There are bound to be countless parallels, metaphors, witty essays and insightful observations about how writing is like ___________ (fill in the blank). Salsa addicts (or fill-in-the-blank addicts) will compare their interest to everything under the sun, too, to rationalize why it is they are doing what they do: it’s  a live-saver, a spiritual fulfillment, a chance to meet people, a reason not to pull the trigger… Art and expression play different roles for each of us who welcome it into our lives (and who perhaps later damn that we ever gave it an invitation).

So here’s my corny bit about why writing and salsa compliment each other, but you can fill in the blanks for your hobbies, dreams or interests: salsa is a very good training camp for writers getting their toes wet in the world of marketing and publication. Salsa humbles you because, you will be humiliated. Probably harsh a term, but at first it’ll feel like that. You will look awkward, you will be judged, you might not get offers… Honestly, if you need a boot-camp for tougher skin (or an accelerator for a nervous breakdown) then take salsa on-2. Then write, and try to publish your book.  Writing itself sounds romantic. You do it solo, you paint worlds with words with cerebral coolness, and in the end, if you stuck it out, you might have a short story or novel. Practicing shines by yourself in front of a mirror is like that too. But if you want to partner your work with the rest of the world…. well, there are layers of odysseys that await you. Want to use my capital to share your story? Want to spend three minutes of my time in front of a crowd holding my hand and twisting me into a pretzel?  Some zip through it, others chug along, never getting past their basic.

The great thing about social dancing salsa that makes it very different from the experience of writing novel-length literary fiction? It is in the NOW. There, in that moment is your expression. It goes by quick, it doesn’t linger like a sentence, page or chapter that constantly needs revision. It moves on, though you might create a memory (or salsa character) out of it. Opportunities seem endless. You scripted your own dance, you shared it with an audience in a proper format, and then you look to do another. A story and its expression in 3 minutes! How great is that? Probably best of all? It aint fiction.

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You can go to a serious salsa website for some solid advice- but here are two things that they might not tell you: There is a science to finding the little red shoes that’ll take you to… ok, not Kansas…let’s say take you through a pleasant salsa odyssey. For us girls, doing it right means fighting the little X chromosome demon that would have us select a shoe based solely on its beauty. Yes, salseras, like most things in life, you need to go a little bit deeper and the first word of caution is don’t go for stilts. Remember what your goal is here first-most: to dance. Salsa heel heights should be approached in intervals. At the same time, it’s salsa. You gotta look good. So don’t go for Dutch clogs. Salsa is also a lesson in sexing up your image (and movements off the dance floor).

Gripping: Balancing while doing  grated steps and elegant triple turns means you need to glide and stick. Make sure you regularly scrape the alchemical dust off the bottom of your shoe once and awhile or you just might wind up setting the place on salsa fire, because apparently the floors are coated with fairy dust. Oh, they also say to go for a snug size…

IMAGE and BALANCE… Dorothy will have nothing on you.

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The Faucet (idea submitted by Zorro): Let’s face it. All true salseros and salseras are this character to some degree. The Faucet is that dancer that drowns you with their sweat throughout the entire three-minute entanglement. They are easy to spot: their skin is shiny; some of them (being self-aware of who they are) will have a towel knotted around their belt-loop; they are slippery to the touch; some may come with a slight odor (though dance sweat does not have to be this way). And if all these signals fail to present themselves to you, then the absolute telling way to know you have just danced with a faucet is… are you wet? Do you feel like you’ve just passed through Niagra Falls? For you prudes, here is how you get over a Faucet: embrace that what you are doing is a having a somatic conversation with another human being. You are tapping into another way of dialogue. It can be disgusting, it can mean nothing, or it can be like hot sex. Take your pick. The only way to beat being a Faucet is bringing a towel and change of shirt. Or offering a towel to one who hasn’t been enlightened as to what salsa character they are. If you could care less about your partner, then guys, consider this:  being a Faucet can be a gateway drug into becoming…

