TIME society

Meet the 10-Year-Old Girl Who Is Already Acing College

She's a math prodigy

Esther Okade is only 10 years old, but she’s already the top freshman in her college class, CNN reports.

The British-Nigerian math prodigy is enrolled at Open University, a distance learning college and hails from the industrial town Walsall in England’s Midlands. She told CNN, “I actually wanted to start when I was seven. But my mum was like, “you’re too young, calm down.”

Okade told the Birmingham Mail that she hopes to get a PhD and run her own business someday:

When she isn’t studying for exams, CNN reports that she writes math workbooks for children called “Yummy Yummy Algebra,” while her family works to open “Shakespeare Academy,” a nursery school and primary school in Nigeria’s Delta region.


TIME society

Watch a Group of Street Performers Successfully Drown Out an Anti-Gay Preacher

"The crowd cheered and sang along and soon enough he was gone"

When performing on the streets of Sydney, busker Axel Winter noticed a man yelling hateful words about gay people. He was apparently shouting things like, “Today is the day that God hates you the most if you’re homosexual.” So Winter decided to fight back with music.

He and his bandmates moved a few yards away from the preacher and attempted to drown out his words with a cover of Cyndi Lauper’s “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.” (They switched the lyrics from “girls” to “boys.”) Their plan worked because the crowd soon began clapping and cheering and singing along. Eventually the man gave up and left, Winter said in a Facebook post.

“Thank you Sydney for taking a stand for equality,” he added.

(h/t Daily Dot)


TIME relationships

4-Year-Old Boy Gives His 90-Year-Old Veteran Best Friend ‘Friends Forever’ Dog Tag

The two developed an unlikely friendship


What started as an unlikely friendship between two neighbors grew into a beautiful bond.

The family of Emmett Rychner, 4, lived next door to 90-year-old WWII veteran Erling Kindem in Farmington, Minnesota, for the past decade, but only in the last year did Emmet and Erling become best friends, according to KARE 11. But then they were forced to split apart when Emmett’s family moved away and Kindem went into a retirement home.

That didn’t stop them from continuing to hang out. Emmett’s parents take him to the retirement home regularly and paid Kindem a special visit on March 1 to celebrate his 90th birthday, when the boy gave his older pal a present he’d never forget.

After singing “Happy Birthday,” Emmett pulled out two boxes, one for each other them. What was inside? Two dog tags, one reading “Emmett and Erling” and the other saying “Friends Forever.”

It all began when Emmett first became intrigued by Kindem’s tomato garden.

“Every time he saw me out there, he’d come running over,” Erling told KARE 11. “[Emmett would ask,] ‘Erling got any ‘mattoes?’ ”

From the beginning of their friendship, the pair has spent time together drawing pictures, riding bikes and lawnmowers and learning from each other.

“It is very special,” Emmett’s mom, Anika Rychner, said about their relationship.

When it was time for Emmett to leave the birthday party, Kindem said to him, “You come back again.”

“I will, eventually,” Emmett replied, and then went in for a heartfelt embrace. “Happy Birthday, Erling.”

This article originally appeared on People.com.

TIME society

Watch What Happened When a Guy Asked a Girl to Prom Over the Jumbotron

But did she say yes?

Spring is just around the corner, and so is prom season, Good Morning America reports.

Maddy Comito, a high school senior in North Carolina, got her boyfriend Jesse Jacobs tickets to a North Carolina State University basketball game against Syracuse University to celebrate their one-year anniversary. Jacobs, a college freshman, told Comito to look up at the Jumbotron, where plastered across the screen was the phrase, “Jesse Jacobs would like to ask Maddy Comito to the 2015 Apex HS Prom.”

She said yes.

TIME society

Are Cars Driving Into the Sunset?

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Zocalo Public Square is a not-for-profit Ideas Exchange that blends live events and humanities journalism.

How our love affair with automobiles is changing the face of climate change and denser urban living

On a typical Saturday night in the 1970s, Whittier Boulevard in East L.A. would have been thumping with lowriders—those lacquered, richly colored sedans with chassis that could bounce up and down with the flip of a switch. Slow cruising in a Chevy Impala was perfect for people watching and showing off your glorious Frankenstein handiwork.

