Curt Mudgeon July 1999 I like to go to weddings. I like it because little barbarians I knew when they were in kindergarten or Little League all of a sudden seem to have metamorphosed into civilized grown ups with an education, a job, and plans to raise a family. This is amazing. As amazing as ugly polliwogs turning into handsome frogs while you are not looking. So, I went to a wedding, not long ago. There was a nice church ceremony, a nice buffet, a nice crowd, the salt of the earth. Then, the younger set went to the dance floor, which was surrounded by massive, sinister-looking black boxes also known as loudspeakers. This is when Jane and I moved to the far side of the room. The noise was deafening, but only people our age seemed to notice. I have long suspected young people to be almost deaf from listening to Japanese Walkmans or boomboxes especially designed to bust eardrums. Sometimes, I wonder whether it's not a Japanese plot to get back at us for VJ-Day. Maybe I'm paranoic, and it's just that the kids are ashamed to have such an easy life and try to show us that they are tough and can stand that much of pain without wincing. Yet, I prefer the Japanese conspiracy, because it makes more sense. Think of a war with Japan, in which our troops are deaf. They don't hear orders, they can't use walkie-talkies or radios, and the enemy can sneak up on them at night and behead them with their samurai swords. I watched the dance floor. The heavy-duty loudspeakers were pouring some harsh, nondescript noise on a 4/4 meter, with a steam hammer banging on an empty oil drum every fourth beat. The dancers did not touch, as it has been the fashion for the past thirty years. They were just swaying in place with the beat, pelvises moving back and forth and sideways, and footwork strictly primal. All of a sudden, I thought of life 30,000 years ago, the Stone Age. I saw that sorry tribe in a cave, hunched over a fire. They are hairy and dirty, and smell like camels. They grunt, they belch, and they are just finishing dinner. They're happy. It's been a good day, the hunt went well, and nobody came down with a toothache. In the back of the cave, one guy grabs a hollow log and starts banging on it with a human femur. The rhythm is 4/4, with a louder hit every fourth beat. The young ones get up and start swaying with the beat. It's all in the pelvis, and they don't touch. The footwork is primal. Why did I think of that sort of rhythm? Well, the possibilities of one-hand drumming are pretty limited. A few weeks after the wedding, I remembered that Stone-Age vision and decided to pay a call to my old university buddy, Thor Thoraxsson. Thor, a former Norseman who used to sack cities when he was in graduate school, now is a respected anthropologist and teaches at an expensive California university. He told me that my idea of Stone-Age cavemen conformed with the state of the science, which made me rather proud. He also said that the Stone-Age brand of dancing had a meaning deeper than any layman like me could imagine. The purpose of the dance was to tell a potential mate "You see, there is nothing wrong with my pelvis. It works well, and I'm ready to start a big family to take care of me when I'm old, like when I'm thirty." I had to admit that I could never have imagined anything of the sort. It was admirably simple, clear, and scientific. While I was there---and to get as much as I could for the bottle of aquavit that I had brought as a gift---I asked Thor how he would interpret, say, the sort of dance performed by Clark Gable and Vivien Leigh at the benefit ball in Gone with the Wind. Thor, who is also a movie buff, smiled brightly and said, "I'm glad you asked this question, because the study of dancing is currently the hottest research subject in my field." He went on to explain that the meaning of this dance---a quadrille, I believe---was to tell a potential mate "You see, I have a good brain and a good body. I can learn intricate steps and execute them flawlessly, and we perfectly accord in each other's arms. Together, we can have a successful life and our kids will be splendid specimens who will take care of us when we're old, like seventy." Something remarkable happened some thirty years ago. A new age had dawned, an age of primitivity. Manners, mores, and even knowledge, which were to blame for the hypocritical state of our civilization, had to be discarded without delay. Sincerity, spontaneity, and feelings became the admirable replacements, and people began behaving accordingly, because it was so easy. One just had to do "his own thing," anything that did not require much learning, or training, or control. The use of proper grammar and good manners disappeared, algebra fell out of favor, bars across sevens became a sign of high sophistication, and Stone-Age dancing was in, along with unkempt hair and bare feet. At the same time, institutions eager to project a progressive image embraced the newfangled culture. The education establishment led the way, with the full support of the usual social scientists, psychologists, and other charlatans. Teachers were assigned the new mission of watching kids do "their own things" and praising them in the name of diversity and self-esteem. That looked pretty easy too, and only a few fuddy-duddies objected. This cultural revolution has been very successful. Stone-Age dancing is still with us, and the highest levels of primitivity have been attained in our schools, where discussions of feelings about mathematics, science, and history replace the study of mathematics, science, and history. The "piercing" mania---once the custom of primitive peoples---is now a mainstream fashion, and we should expect soon to see chicken bones embedded in septa, nostrils, and other body parts. According to a national news magazine, some young people are taking lessons of manners and ballroom dancing. They must be part of the vast right-wing conspiracy against love and diversity, and we should worry about it. |