Butterfingers: It’s as if these guys took a bath in oil before going out to dance purposely so that you can never lock hands. See a girl suddenly fly across the room without a partner crashing into the wall after taking out another couple? Look carefully for the single guy staring, without guilt,  alone… chances are he’s a Butterfingers who sent this salsera into orbit. Even if you are a Wolverine or Wolfsbane who locks his or her claws into him, aint nothing gonna make you stick. Much like dancing with an Other Dimension, it’s like these guys have a magnetic field around them that repels you violently when you approach. Sometimes it is a temporary status from being a Faucet, and a good towel-down can liberate you from the follies of being this salsa character.

The Con Idea submitted by Bianca: They come in both sexes. Let’s start with the salsero. Much like his cousin, The Fan, the con-man gives airs that he is an orisha’s gift to salsa. He’ll have an on-2 shirt, or perhaps a Don Juan suit (or the mystery-man hat that adds swagger to his his 2-stomps). He’ll boast shirts from every single salsa congress that passed his way or he journeyed to.  But when it comes down to dancing, this guy turns out to be selling snake oil. Can’t find his ones or twos, never mind the three, five, six, seven. Sigh… why, why, why did you trick me you charlatan! Perhaps he means well, he really does love salsa… he’d just do the salsa universe well by remaining a Fan. How to spot a Con-Woman… well we usually look like hot-little things oozing salsa-exuality… Until you try dancing with us. Tsk, tsk to those who have been conned.  Who told you to fall into Latin stereotypes?

The Crab: Side-step, side-step, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle… These are all the steps you need to know for that salsero who leads you horizontally back and forth across the dance floor for a full three minutes (Lord help you if it’s an elongated remix).  This happens mostly with (what’s now called) Street Salsa. If only the Crab could merge with a Treadmill, his salsa would be a symphony.

The Treadmill: The treadmill is the salsero who blandly, boringly, tortuously, and agonizingly leads you through a dance doing nothing but a basic step. Three minutes becomes three hours. Dancing becomes hand-holding as you shuffle back and forth. Ladies, make the most of it! Burn those calories and tone those muscles as you would on a treadmill. Pointless stepping that gets you nowhere and nothing. Your only tool against this villain is to squeeze some ladies styling in between the numbers, and unless he has a lock on you, liberate yourself from this metronome and break out in shines.

Robin Hood: I am guilty of being this character at times… A Robin Hood goes around the dance floor offering charity dances to the Shy-But-Whys and sometimes (undeservedly) to Have No Rhythm, Don’t Count, Don’t Care’s. Robin Hoods do this for a number of reasons: they are on the clock (aka, salsa teachers), they feel bad for people, they believe everyone deserves a good time, they like to sample anything that walks the earth, or they really can’t stand seeing…

Wallpaper: Sigh… my heart goes out to these salseros. You’ve probably never, ever noticed them, because, well, they’re wallpaper. They perpetually stand on the periphery of the dance floor and are either: too cool to dance, are so f*cking afraid to ask a girl or guy to dance, or can read but can’t write (meaning they can do a class pattern with no problem but can’t bring those skills to spontaneously dance at a social). These guys have superhuman powers of camouflage- it doesn’t matter which social they bring themselves to, they will assume the exact coloration of the walls and be ignored by every passing salsera. If you mourn that you are such a character, pray, Wallpaper, that a Robin Hood spots you.

Wolverine: Have scratch marks all over your arms, hands and torso? You’ve just danced with a Wolverine or Wolfsbane. Get these dancers a nail filer and nail clipper before they do any more damage. Nails may work for strumming your guitar or looking cute, but they don’t work on the dance floor.