Cars have long defined who Americans are, how we socialize, where we live, and where we work. They still have a hold over us—just look at how many Fast and Furious movies keep coming at us—but the world we drive in is changing. It’s now been about a century since we were introduced to cars. Gas prices are on the rise while wages stay flat. We’re increasingly aware of how burning fossil fuels harms the environment. And commutes into downtown from the ever-expanding suburbs can take two hours or longer. In advance of the Zócalo/Metro event, “Is Car Culture Dead?” we asked experts to weigh in on the question: In an age of climate change and dense urban living, what role will cars play in our lives?

Who says ‘mass transit’ can’t include cars? — Geoff Wardle

This may be shocking coming from someone who supports cycling for mobility—but I would argue that cars could become the mass transit of the future.

As we contemplate future cars and other road vehicles that drive themselves, there is an opportunity for huge paradigm shifts in the way that we as individuals access cars, which will radically alter the nature of the automobile industry. Indeed, if automated road vehicles can fulfill their promise of creating an efficient, self-organizing streaming of vehicles along our infrastructure with a significant reduction in vehicular, pedestrian, and other road-related accidents; and if those vehicles can become highly energy efficient and matched precisely to our individual journey needs, then cars could provide much more efficient, convenient, and sustainable mobility than buses, trains, and subways.

Geoff Wardle is executive director, graduate Transportation Systems and Design, Art Center College of Design in Pasadena.

Living with less ‘stuff,’ including cars — Victoria Namkung

I think driving your own car is becoming less important to people living in dense, urban cities where public transportation, walkability, and rideshare apps such as Uber and Lyft are readily available. From increased awareness of climate change and dependence on foreign oil to the expense of car insurance, parking, and the soul-sucking time spent in traffic and road-rage incidents, driving comes at a high cost these days.

When I first moved to L.A. 17 years ago, blinged-out Hummers were a major status symbol. Today, most people would look down upon you for driving a gas-guzzling eyesore. What was “cool” 10 or 20 years ago simply doesn’t fly today, especially in our post-recession economy where people’s credit and finances have been drastically cut. Today, it’s all about personal responsibility, living with less “stuff,” including cars, and caring about the environment and future generations.

I’m particularly excited about the forthcoming Expo Line train between downtown and Santa Monica since there’s a stop just a couple of blocks from my house (which means I can easily meet friends downtown for dinner or hit the galleries in Culver City.) That commute has trapped drivers in their cars for years, and soon people will be able to save money, get more exercise, and talk to fellow commuters for a change. For those living and working near the Expo Line, I think we will see numerous two-car households go down to one-car households.

American car culture will not go away anytime soon, particularly in suburbs and rural areas where there is no other real option for transportation, but it’s hard to believe we’ll see another renaissance of car culture in the tradition of cruising, hot rodding, low riding, or import car racing. Well, maybe not until Tesla’s mass market Model 3 comes out.

Victoria Namkung is a Los Angeles-based writer and cultural commentator. She received her master’s degree from UCLA and wrote a thesis on import car racing and Asian-American youth in Southern California.

Free bus passes won’t make cities like Albuquerque stop worshipping the Ford F150 — Virginia Scharff

Let’s start with more questions. How many places do you need to go every day? And how can you get where you need to go?

The answer to all these questions depends a whole lot on whether you live in New York City or Los Angeles, Portland or Albuquerque. Everybody in New York takes the subway—check out recent Instagram pictures of Dame Helen Mirren and Keanu Reeves on the trains. Everybody in Portland (Oregon), a city that embraced multimodal public transport, brags about the light rail, streetcars, and buses. Every Portland hipster owns a really cool bike, which many of them actually ride.

I live in Albuquerque, a car city like Los Angeles. It’s hard to get to where you need to go without a car. Urbanists and environmentalists here would love to get drivers to use the buses (free passes for university students, staff and faculty!), bike routes, and services like Uber. Twenty-somethings like my own kids do take the bus and ride bikes. People who live in Albuquerque and work in Santa Fe (or the reverse) can commute daily via the Railrunner train.

But we are at a disadvantage. Cities that invested in mass transportation and encouraged density already possess assets that car culture cities will envy as the planet heats up. We’re seeing many more hybrids, electric cars, and smartcars in Albuquerque, where we worship the Ford F150 and the 1970s Oldsmobile. But in cities where most of us have to be many places every day, and we measure the distance between home and work and school and groceries in multiples of miles and chains of destinations, people will cling to their steering wheels for dear life.

