We insert the Charlie's Angels reference as a sly foreshadowing of the violent renaissance which will bear down on the Men as the dance rushes achingly toward breathless, shuddering climax. The Junior Varsity Sequence?which finds the Men united in punctilious pep-rally puerility?begs the question: If the world is a locker room, is Tim its forgotten gym sock?
The answer, of course, can be gleaned by watching and re-watching the Dance's vertiginous, apical glissade which unfurls thus: 4-Cylinder-Piston machinations... a pugilistic hand-to-hand combat scene, including slo-mo special effects... The Reunification... The Hula... The Almighty Jazz Box, enhanced with axes-for-hands arm stylings... And finally, the SupernalSoaringSteepleTim, Lord of All He Surveys.
We gaped. We gasped. Could it really be? Yes. YES! The Dance was finito. And infinito. I was awash with primal joy, and ready to scuttle. But before I withdrawing into the night, I bestowed a Tribal Name upon each valiant Man of OK Go, a well-earned reward for a week of spiritual germination, physical fortitude, and meticulous mind-body exertion. These choreographic crusaders shall henceforth be known as Leaping Woodland Elf (Damian), Ape Who Eats Ants Off Stick (Andy), Massive Mastiff (Dan), and Fifi, The Fleet Fetal Rooster (Tim).
And now, nimble as a Timberwolf I go. May we meet again.
--Trish
