- activism
- anarchy
- apocalypse
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- urban confessions
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- zipcar
If you’ve ever wondered…
Ever pass by a NYC garbage can and see something strange sitting in it? Things that leave you wondering what the story was that landed random objects in a public garbage bin? Well this weekend I had the privilege of witnessing the story behind one of the Twilight Zone activities of urban city living: Random Sh*t in the Garbage. It was like watching the tooth fairy actually deliver the money under my pillow, or catching Santa Claus leaving gifts under the tree.
A couple was having a very public fight, first in a restaurant (asked to leave), then up and down the streets, then in a bus (kicked out). Nobody probably knew what the heck was going on, because no-one probably understood the language. Agent Nova did, and between the man randomly drooling in between rants, he was in some sort of hot water that was going to cost him money he did not have. All of a sudden (either fed up with his stubbornness, his inebriation, his drugged up mind, his wrath) the woman takes his brand new suitcase and dumps it in the garbage and storms away. Seeing the perfectly fine looking suitcase dumped in there, handle extended out, would have provoked a “If you see something, say something” reflex in many a New Yorker who hadn’t seen the fight. I started wondering what was in the suitcase. Now I was in Pulp Fiction.
Eventually, they came back for the suitcase, but it was a 15 minute gamble; one person witnessing the spectacle already had their eyes on the can.
It was a very strange story to play out on the streets- the man was from another era and another continent, the woman too. They were so misplaced. And the suitcase looked so strange sitting alone in the garbage. I suppose it isn’t much of a surprise that Random Sh*t in an Urban Garbage usually has a Random Story behind it.
Other Random Sh*t in the Urban Garbage?
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Watch out for these Salsa Characters
Windshield Wiper
Look carefully at his hips, salseras. Now listen to the count. His hips whip from side to side in the cadence of windshield wipers: 1-2 3 (whip left, whip right, whip left) 5-6-7 (whip right, whip left, whip right). The count is right, but the swing is strong and arched, with a horizontal swagger. The swing of his hips is where he emphasizes the dance instead of the two count, and if he smiles when he does it, all you’ll think about is Golden Arches, that you’re in a car wash, or perhaps with Gene Kelly singing in the rain. It’s a subliminal transmission from the kinetic energy generated by those swaying hips, or the effects of being hypnotized. It’s hard to shake the feeling that you’re dancing with a car.
Shakespeare
“Though this be madness, yet there is method in ‘t.”
“What?” you’ll answer this Salsero back.
But he didn’t really say this. His body language did. These are the dancers who have a theatrical flair to their step. They aren’t The Performer who dances like they’re performing in the World Salsa Competition. They are the ones who dance with the skills of an actor, who passionately grab your face, gaze at you with serious eyes, flip their head in dramatic despair, and exude robust manliness or helpless femininity. They story-tell in the dance. It’s a joy to watch and go along with them (at least for me).
“All the world ’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and their entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts.”
As you like it, Shakespeare. As you like it.
I Don’t Need You
So why did you ask me to dance? If you just want to bop to yourself and shine on your own, did you really need to ask 
for my hand in a 3 minute marriage? Identify this one early: he’ll usually start a dance out with an extended solo basic or series of shines. Bub, you didn’t court me yet to begin the mid-coital tease. It’s about the foreplay of a cross body lead and simple right turn to welcome me into your universe. Playing with yourself in front of me is not my idea of a good first date, and you’ve only got about 10 seconds to convince me. Use the time wisely.
The Clairvoyant
The salsera who is forced to channel a lead from the men who are so subtle in their salsero role. The clairvoyant is successful only when the lead is there but needs a vessel to channel it down to earth to express itself. It won’t work when the man offers no lead at all. Perhaps it isn’t fair to be a clairvoyant, because the salsero won’t ever learn that he has to strengthen his lead. He’ll think the problem is in the girls that he is dancing with. But perhaps this is just who he is, and he’s meant only to enjoy a dance with a clairvoyant. But let’s leave this type of posturing to salsa philosophy. Just know that a clairvoyant has to work a little extra hard and be a bit more cerebral dancing with these salseros. Little does he know how her hand helped craft the dance.
Jekyll and Hyde
The partner who does nothing but a stumbling basic with you, but who, 2 minutes later, is spinning three times and weaving in and out of pretzel patterns with another partner. What? They’ll leave you questioning your salsa sanity and skills. How can this be? Perhaps they’re an Other Dimension to you.
Don’t Care
The salseras who dance with the enthusiasm of a neutered dog. These are the girls that look like they are being flipped 
around without a care. It’s like watching two people f*cking flat on a mattress, girl laying motionless, missionary position. Then she yawns. This is not a character necessarily without rhythm or skill (though sometimes this is the case). Just a smile would do this character away, but even that is not there. It’s best not to go out on nights when you’re feeling like this, or accept a dance from someone who evokes this type of response from you. It’s not fun to be this character, nor is it fun to dance with them.
Thomas Edison
The salseros who invent their own count. They are not Have No Rhythm, Don’t Count, Don’t Care. They truly believe in their count and have patterns developed around them. They’ll add an extra step in to the 6 count and you better learn fast if you want to get a good dance out of it.
The Boxer
If you’ve got a shiner, then you’ve danced with a Boxer. Problem is they don’t use gloves, sometimes they wear rings, and more often use their elbows. A cross-gendered character, Boxers are abundant.
Ninja Star 
The dancer who isn’t your partner, but clips you in the ankle from a neighboring dance. It smarts! It’s like hot fire running up your leg, and you’ll wonder if you’ll ever dance again.