Virginia Scharff is associate provost for faculty development and distinguished professor of history at the University of New Mexico. She is the author of Taking the Wheel: Women and the Coming of the Motor Age (1991), The Women Jefferson Loved (2010), and novels under the name of Virginia Swift.

Millennials actually like cars, and they’re here to stay — James E. Moore, II

Let’s assume for the sake of discussion that climate change is occurring and that greenhouse gases from human activity are the culprit. If you analyze greenhouse gas emissions per passenger mile, public transit and automobiles have very similar numbers outside the New York metropolitan area. As hybrids penetrate the market and fleets shift to take advantage of cleaner and cheaper natural gas (yes, lower prices are here to stay), automobiles emerge as part of the solution to reducing greenhouse gas emissions.

When it comes to density and transit, what people actually do runs contrary to what many pundits expect and many urban planners hope for. Cities continue to decentralize, and grow most quickly when they do. The 2013 American Community Survey of work trips reports that 80 percent of the small national increase in transit ridership was in only six metropolitan markets, and 40 percent was in New York. Los Angeles has lost transit riders. Now the share of L.A. commutes on mass transit is at 1980 levels.

The media drumbeat that the Millennial generation is rejecting automobiles and suburban living is fanciful, not factual. I often rely on Wendell Cox ‘s Demographia.com for U.S. trends in housing, population, transportation, employment, and underlying economic forces. These data show that, when it comes to housing, Millennials tend to prefer more rather than less. The fraction of Millennials living in traditional urban cores dropped between 2000 and 2010, and the trend for all age groups is toward detached homes in suburban locations with bigger houses and lots. These changes were most predominant at the urban fringe and outer suburbs, where delivering transit service is a challenge. Millennials prefer the personal and scheduling freedom provided by the automobile, just like almost everybody else.

So cars will continue to play many roles in our lives, getting most of us to work, and enabling the consumption of goods, education, entertainment, and leisure, even if someone or something else is driving them. Now if you will pardon me, I have a ride to catch on Uber.

James E. Moore, II, is vice dean of USC’s Viterbi School of Engineering and director of the transportation engineering program.

This article was written for Zocalo Public Square.

TIME Ideas hosts the world's leading voices, providing commentary and expertise on the most compelling events in news, society, and culture. We welcome outside contributions. To submit a piece, email ideas@time.com.

TIME society

I’m Ashamed of Who I Am on Twitter

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Zocalo Public Square is a not-for-profit Ideas Exchange that blends live events and humanities journalism.

The popular social media network is fueled by exposure and fear of being out of touch

I am ashamed of the way that I am on Twitter. I am ashamed of the things that I write, those wan attempts at wit and weak gestures toward wisdom. I am ashamed that the things I write go unread, less cultural signal than digital noise. I am ashamed of my need for approval, of the way I yap like a puppy at my more famous friends. And, if I’m being honest, I’m ashamed that my mother, whose last two tweets were about me, has four times as many followers as I do.

I am ashamed of the way that I am on Twitter, and my clearest consolation is that I am far from alone. Indeed, there are others, so many others, whose shame is surely greater than my own. Justine Sacco, a corporate communications executive, faced public derision after an ill-advised, and seemingly racist, tweet spread across the site in 2013. Sacco has recently returned to the public eye thanks to a widely circulated New York Times Magazine story by the journalist Jon Ronson, offering a powerful reminder of just how easy it is to get into trouble online, and just how long the effects can last. Her experiences might have taught a thing or two to Keith Olbermann, who was forced into a leave of absence last week after he took to Twitter to abusively spar with Penn State students and alumnae over their charity efforts.

When we revisit such self-destructive lapses, we almost always talk about the spectacle of public shaming rather than the experience of being ashamed. Unnoticed in these scandals is the fact that Twitter evokes some of shame’s fundamental characteristics long before anyone actually gets into trouble. On Twitter, we tango with shame from the moment we first log on to the day we delete our accounts. If Twitter has become a powerful tool for shaming others, it may be because it recreates the basic shape of shame so well.

Shame, it often seems, has more to do with proximity than isolation. The psychologist Silvan Tomkins, for example, positioned shame in opposition to excitement and interest, suggesting that we encounter it when we get too caught up and need to pull away. We feel ashamed when we worry that others are too close to us, too close for us to hide the parts of ourselves that we dislike. Worse still, they are too close to see the whole person: Peering at us through magnifying glasses, they observe only our ugliness.

