"'Sup, dawgg. Haf uh happy Eeeastahhhh."

That's how I'm going to greet people around here from now on. I finally "get" the youth in New London.

[Slight tangent coming...]

About ten years ago, I remember having seen the earliest hints of the SUV craze that has since changed the face of America.

For those of you who aren't blessed with living in these United States, an SUV is basically a small tank that single people use to drive to 7-11 so that they can buy Slurpees in peace and safety. I'm not certain, but I think the SUV wave really caught on around about the time reports were surfacing of roaming bands of Afghani terrorists jumping up from behind the drive-through menu at Burger King and suicide bombing families in station wagons who were just waiting for their Whoppers ("WITH A SIDE OF LARGE FRIES, DAMN IT - I SAID WITH A SIDE OF LARGE FRIES"). Having a Suburban with a roof-mounted machine gun is the solution that most 'Mericans seem to have decided is best.

Taking the family out for burgers and fries

Also note that, if you are indeed from a country that is not the USA, you're probably also wondering about the following things in addition to SUVs:

- 7-11

- Burger King / Whoppers / Sides of large fries

- Drive-through menus

I'm sorry, but I can't help you with these extra items. They are, malheureusement, outside the scope of this document. If you'd like to learn more, then google is your friend.

Anyway, I was thinking tonight about the SUV craze, and about why it might have happened in the first place. I mean, there must be a good reason that otherwise perfectly intelligent people are deciding that $50,000 is a reasonable price to pay for a vehicle that is slower, less maneuverable, less efficient (and therefore more expensive to maintain), and overall stupider than a "regular" car that's less than half the price.

Then I remembered. I've heard people talk about buying SUVs because they felt "safe" in them. While there were, as I mentioned earlier, the roaming bands of Afghani terrorists to consider, I think that many of these people might have just been thinking about their children and the dangers of accidents out on the highway.

The next thing to think about, then, is this: What is the threat against which these people would like to fortify their defenses? I can tell you: The other SUVs.

Because there are so many SUVs on the road, the only way you can be safe anymore is by buying an SUV yourself, even if what you'd really like is a Toyota Prius. This has led to people thinking that anything smaller than a C-130 cargo transport plane is just a death warrant that you drive to the grocery store.

Mom heading out to pick up some milk

So, people buy SUVs to defend themselves against the other SUVs. Makes sense.

Now let's think New London.

Nine out of ten youths/young adults in this town dress like they're expecting to be extras in a remake of Michael Jackson's popular video for "Beat it." They have bandanas, freaky pants, and the affected walks of people who want to appear as though they have shrapnel or, perhaps, sea urchins stuck to their legs. I don't know why I said "sea urchins" right there. Just seems like they'd hurt, I guess, which might account for the strange walk I'm talking about.

It's the "I have a shotgun down my pants" walk. The straight-leg limp. It's very popular and has been for years. I have fond memories of being followed by straight-leg limpers in my younger days.

The peculiar bit is that nearly all of the younger people here are like this.

The funny thing, though, and this is where I've finally managed to figure these guys out, is that they don't really want to be tough. Like scared soccer moms who buy SUVs to protect themselves from other SUVs, these guys are dressing like hoodlums to protect themselves from the other hoodlums. They want to appear tough, but when spoken to, they're all excessively polite. I suppose it's possible that they're only nice to me because they're so relieved to finally be talking to someone who doesn't look like he wants to mow down all the innocent people on the street with a machine gun. I mean, I do seem about as dangerous as a declawed Pomeranian with a perm that's wearing a tutu. However, let's just pretend that these guys are nice beneath their gruff exteriors, and that it isn't just because they think I'm a sissy.

I find that very interesting.

There's a guy in my building who is a perfect example of this. He's a tallish Caucasian male, probably about 22 years old, with a pencil moustache, a backwards baseball cap, and a head that's slightly smaller than average - say, about the size of a large cantaloupe. He's usually complaining loudly about someone who isn't "respectin'" him, or something like that. He seems angry.

But, every time he sees me, he greets me with a very pleasant "'Sup, dawgg."

If we're getting on the elevator, then he says, "What flo'?"

I tell him, and he pushes the button for me. I say "Thank you," and he always responds with, "Aaaaight."

Then, when leaving, he always says, "Latah, dawgg," and then slaps me "five." Lately, he's added "Haf uh happy Eeeastahhhh" to the farewell, obviously excited about the upcoming holiday. I'm not going to say that his eyes light up when he says it, as they actually resemble black olives peering out of an unusually small bleached bowling ball, but his voice takes on an excited air, clearly communicating the jubilation.

After similar exchanges with other people not unlike my friend Cantaloupe Head, I've come to realize that none of these guys are all that tough. I've been thinking that they might even like me, and would accept an invitation to come over for tea and examine my collection of Mistral soaps from the Provence region of France. I can already imagine one of my new friends now, running his hands over the smooth peach exterior of a Melon-Poire scented savon and approving of it with a "'Sup, dawgg, 'dat be dope soap." If it's the right time of year, then maybe he'd also throw in a good old, "Haf uh happy Eeeastahhhh" just for kicks.

Yeah.

I feel like I've cracked the New London code. I'm like a freaking anthropologist in my spare time.