That's Right, Hipsters, I've Been Listening to LCD Soundsystem Since Before I was Born

No, you're not going blind. The video is horribly fuzzy.

Now, let's be clear, we do some dancing in this house. For most of Max's life, though, the dancing has been done vicariously through me. . . literally. Mostly, for Max, what it means "to dance" is "I get on dad's shoulders and then sort of bounce around while he dances to Buddy Holly/Elvis/Jonathan Richman/Beck". This combination of two strikes is so brutal, it might as well be three strikes. Not only is the kid not actually dancing, he's got me setting the dancing example.

Counter-balancing all that, though, is Katie's Genealogical Rhythm Advantage(tm). Not only is Katie's mom (Grandma Kay: woot! woot!) a certified, actual, (formerly) professional ballet dancer, there's Katie. And, well, Katie. . . Katie is just one of those people you see in the center of a big circle on the dance floor. Over the sound of the funky drummer, what you hear is everybody in da club letting loose with a slack-jawed, "God-DAMN!" when Katie, mother of two, decides to tear that shit up. It's true: I've seen it. Actually, it happens when she's just walking, too. Even brushing teeth can get pretty boisterous. . . especially when that disco ball drops out of the bathroom ceiling.

So, much like the turtle that returns to the same beach where their egg hatched or a new-born colt begins to trot, Max proves -- thanks to his mom -- he's coded with the "Supah-Funky-Groovy-Tear-it-Up-YO!" gene.

Judging from little brother, Miles might be ok, too.