Baby, can I hold you tonight
Sep. 10th, 2008 09:08 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfield"I will not play at tug o' war
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs...."
~Shel Silverstein
Coming out of the Smithsonian Metro stop today, I was approached by a sheepish, informally dressed young woman, one of a group of people holding handmade signs reading "free hugs."
"Would you like a free hug?" she asked.
Now, I think of myself as a relatively open-minded and agreeable guy. And I consider the acceptance of free giveaways to be a pillar of my own personal philosophy. But you have to understand, this is the big city. Nothing is free. On the open market, hugs generally command at least a two-drink minimum, and that's just on the front end.
It seemed likely, in a town where influence and public opinion are traded like commodities, that the proffered hug was simply an overture to a petition drive or sales pitch or an issue that urgently required my attention. And they looked just young and progressive enough (read: hippies) to attempt such a clever ruse.
Even if it was on the level, their signs and entreaties were disquietingly non-specific. Was this going to be a tender and meaningful hug, like the kind you give your mom; quickie hug, like the kind you give an old high school classmate; or a lean-in hug, like the kind you give an undesired suitor when you don't want your genitals in the same area code? (I am a grizzled veteran of the lean-in hug. Biomechanically and emotionally, it is not much different than the opening position of a sumo match.) A hug is not the kind of thing that you want to enter into without knowing the parameters; that's how a person ends up in the mob.
And I should also note that the kind of people who typically hang around near the Smithsonian exit are not the kind of people you want to make eye contact with, much less embrace, even if you were getting paid for it.
So I declined. As it was, I was running late for my softball practice and after a long day in a business suit and a treacherous metro ride in my musty athletic gear, I was not feeling particularly lemon-fresh. The young woman and her cohorts did not give me much of a hard time about it, which was a good thing. I'm not sure I could have fended them off had they tried to gang-hug me.
As it turns out, they were part of an unofficial Facebook movement: International Free Hug Day (Facebook login required) I'm not a Facebook member so I can't log in and find out what it's all about, but it sounds harmless and innocent and naive and a little stupid.
Even so, there's a part of me that wishes I had taken her up on her offer, just because I'm sure they were being rejected all afternoon long and I would have liked to restore their faith in humanity a little bit. Also, I know that if they had been Washington Redskins Cheerleaders, I probably would have overcome my cynicism. Does that make me shallow, or a bad person?
It does?
Well, now I could use a hug.
I'd rather play at hug o' war,
Where everyone hugs
Instead of tugs...."
~Shel Silverstein
Coming out of the Smithsonian Metro stop today, I was approached by a sheepish, informally dressed young woman, one of a group of people holding handmade signs reading "free hugs."
"Would you like a free hug?" she asked.
Now, I think of myself as a relatively open-minded and agreeable guy. And I consider the acceptance of free giveaways to be a pillar of my own personal philosophy. But you have to understand, this is the big city. Nothing is free. On the open market, hugs generally command at least a two-drink minimum, and that's just on the front end.
It seemed likely, in a town where influence and public opinion are traded like commodities, that the proffered hug was simply an overture to a petition drive or sales pitch or an issue that urgently required my attention. And they looked just young and progressive enough (read: hippies) to attempt such a clever ruse.
Even if it was on the level, their signs and entreaties were disquietingly non-specific. Was this going to be a tender and meaningful hug, like the kind you give your mom; quickie hug, like the kind you give an old high school classmate; or a lean-in hug, like the kind you give an undesired suitor when you don't want your genitals in the same area code? (I am a grizzled veteran of the lean-in hug. Biomechanically and emotionally, it is not much different than the opening position of a sumo match.) A hug is not the kind of thing that you want to enter into without knowing the parameters; that's how a person ends up in the mob.
And I should also note that the kind of people who typically hang around near the Smithsonian exit are not the kind of people you want to make eye contact with, much less embrace, even if you were getting paid for it.
So I declined. As it was, I was running late for my softball practice and after a long day in a business suit and a treacherous metro ride in my musty athletic gear, I was not feeling particularly lemon-fresh. The young woman and her cohorts did not give me much of a hard time about it, which was a good thing. I'm not sure I could have fended them off had they tried to gang-hug me.
As it turns out, they were part of an unofficial Facebook movement: International Free Hug Day (Facebook login required) I'm not a Facebook member so I can't log in and find out what it's all about, but it sounds harmless and innocent and naive and a little stupid.
Even so, there's a part of me that wishes I had taken her up on her offer, just because I'm sure they were being rejected all afternoon long and I would have liked to restore their faith in humanity a little bit. Also, I know that if they had been Washington Redskins Cheerleaders, I probably would have overcome my cynicism. Does that make me shallow, or a bad person?
It does?
Well, now I could use a hug.
