While cruising up and down the aisles of the grocery store today, searching for important items like english muffins and root beer, the Macarena came on loudly. Yes, the Macarena. Squelshing my body from dancing to the greatest one hit wonder of all time was difficult. Extremely difficult. It was as if my brain had been re-programmed so that when I heard the voices of Los Del Rio singing wildly about the girl all the boys think is buena, I had to dance. I had visions of my fellow shoppers and I joining together in synchronized dancing up and down the frozen food section. The older white haired woman in a red cardigan putting down her package of chicken to repeatedly cross and uncross her arms in the manner that even Al Gore came to know and love. It would have been bliss. We all would have come together for one last recreation of the summer of 1996. Unfortunately, we didn't. I had to settle for a little head bopping and hip shaking, behavior that is more befitting a grocery shopper. But I can't stop thinking about how nice it would have been if everyone, for one last time, was able to move with me jam with me.