To put it another way, then, shame is all about exposure, and on Twitter exposure is the fundamental currency. Some of my friends speak of deleting tweets that failed to garner attention. I confess that I’ve done the same, eager as I am to curate an image of myself at my cleverest and most popular. I, at least, worry that my unnoticed tweets (and there are so many of them!) show me to be out of sync with the world. When I write something—whether clever or heartfelt—and get no response, my first feeling is not one of loneliness. Instead, I worry that I’ve actively shown myself to be out of touch with those around me. Tell an unfunny joke at a party, and only a few people will roll their eyes; make the same mistake online and the eye rolling is potentially unlimited.

At its core, shame involves a feeling of misattunement, the lingering sensation that we’re up to one thing while the rest of the world is doing something else altogether. Precisely because it promises to connect us with everyone at once, Twitter almost inevitably exposes us to this exact sensation of misattunement. On Twitter, we always teeter on the brink of shame—both because no one sees us and because too many do. Thinking we have the world’s pulse, we speak up, only to realize we’re drumming in an altogether different rhythm. What could be more shameful than that?

Perhaps because they always tarry with shame, Twitter’s users carefully police the act of shaming, treating it as a privileged tool and punishing those who employ it incorrectly. Keith Olbermann, for example, arguably ran into trouble for trying to make others feel bad about their conduct. Some have offered psychologizing explanations for Olbermann’s own behavior, but his true mistake may have been his decision to go after the Penn State collective as a whole, even when he was addressing individual students. As Jennifer Jacquet notes in her new book Is Shame Necessary, “For the reason of increased anonymity in larger groups, shame can be weaker in big groups.” Because shame has everything to do with isolation, it is difficult, if not impossible, to use it against a group that sees itself as a coherent whole. Unable to isolate his targets, Olbermann effectively ostracized himself.

We never feel smaller than when we stand alone, never more so than when the world arrays itself against us. By insisting on pithiness, Twitter only amplifies this sensation of smallness. Simultaneously, it proves that nothing looms as large as a few short characters. This is, of course, an old idea. Long ago, the German Romantic philosopher Friedrich Schlegel proposed that fragments are interesting because they point toward absent wholes, thereby activating the imagination. Paradoxically, this allows fragments to promise more than any complete object can. An intact ancient vase teaches us about the hand that shaped it, while a broken one can tell the story of an entire civilization.

A tweet, likewise, threatens to describe the person who composed it rather than the conditions of its composition. Speaking to Vulture, Jon Ronson observes, “We’re creating a hard, frightening world where somebody can get defined by their stupidity, as opposed to their stupidity being put into a sort of wider human context.” Ronson’s forthcoming book So You’ve Been Publicly Shamed seeks to counteract this trend by examining the experiences of the shamed, not just the things that made them targets. Nevertheless, shame may be embedded within the very tools we use to communicate today, especially those that privilege speed and brevity.

I am ashamed of the way that I am on Twitter and you probably are too. I am ashamed of all those little fragments of me, all those splinters of a self. And yet there is a consolation in this. When we’re in the thick of it, shame blots out everything else. But Twitter reminds us just how small most of the things that shame us really are.

Jacob Brogan is a writer based in Washington, D.C, currently working on a book about the cultural history of lovesickness. He is too ashamed to ask you to follow him on Twitter. He wrote this for Zocalo Public Square.

TIME Ideas hosts the world's leading voices, providing commentary and expertise on the most compelling events in news, society, and culture. We welcome outside contributions. To submit a piece, email ideas@time.com.

TIME society

How ‘Fat Monica’ on Friends Stuck With Me All These Years

xoJane.com is where women go to be their unabashed selves, and where their unabashed selves are applauded

The fat girl doesn’t get to be the protagonist


Friends has a few recurring backstories — Phoebe’s shady past, Ross’s divorce — but one seems to come up again and again: Monica used to be fat in high school.

We actually get to see it in Season Two. Mr. and Mrs. Geller drop off boxes from Monica’s childhood bedroom. The friends all happen to be over when they unearth a video of Monica and Rachel prepping for prom. The tape clicks into the VCR, and there’s Monica in a fat suit and a billowy maroon dress, clutching a sandwich.

