This is Your Definition of "Revolution?"

Like any observer to the arcade scene, I find myself intrigued by the Dance Dance Revolution.  All walks of life have found it necessary to try their hand at the dance pad.  I use the term “dance pad” loosely, as it refers to a metal square with arrows on it, not a multi-colored, funkadelic, break-down-boogie-floor ala Saturday Night Fever.  I am not aloof to this magical idiot box myself, no sir.  I’ve found many a day and spent many a dollar/quarter/token showing complete strangers how bad it is to do good on a game that transcends age, race, education, and choice of clothing.  Which is the point of this Musing: choice of clothing.  I’ve seen girls in skirts.  I’ve seen guys in sneakers.  I’ve even played it myself with no shirt on in Hawaii.  Yet tonight I have found the reining champion of what not to wear while playing this magnificent equalizer: the penny loafer and the blazer.  I have no beef with the child himself.  I don’t think he’s stupid, but do think he didn’t know what he was getting into.  I’m sure he grew up in a nice neighborhood, with little hedge bushes all cut to perfection, two cars in the garage, three squares a day and enough good sense to make it in the real world.  But this isn’t the real world.  This is the arcade, and you’re on my turf now, boy.  We don’t take kindly to no chump comin’ all up lookin’ like he stepped outa Hugo Boss.  That’s just how we roll, son; best get used to it.  Don’t hate.  Deal.  So when you all come up in your penny loafers and blazer with the sleeves rolled up, don’t look at me and think I’m crazy when I laugh at you for attempting a 6-footer and failing miserably.  If I didn’t have flip-flops on and was late to my chick-flick, cracka, I’da shown you how it is.