Mr. Fantastic: That’s from the Fantastic Four, you non-nerds, and this salsero does such amazing things with his arms. He can stretch them (and you) into a pretzel, and successfully twirl you out of it. These guys are usually Fred Astaires and if you’ve only had him only once, a Zorro. Their unbelievable turn patterns that defy human logic and physics are tell-tale signs you’re with a Mr. Fantastic, which is not to be confused with…

Doctor Octopus: Brother of the Predator and the bad cousin of Mr. Fantastic, these guys are all arms that do nothing but annoy you. They flap them like chickens, grope you left and right, smack you around… none of it materializing into a turn pattern. A self-help tip: make lemonade from lemons and find a Mr. Fantastic to help you nurture your arm talents into something useful.

Ok, I better stop. So much for writing today…

If you’ve never read salsa characters before… oh, there’s more. Click here for ghosts of past.

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Bianca and Nova have been in a bit of a salsa rut this past month. Not so much in sucking, but low in the spirit that beckons you to the dance floor and takes over your body with a partner.  Which reminds me of Star Trek, The Next Generation Episode  166 when Doctor Crusher was regularly visited by an alien ghost that entered her body, and well, did delightful things to her from the inside out. But I digress slightly off topic.

The Holy Salsa Spirit had left us and I was prepared to lodge a complaint in the lost and found department of salsa dancing or go to a salsa church, consult the salsa priest, or perhaps consider giving up some of it (to an addict that means trimming down from three classes to one, plus going out once a week instead of maybe three), and whine here on this blog.

BUT THE HOLY SALSA SPIRIT HATH RETURNED.

Nova experienced one of those moments-and you know those moments-when you realize you are inhabiting what will become a fond memory, when you are realizing some sort of dream… You barely inhabit the now, time becomes all fuzzy- you become some sort of witness to yourself in a certain place and you sort of become one with it. Sounds all funny but this is what happened dancing street salsa with an old-timer PR in the pouring rain, drenched with a live band playing in el barrio. I just had my pasteles fix from a toothless old man selling them out of a water cooler that was sitting inside a “borrowed” supermarket shopping cart, and was pretty content with that until the rain came down and I was dancing.

It just was one of those moments that make you want to cry because life seems, well alive. In that moment you are filled with some type of timeless euphoria.

No, I assure you it was just pasteles I bought from the water cooler. But enough of this for now. I have to save something for a chapter.

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The Rumba Sharks:

These guys take a page straight out of West Side Story in how they enter a room. They are near and dear to my heart. These are the fellas who have some mean rumba moves that remind you of our glorious African roots, whether in our blood or in the dance we love. They come onto the dance floor in a group. The DJ, sensing their presence, plays a salsa song with a heavy rumba intro. They spread out in a line, crouch down a little bit lower than the ballroom salseros and execute some “Cubans” with flair… Some of these guys are so damn good, you’ll swear you see a cigar in their mouths for a split second during a turn. Don’t question it. When you get to be that good of a dancer, you’re bound to conjure an orisha. Feel blessed you had them as a partner.

Other Dimension:

These are the dance partners who you’ve seen dance some mean dances with other partners, who know all the steps, shines and turns and leave their partner with a smile. When it comes to you though, nothing freaking works. You can’t catch the count together, turns go wrong, hands don’t meet in time- the two of you are like one huge cosmic collision. Each of you question each other’s dancing abilities, and yet… you swear they were good with so-and-so. My friends, don’t fight it. You’ve met someone who exists in a slightly other dimension than you.  Something is off with your vibrating string, or whatever it is that makes our on-2 souls tick. Most of the time you give up on them, and it’s a good idea lest some rip in the time-continuum happen because you two were never meant to touch. I have met some diligent Other Dimensions that insist on making it work.  Sometimes there is improvement, but you always know something is off.

The Fan:

Like a sports fanatic, these partners always wear something on-2 or salsa related. They speak, breath and live salsa. I know you think this is most of us who are crazy enough to write or read a series on salsa characters, but these guys go just a little further. Some don’t even dance! Like the guys painted up at a sports game, The Fan goes to the same extreme. Just know that sometimes it is an advertisement for a very good product, and sometimes, sigh, that don’t have the goods to back their billboard up.

