Shaking It Off

I turn 29 tomorrow, and I'm not too thrilled about it. It seems like every couple days or so, some random occurrence in day-to-day life comes and gives me a little slap to remind me that we're getting older all the time. Sometimes it's a subtle love tap; sometimes it's an E. Honda-style barrage to the face. The latest example: handshakes.

All of a sudden we're greeting each other with a simple handshake, like a couple of gentlemen. I don't want to do that. We're not about to negotiate the terms of a business merger, and I'm not running for political office.

I love the three-step soul shake. I love fist bumps. I love fist bumps followed by the explosion, while making explosion noises. I love fist bumps followed by the rocketship, while making rocketship noises. I love the backhanded double slap of the 2004 Red Sox. I love the low five-salute combo of the Morris twins and Tyshawn Taylor. I love the snap-and-point at the end of a shake that was popular in the early 90's (executed most obviously by Zack and Slater, done more subtly and stylishly by Brandon, Dylan, and Steve on Beverly Hills 90210.) I love having 12 different handshakes for 12 different friends. I love that Paul and I have a secret handshake that dates back to 1991. I love that every single time Alfonso and I greet each other, there's a soul shake, a bro-hug, and a Chappelle-like "Uhhhh, son!" involved. I love that in high school, when Boots and I would work the 2 a.m. shift at Perkins, we'd pass the time by practicing our 35-step handshake that was every bit as awesome (and as nerdy) as you're probably picturing right now. I love that when Ringer played on our co-ed softball team, her and I made our dugout look like LeBron and the Cavaliers. I love having secret handshakes with girlfriends (after intimate times, Christine and I like to employ the James Harden-Kevin Durant double-tap high-five.)

So if you see me on the streets, don't greet me like I'm your potential future father-in-law, or like we just got done signing the Declaration of Independence or something. Let's keep it real, son. Gimme some dap.