GeekLead.com
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It was a dark and stormy afternoon. The wind howled through the barren chambers of the phys ed building. Inside, warm and dry but quite afraid, I confronted the tap dancing instructor with grim amusement. Having lost a bet with my doctoral advisor, I had signed up for the tap dancing class listed in the far reaches of the MIT course catalog. Now I grew transfixed by the spectacle of two dozen geek graduate students attempting to learn the fine art.
The fact that this was the famous gymnasium the paper airplane club used to push its flimsy science to the limits was lost on most of the double dozen. Many clutched note pads and pencils, attempting in vain to keep up with the fast-talking but frighteningly imprecise teacher.
Who was more frustrated, the students who wanted, so desperately, to discover and provide the right answer, or the instructor, a zaftig woman in her forties, who kept imploring, "Relax, please relax, just let your body flow, flow, flow." And yet the more she implored, the more we all looked stilted, robotic, mechanical.
