolent of pine forests, the holder nowhere near wizard-shaped with nary a Grateful Dead logo in site. You can find them here, along with pictures of the Company Dog which they warn you is NOT FOR SALE ONLY TO SEE. It doesn’t look like the package design’s changed since the 40′s.

What surprised me was their state of undress- not just skimpier clothing or fitted dresses, but literal undress- floppy sweaters falling off both shoulders, naked save for a loose wrap about the midsection and leaning over to cover any bits deemed naughty, arms holding up a dress falling down.

Why do these young ladies need to pose thusly? Their male counterparts appear fully dressed in impeccably tailored suits, sitting comfortably in a lounge. Couldn’t the ladies also wear some gorgeous outfit in relative comfort? Apparently not. The obvious answer why is ‘industry numbers’ showing the greater amount of young lady skin shown, the more units move.

I would be surprised to see a magazine cover with an attractive young lady in tailored attire holding up a sign reading “Want to see more skin? Watch the damn movie.” Not the best solution, but it’s delusional to think the industry’s going to start selling starlets based on acting skills instead of looks any time soon. The best to hope for is making the exploitation more crass and blatant to at least make people aware of it.

On a slight tangent, Levi’s recently put up ANOTHER doofy billboard, this one showing a young lady’s butt in prominence with the motto ‘Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes’. Rrrreaaaaally? Then how come this, and most of your other billboards, feature skinny blonde women and men?

Levi’s, I challenge you to prove Pet Psychics are on par with Cancer Research specialists. Or while we’re at it, show me any pet pamperer who doesn’t deserve to get shipped off on B-Ark.