Dear Neil,

“Nice hat.”

“Thanks! Tonight, I'll be playing the part of Jughead.”

When I was a kid, I loved to read Archie Comics. Those wacky Riverdale kids bumped from one zany adventure to another goofy mix up. Archie was always torn between Betty and Veronica. Reggie went after Veronica sporadically, but only as a source of bragging rights. Of all the kids though, from brainy Dilton Doily to dumb Moose, there was one I admired most:

Jughead.

To me, dancing is a very serious thing. I’ve spoken much of my love already. Were I an ancient Greek, I would lament the frequent failure of DJs & dancers to practice the true art. Of course, I’m not an ancient Greek, so I just have vague notions about how a dance should be.

Jughead embodies the classic psychological notion of sublimation. He transfers his unacceptable sexual desires into the socially acceptable desire of eating to the point of monstrous gluttony.

So, this weekend, I went out dancing again. That afternoon, I had picked up a crown at Burger King and proceeded to wear it for the rest of the day. As I would dance along, someone would look at me, do a kind of take, then smile. I would crack a contemptuous half-smile in response. So, it went.

Shige and I used to joke that we wished hunger could be dealt with in the same manner as sexual frustration. Then we would rub our stomachs.

DJ’s are basically control freaks. They want more people on the floor, not because it aids dancing or makes for a better experience, but because it makes them look good. They like playing with the crowd, drawing it in with a pop song, and then pushing it away with something else. It’s all a big ego trip.

From a distance, the tragic flaw is the most noticeable part of someone. As you get closer to the person though it blurs away into all their other attributes. The trouble with this situation is that your closest friends are the people least able to help you identify and solve your problems. That is how phone psychics make a living.

“Nice hat.”

“Thanks! Tonight, I'll be playing the part of Jughead.”

When I got tired of dancing or they played a Britney Spears song, I’d get some water and try to talk to people. We’d do the usual introductions, and then I’d tell them I was playing the part of Jughead. One girl was wholly unfamiliar with Archie Comics. Oh well, no one understood Socrates either.

Archie and Reggie both made fools of themselves for girls. Jughead was far too wise for that. He alone saw that girls had nothing to offer but fleeting pleasure. No matter how Big Ethel tried, she never could trick old Forsythe P. Jones into going on a date.

Most of the things I do, I do the way I wished I could have done them, when I was four years old. I play dress up with lab coats and crowns. I dance the robot, since it’s easy to make up as you go. The real difference between me at age four and me at age eighteen is me the eighteen-year-old can get away with doing what he wants. That and hormones. Hormones screw everything up.

Earlier that night, I was talking to some people and they mentioned the best way to get through a situation was to smile and nod. That reminded me of the Jason John’s Method to Success.

It seems to be that to be really driven to succeed, you need to have a psychological defect. You’re parents have to show just the right amount of attention to the right behaviors until finally you get it in your head that love is being a CEO.

When I was pretty young and my older sister was a teenager, she invited a bunch of her friends over to play cards or something. Mostly, I was shooed away, but I did manage to catch one of their teenage witticisms, “Smile and nod, the Jason John’s Method to Success.”

I’ve remembered it ever since.

If you smile a real smile for no reason, in a few minutes you will be happier. It can’t be a fake smile or a cheesy grin, it has to be your real “I’m Happy” smile. Something about that configuration of facial muscles tells your body to release endorphins. It’s like a poor man’s Prozac.

At Denny’s after the dance, some of the kids were talking about mutual acquaintances. I was more concerned with trading a British five-pound note for a chef’s hat, but heard how it went. A dude was trying to figure out which girl they were talking about, so he asked, “You mean the girl with the big thighs?”

They nodded but reprimanded him. It isn’t right to point out defects in others. Noticeable characteristics aren’t to be spoken of, if they hurt people’s feelings. He said he was just pointing out her most distinguishing characteristic.

I know the secret to happiness, smiling and nodding, taking what’s given, rolling with the punches, and I choose not use it. I’m pretty sure life isn’t meant to be that easy. My parents must have accidentally taught me that anything good comes from hard work. Whoops.

I like to classify people, to look at them and sum them up. It’s fun and easy. Typically, they’ll be two people in a crowd who really catch my eye. Usually, because they exaggerate some feature, like clear skin or nice glasses or a good skirt or something. Most of the times, there are combinations of features that work in unison to produce a unified impression.

“She looks like a cute, little pixie.”

So I asked the dude to describe my distinguishing characteristics. He laughed at me and said I was the guy who wore lab coats and Burger King crowns. Looks like he nailed me on the head.

I like dancing. I like dressing up. I like people looking at me. I like attention and hugs, which, my mom has convinced me, is equivalent to love. I just wish I were more like Jughead. He seems to sublimate so well. Plus, he must have an incredible metabolism.

On the archiecomics.com website it says, “Being normal like everyone else doesn't suit Jughead one bit, he's as unique as they come, and he loves it. After all, who else in their right mind would purposely try to act like Jughead?”

“Nice hat.”

“Thanks! Tonight, I'll be playing the part of Jughead.”