“Some girl ate Monica!” crows Joey. And the audience laughs.

I thought grown-up life would basically be a Friends rerun. As a kid, I clung most to that image of adulthood. ’90s New York life seemed so fun and glamorous — the impossibly large apartments, the casually fashionable overalls, the Hootie & the Blowfish concerts.

My family wasn’t hopelessly devoted to the show, so I watched syndicated episodes on the tiny, static-y TV propped on my bedroom dresser. Reruns came in a never-ending stream. A lot of nights, I fell asleep to the soothing chords of Smelly Cat.

It’s embarrassing to admit, but when I look at my life now, it echoes back to these episodes. Maybe Friends is just a great look at mid-20s life, or maybe I drifted off to Ross’s whine so often that these ideas sunk into my subconscious.

I didn’t move to New York, but I did move to a big U.S. city. I spend way too much time in coffee shops. I have a group of friends who are here for me whenever my life’s a joke, I’m broke, my love life’s DOA.

When Friends hit Netflix in January, I was ready. Now I could stream episodes all day and night, until my roommate begged me to shut it off. So much of it was how I remembered. Certain scenes made me scream-laugh so hard that I was afraid the neighbors would complain.

But I’d forgotten about the relentless fat jokes. They pop up every few episodes. Skinny, beautiful, OCD Monica used to be fat — and her friends will never let her forget it.

Maybe the jokes didn’t register with me when I was younger. In high school, hating my body was the norm. But I have to wonder, as I formed my opinions on lattes and boyfriends and the merits of having a capuchin monkey as a pet, what ideas about fatness versus success crept into my head during that formative TV-watching.

Because when everyone taunts Monica about the girl she used to be, I begin to suspect something: If Monica was still fat, they wouldn’t be her friends.

In flashbacks, Monica exists only as a punchline. What effect did this have on me at 13, 14, 15? To see women defined only by their bodies. To know that only when you get skinny do you star in your own show.

Monica becomes real only when she loses the weight. Before that, she’s just a caricature. I was a fat kid; I am a fatter adult. What does this mean for the girls like me who never become thin? Are we relegated to side roles and stereotypes in our own lives? Of course, this isn’t true. But I think it sometimes, dark and secret: The fat girl doesn’t get to be the protagonist.

What does the opposite mean, then? To stay fat or — horror of horrors — get fatter? Does this lessen my successes — the stories I’ve told, the friends I’ve made, the life I’ve built? Sometimes I hear my friends dismiss people we knew as teenagers with, “Oh, he got fat,” and my stomach flips as I wonder what other people say about me.

That’s what the fat jokes on Friends feel like to me, like someone I know and trust is leaning over to whisper, “You matter less because of your body,” then expecting me to laugh.

I know the simple solution is to just stop watching. I boycotted How I Met Your Mother when the fat jokes got too vicious. Maybe it’s because I fell in love with Friends young, before I knew the possible damage.

But I love so much about the show, and I just don’t want to turn it off. I wish there was some edited version where I could skip over the worst of the jokes. I know Friends has other problems with diversity and homophobia, and I never expected it to be a perfect show. But when those Monica jokes come up, they always feel like a punch to the gut.

It’s not just Friends either. The “formerly fat” story line shows up often enough to be considered a trope. The heroic skinny person earns their TV life by shedding the weight.

A recent example: In New Girl, the fit and fastidious character Schmidt used to be chubby (and shlubby) in college. He briefly reunites with his college girlfriend Elizabeth, who remains heavier. But instead of the skinny girls on the show, who wear Peter Pan collars and sleek cocktail dresses, Elizabeth dresses like a slob. She doesn’t know how to present herself in social situations. The joke is that Schmidt is embarrassed by her. I could barely finish the season.

I didn’t need these reminders about how the world views women’s bodies, then or now. You never forget being a fat teenage girl. When my skinnier friends ran into certain stores at the mall, I lingered by the accessories, sliding bangles up and down my wrist and avoiding the eyes of salesgirls. I wanted to apologize for the space I took up, to confess that I knew they didn’t carry my size.

But it was worse when my mom took me to the designated plus-size stores, where I stood back as far from the door as I could in case a classmate wandered by. Walking out of the mall, I’d keep the label of the shopping bag turned towards my leg. At home, I’d cut the XXL tags from every shirt collar.

