Drew Goins (left shark) and Kelsey Weekman (just here so she won’t get fined) are the advice columnists of “You Asked for It.” Results may vary.
You: I’m a grown man dancing on stage in a shark costume. How did I get here, and where do I go?
YAFI: First, let’s consider your schooling. If you went to Juilliard for eight years and trained under Mom and Pop Juilliard themselves, then you probably deserve to be dancing in some sort of national ballet — or at least finding yourself in the top six on this season of “So You Think You Can Dance.”
Going forward, there’s no sense in running from your past. Intentionally or not, you’ve built an ironclad personal brand. Luckily for you, the prospects for dancing mascots have never been brighter.
Resume-building opportunities abound on campus, where you can get gigs as Ramses, a Carolina For the Kids recruiter or an embarrassingly self-conscious Davis streaker.
Career Services offers weekly mock interviews and arm-flailing skills courses, and we even hear that Houston Summers is looking into contracting a few of the juvenile, cartoonish creatures to better connect with young voters.
You: I don’t know my formal date very well. How do I keep her from feeling awkward?
YAFI: Pick a dinner spot that reflects your intentions for the evening — like 411 West for a lady you think you might be into or Cosmic Cantina if you plan on needing an excuse to escape to the bathroom a lot.
Explore hot conversation topics such as the latest disappointing sports game, the most recent picture of Kanye West looking sad, how iconic Katy Perry’s halftime show was and how distressing Katy Perry’s halftime show was.
When you roll up to the club/function/hayride, don’t hesitate to bust into your best dance moves. Request highly dance-able songs like “Get Ur Freak On,” “whatever that Crazy Frog song was” and Idina Menzel’s rendition of “The Star-Spangled Banner.”
Dash through the crowd like you’re trying to get to your 12:20 class in the heat of student body president petition season, reunite with your date like Marshawn Lynch’s hand with his crotch and let the sweet rhymes of the indomitable Missy Elliott take you from “farmer bachelor” to “that blond bachelor” status.