In the beginning there were human sign twirlers, otherwise known as directionals, out-of-work actors dancing on street corners with cardboard arrows pointing traffic toward badly situated pizza parlors and Cash for Gold clip joints. Then came the wavy inflatable balloon men: air dancers, doing the freak in front of used car lots. Now we have robotic wavers, hot skinny mannequin bitches in suggestive clothing grinding a sign like a pom-pom, a kind of zombie-Sisyphean performance art for the road trade, dawn til dusk. At $19/day, they come cheaper than actors. We call that progress.