Since then, I’ve read so much about feminism and body positivity and the fat acceptance movement. I know that bodies are not inherently good or bad. My fatness is a part of me — both my history and my everyday — but it is not the only part of me.

The Monica in the prom video is maybe a size 18 or 20. In high school, I wore a 16 or 18. When I look at her, I see myself. That chubby teenage girl afraid of her own ambitions, because who could she ever be besides the fat girl? I look at photos of my teenage self now and I think I look beautiful. I wish I could reassure her that she would grow past these insecurities.

I’ve learned to celebrate the good things my body can do. Walking through Europe after college, dancing to Talking Heads albums in my apartment now. I try to remember that there are good days and bad days; that loving my body isn’t a one-time goal but an ongoing process.

One joke hit me particularly hard — and it’s a joke Monica makes at her own expense. She wants to go on a date with Rachel’s high school boyfriend, Chip, and she argues her case. “The fat girl inside of me really wants to go,” says Monica. “I owe her this. I never let her eat.”

A life of withholding. This is the joke. The scene ends.

I bet Fat Monica was a great friend. I bet she kept meticulously organized Trapper Keepers and got really competitive over pop quizzes. She probably spent a lot of time in the kitchen, trying out recipes for her family while she dreamed of being a New York City chef. I bet she was just as funny and intense and neurotic and loyal as the woman she grows into. I bet she just went by Monica, and I bet she was fantastic.

Megan Kirby wrote this article for xoJane.

Read next: Why I’m Glad I Was Bullied

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TIME Ideas hosts the world's leading voices, providing commentary and expertise on the most compelling events in news, society, and culture. We welcome outside contributions. To submit a piece, email ideas@time.com.

TIME society

What to Know About Daylight Saving Time

It's time to spring forward—unless you live in Arizona or Hawaii

It’s time to spring forward. On Sunday at 2 a.m., the clock will move forward an hour. Yes, that means you’ll lose one hour of sleep, but it also means you will also get one extra hour of springtime sunshine.

At least, that’s true for most Americans. Those who live in Arizona and Hawaii will get a better night’s rest because both of those states have opted out of Daylight Saving Time.

If you’re wondering why (most of) America goes through this routine every year, look to Germany. The country implemented an official Daylight Saving Time during World War I to save money on lighting and divert it to the war. Thirty-one other countries followed suit.

The history of the practice is, and remains, complicated: It had informally existed in Ancient Egypt and had even been suggested by Ben Franklin.

In the U.S., Daylight Saving Time was repealed after the war but then brought back by politicians during World War II. It was implemented again in the 1970s during the oil embargo. Now, it’s a standard practice in most states.

TIME society

Watch a Guy Kiss a Beer Instead of His Girlfriend on the Kiss Cam

Tensions brewing?

Today we highlight a random Kiss Cam video because a) everyone gets a kick out of Kiss Cam fails and b) it’s Friday, and you look like you could use a break.

In this clip, a guy kisses a beer instead of the woman next to him at a NHL game between the Vancouver Canucks and the San Jose Sharks last month. Don’t worry, he does give her that smooch, but not before enjoying the attention of the audience.

While it may look like the ultimate bro snub, the two are likely hamming up it for the cameras.

Read next: Watch What This Woman Did When a Guy Wouldn’t Kiss her on the Kiss Cam

(h/t Kansas City Star)

TIME society

This Is the Most Outrageous Bar Mitzvah Video Invitation You’ll Ever See

He dances while dressed like a rabbi and waves around challah bread in a parody of "Blurred Lines"

Before becoming a man, you become a meme. At least that’s the way of thinking in 2015. Case in point: this bar mitzvah invitation of biblical proportions.

In a YouTube video produced by Xpress Video Productions and written by Patrick De Nicola, Brody Criz parodies pop hits like Pharrell’s “Happy,” Lorde’s “Royals” and “Let It Go” from Frozen. The whole family is in on it, too.

Fair warning, at the 2:46 mark, when he spoofs Robin Thicke’s “Blurred Lines,” he starts dancing. And stripping down. Dressed like a rabbi. Stick with it, and you’ll see him mug for the camera with a pug.

If this video is just the invite, then imagine what the reception will be like.

Mazel tov on going viral.

(h/t BuzzFeed)

Read next: A Jewish Girl’s Love Letter to Loehmann’s

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