That's So Ravin': Dancing Diseases and Awkward T-Shirts

Every music genre has its seedy underbelly, a world of unspoken tricks of the trade and a code that helps keep things alive (no matter how dirty and scandalous it may appear from the outside). Our That's So Ravin' columnists have been down… and around. Worldwide party purveyors and dancefloor makers offer up some party tips for ya, free of charge.

Dear Ravin:
I can't dance. I have the rhythmic skills of a piece of cardboard, and it totally sucks because I love music and going to parties. My friends are always like, "What's your problem? Come dance with us!" But I just lie low on the sidelines and pretend I popped too many pills. Is there any hope for me?
White Boy Problems, San Francisco.

Dear White Boy Problems:

I'm sorry to hear of your malady, but know this: you're not alone. And maybe you were even born this way. Apparently, there's a rare (and very real) disease called "beat-deafness" that affects four percent of the U.S. population. This malady was only officially discovered in 2011, and since it's probably genetic, there seems to be no cure. My suggestion is to let it go. Like, seriously… let it all go. Flail your hands, walk the dog, or twerk till you drop. On beat or off, the point is you're trying, and not standing on the sidelines like so many folks who do have rhythm but choose to chin-stroke all night in the corner.

Dear Ravin:

I met my boyfriend at Ultra Music Festival two years ago, and we've been raving around the country ever since. But recently, he's become obsessed with t-shirts that say stuff like "Molly. Sluts. Alcohol. Party." And he wears them everywhere. I'm embarrased by what people think of him when he's walking around in these shirts, but more importantly, I'm terrified of what they think of me for walking around next to him. How do I tell him his shirts suck?

Tomato Face, Los Angeles.

Dear Tomato Face:

This is a tough one my dear. You met your honey at a music festival and you admit that your relationship is built on partying together. Can you really curtail his right to express himself, even if he's expressing himself as a douchebag clown? The real question is what you're doing with someone who willingly spends his money on crap like this (instead of, like, buying lollipops for you). If you really truly love this guy, I would suggest turning a blind eye to his sartorial choices. At least his shirt doesn't say "I'm With Stupid."