As an ironic bird flip to those with rhythm, the Robot Dance is a disco ball resistance movement, a meticulously tooled cloak allowing one to forget the towering dream of getting funky without looking too square–a step used by commitmentphobes who like to be where the action’s at but who don’t want to risk busting a move. Yet there is another formula involving robots and resistance. Robots aren’t suppose to have fun. Bottle catsup, blow shit up, assemble driveshafts at our behest–yes. But to enjoy themselves like Ceasar returning to Rome? The Man palls at such balls. This week, the current’s going to hit a superconducting jam-up, so if you find yourself robot dancing, figure out whether it’s a resistance of the Freudian or Asimovian ilk. Whether said ohming is psychoanalytic or sci-fi, remember: a society gets the dancing it deserves.