We watched The Forty Year Old Virgin the other night and were decidedly underwhelmed- it was still funnier than Wedding Crashers, which is only to say that it generated a couple of guffaws from my gaping mouth instead of simply contempt. The Virgin ends with the celebration of our middle-aged hero’s popped cheery in several dance sequences played out to The Age of Aquarius from the Hair Soundtrack, one of three records in my house as a child that were not Christmas carols, the other being The Love Songs of Perry Como and The Best of Roger Miller, so dang me. I’ve always loved the Hair soundtrack, closet hippy that I most affectionately am, so the next morning, I blasted it into our breakfast kitchen so that Lucas and Lars and I could do the freeze dance to the glorious tunes, and I promise I did not flinch when lyrics such as “Black boys are delicious” “sodomy...fellatio.. cunnilingus” and “I’m a colored spade, a nigger, a black nigger, a jungle bunny,” because when Lucas synchronistically yelled ‘freeze’ right before the part when some smelly hippy boy screams “Spaghetti” at the climactic moment of the title track, it was the height of my parenting career, desperately trying to balance on one leg in the frozen funky dance position but falling like pisa into the garbage can as Lars screamed with delight, “I win.” Indeed. Rock the hippy on, motherfucker.