The Jedi Master:

Taken from my one and only Jimmy Anton experience that I am still getting over, the Jedi Master is the male equivalent of Scissors. They have found the holy grail of dancing on-2, can predict the count before it comes (which is pretty pathetic for the rest of us, given that the count is in order, is 6 digits long and repeats over and over until the end of the song). Sometimes they are your teacher, but often not. They guide you like a gentle teacher, they give you tips. Sometimes they look like Yoda. Your only objective in a dance with them is to try and absorb some of their Jedi wisdom before the dance is over and they move onto another disciple. Sometimes they have individual Jedi names, like Obi-Wan-on2. Not to be confused with… some hood trying to jump you.

Scissors:

They arrive at a social close to midnight. They bring with them a familiar wind that whips across the dance floor to announce their presence. A swift snipping is emmitted from their legs, the sound of $10 spandex pants from Strawberry’s rubbing against itself in self-pleasure, the clip of a fine stiletto cutting through the air. What you are witnessing is an entity who inhabits the highest female realm of the on-2 scene. They are beyond the 1-2-3, 5,6,7 count, yet still, somehow dance on-2. The holiest among holies, those who have reached a type of on-2 Nirvana where they control the count and beat. Masters of the on-2 Universe! See Jedi Master for the salsero equivalent.

The Stripper:

The dancer who you think is a salsera… she does seem to count… who shines like a salsera… ok, ok, I just saw her do a Sussie-Q… but really when the dance is done, you realize you feel more like a used pole that’s been handled by a very naughty stripper. Ah, wake up you innocent salseros, if you really exist. Most dancing you are just that, a walking pole for a dame. I reserve this character for the ladies that trick you into dancing with them, when really they just wanted a nice little… rub. They can also be the ladies who do just that for a living (what interesting lives we all wear behind the on-2 mask). See Predator and The Tease for some cross-over traits. That being said, don’t be hating or judging. Stripping can be a very fine art.

The Performer:

These are the lasses and lads who believe they are constantly on stage. I don’t think there is anything wrong with this, necessarily, because I believe in letting people shine. BUT, the Performer becomes a salsa character if a partner is unknowingly trapped into a dance that is about a “me” and not a “we”. Lady offenders over-style, back-lead and choreograph their own dance. Male offenders leave a lady all alone as they over-style, over-turn, or lift a gal in the air expecting that she”ll know exactly what Star-Search move is supposed to come next (they usually get a scream instead). Sometimes performers are selling themselves desperately in hopes of being spotted for a dance team.

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I might have to start making Salsa Characters for Salsa PLACES as Bianca and I had a very traumatic experience at a place that shall forever be known as THE RETIREMENT HOME… Coming soon if we can get over it first and not offend people in reporting about it.

Ladies and gentleman. I think what we are amassing here is a Tarot Deck of Salsa Characters.  More to come.

Ghosts of Past

More salsa characters:

The Bulldozer

This is the guy who will knock you into every single couple in your dancing radius. Forgetting that leading is also spotting for the little top in heels that you are spinning left and right, Bulldozers will charge you through the dance floor without any control or regard for those around you. Identify them quick  and early on in a dance ladies, so you know to tighten your steps and focus on what’s around you. The dance will probably be lame because you won’t be free, but your objective in dancing with a Bulldozer is to finish the dance in one piece to move on to a Fred-Astaire. Bulldozers are cousins of Topsy-Turveys (keep reading).

Columbo

Salsa dancing is very much like wearing a mask over our every day lives. When we hit the dance floor, we are simply salseras and salseros. Sometimes though we wear evidence of our outside lives that our partners pick up on during a dance that make a person go, hmmmm…. The worn hands: hardened with callouses, dirt under the fingernails not from neglect but from labor, the scratches and scars. And the muscular arms that go with them. The t-shirt from a company or product. And sometimes it’s the work clothes and equipment you bring to the class or a social discarded in the corner. It brings out the Columbo in you, so we’ll call the salsera/os that inspire this Columbo. Some things are better left unasked. Enjoy the dance.