The Cheat
I had to rechristen this character from the name JPLogan submitted this character under, Head Spinner, because I am a woman, and the Cheat seems more relevant. I had no idea this character existed, and was appalled when JPLogan admitted to its existence. Retrospectively, I now recall many dances where I should have seen the signs. The Cheat is the salsero who is already looking for his next dance in the middle of the one he’s already committed to. Find yourself in turn patterns that leave your back to him too many times? Chances are he’s scanning the room for his next catch, winking at someone, or even mouthing out his salsa digits. He can’t help himself, ladies, is the excuse. It’s the nature of a dance that promotes partner promiscuity. I know a character who won’t dance with a girl more than once in the night, and if he comes back for seconds it’s because there aren’t enough girls around. I find this behavior sacrilegious. Can’t a girl even get 3 minutes thinking she’s the center of your salsa universe?
Read more salsa characters, ghosts of past.
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Dante’s Inferno: Ninth Circle- DC Comics Changing Wonder Woman
Dante’s Inferno here has been a little icey lately. Well the heat is back on since someone sent me a newspaper clipping of DC Comics doing away with Wonder Woman’s costume and history on her 69th birthday (those are paper years, not human ones).
Here is why DC Comics Changing Wonder Woman goes into Dante’s Inferno Ninth Circle of Hell reserved for Betrayal: Honestly, the most revolting gesture is a change in her history. Instead of queen of the Amazons, she’s going to get a Superman-like history of an extinguished planet. What?! Her costume will change from a sexy-American flag to black New York tights. What?!
Sigh… I was preparing a piece about Wonder Woman before this… based on the 1970’s TV shows that I’ve been studying lately (so good). Even though X-man artist icon Jim Lee (also Spawn) will be taking her on, I still say that the comic book gods need more scientific proof on String Theory and Alternate Universes before altering an iconic character like hers in such a way. The appeal of Wonder Woman is that a girl can feel she’s related to her. She’s our alter ego, she’s who we can’t be in the office, she’s a patriot, she’s a link to some real history (can’t a girl dream that she too, may be of the lost tribe of the Amazons?). She is, as Major Steve likes to say, “the best of femininity without the vice”. Ok, that’s the original Wonder Woman, and a man’s dream. But still. I guess I ought to try it out (failed to mention this article is like 2 months old and the change is probably already out). And I guess I can keep my own version of Woman alive in my head. One more thing that’s changing.
For now, DC Changing Wonder Woman can go into Dante’s Inferno, along with the Veronica-marrying Archie.
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Street Cookie Portal
Manhattan Avenue, NYC September 2010
Believe I found the nesting ground for Street Cookies. Or a major portal for them in NYC. Or perhaps this is the portal for Puerto Rican Street Cookies.
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Strobe Lights, Bass, Bouncers… It’s Salsa in Da Bronx
JPlogan expanded Nova’s salsa universe by taking her and her dancing shoes to the Bronx. The Bronx, I hear, has its own accent on the dance. The club we went to certainly had its own atmosphere, nestled under the #4 line of Jerome Avenue. There are certain things one doesn’t want to see going into a new neighborhood: undercover cops busting someone in a car right outside the club you are about to walk into. Shards of broken car glass where you just planted your salsera-exposed toe.
When we walked in though, the people-atmosphere was nice: Salsa taught in the universal language of on-2: 1 2 3, 5, 6 7. That’s the only (heavily-accented) English spoken in that place (exaggeration-that was spoken by the teachers), and it was a wonder to hear the cult chant in English by Spanish speakers teaching a Spanish-language dance. Apparently the cult count is not allowed to be translated into any other language.
Here’s a common misconception- going out salsa dancing on-2 is not the same as going to clubs. People think Nova’s clubbing 3 nights a week. Think of it as going to a nerd meet-up where we wear cool-kid clothing that hides the fact that we are a bunch of comic book, Trekkie fans of another type. We’ll talk to you about this-and-that- shine by a code name, we’ll ask if you went to The Congress (aka the comic book convention). We’re as sorry a lot as any other group that finds a hobby that begins to define their identity. We just make it look very fun (it is, though, it is…).
The Bronx place was a school for one hour, then became a club with pounding bass, strobe lights, and a thick sheen of club grease on the marble tile floor that had you skating unless you had suction cups for heels. JPLogan and Nova had to wear their salsa shoes out the door in hopes that dragging them on the concrete sidewalk would help remove the sins that their shoes mopped up from the floor.
The best part of the night was the security of knowing that there are on-2 dancers out there, in our sister boroughs, keeping this interpretation of the music alive.
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Bubbly Street Cookie on Central Park South
I haven’t seen a Street Cookie in awhile… You know, the random object in the middle of the sidewalk that seems misplaced, weird or possessed. This is a Street Cookie because it story-tells with its image alone. An empty champagne bottle on swanky Central Park South. A statement of the surrounding real estate (it aint a 40-ounce). Was it a tourist who consumed it stumbling down the block to their hotel? Was it left by a silly, slightly overweight, over-tanned, under-age group of girls shouting from the sun-roof of a limo-Hummer? What was the consumer celebrating? New York New York? Wedding, prom, life, sorrow? What story landed that bottle directly in front of the tree? Was it planted there on purpose? It’s a Street Cookie, alright.
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Ads that just might work…?
Washington Heights, Fort Washington Avenue, August 2010.
This is how to get your message across. Remind people of the problem and what you would like them to do about it, with few words (since the piles of shit in the street are not enough to remind you that hmmm… shit on the floor is not a very pleasant thing.. Unless, of course, it’s being used as fertilizer and you’re going to get better plants.) And let’s make an art piece out of our message! Unfortunately, it was too direct for some people, as the ass of the dog and his little pile were blacked out by the obscenity squad shortly after. Oh, and New York City’s got nothing on this issue compared to Buenos Aires. Shit-kabobs for heels, anyone?
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