Shy-But-Why

These are the dancers who are diamonds in the rough. They have a salsa soul but doubt their Jedi powers. They come as leads and followers. If you spot one, it is your duty to guide them to the dance floor and help them overcome the cloud over their salsa brilliance.

Mambobot: Idea submitted by JPLogan. Oh it is painful how many of these there are… The salsa folk who dance like the letters off a class syllabus. They execute moves in exactly the same manner without individual flair. Unfortunately you’ll see plenty of this at the congresses. Not to be confused with, Have No Rhythm, Don’t Count, Don’t Care.

The Throwback: Whip out the toupee, 70’s bells, ruffled tux, and a pair of aviator shades. With low lights it’s hard to spot this aging Salsero. He’s probably been dancing since salsa’s birth, and has the entire Fania record collection at home. This doesn’t stop him from coming out at night, bless his dancing heart. One way to identify this character is to examine the smile he’ll flash you during a rumba move- those perfectly shaped shiny bright teeth are probably grandpa’s dentures.

The Leper: Anyone who has unidentified body odors, marks, or open wounds is a bio-hazard to a fellow dancer! Usually you discover the identity of this character way too late (like when the doctor is diagnosing you with some rare hand disease that is only transmitted from 3 minutes of palm-to-palm hand holding). It’s hard to be a salsa dancer in the age of swine flu. Perhaps that’s why we dance with dimmed lights.

The Tease: Submitted by JPLogan. Usually a female (sorry girls, but it’s true) but some men also play this game; this is the salsa dancer that will give you some major “I want you off the dance floor ” signals, but will leave you stone cold on the dance floor, laughing at you like a shrew. Categorizing someone with this name is very risky- sensual does not equal tease (it is dancing, after all). But if your dance partner whispers sweet nothings in your ear, unleashes heavy winks or gives you some x-ray vision stares across the dance floor, beware! This salsa character might leave your head spinning long after your turn patterns are over.

Narcissus: Let’s start with you, Narcissus, as you’re so easy to spot. You are the not-salsero who asks a girl to dance, but spends the entire time watching yourself dance in the mirror. You are fond of the side-step because it allows you to position yourself at an angle where your dance partner doesn’t obstruct your view of yourself in the looking glass. When you do remember you have a dance partner, it is only for a moment, because you adjust the girl’s grip on you as a queen would rearrange a diamond bracelet so that it better highlights her wrist.

Predator: As vulgar as the one in the movie, you don’t salsa to dance. You salsa to get a quick feel and three minutes of hand-holding. Your favorite target are the beginners, not so much because they are your choice; the more advanced girls don’t have to dance with you anymore. And besides, those girls already got your predator number. You come in all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and ages. Guys, it’s less frustrating on all of us to just drop the money on a good lap dance at Hustler. They have a taxi stand right outside their doors to take you home when you’re done.

Frog to Prince Charming: Oh, you’re a delight! You are the guys whom most would least expect to be great dancers. Either because you’re no Fabio in your outer shell, you emit a rhythmless vibe off the dance floor, or you’re straight out of Revenge of the Nerds. When the clave sings, POOF! You bedazzle us with the smoothest moves, showing us, indeed, there is such thing as Clark Kent and Superman.

Romeo Don Juan: Ahh… you are dangerous. You have a mix of moves, sultry eyes, a sexy smile and good looks. Dancing with you is not just a dancing pleasure… it’s a woman’s fantasy. Your dancing plays a narrative in our minds. Don’t burst our bubble by opening your mouth or telling us of life off the dance floor. Keep counting with us, and next time, can you wear an all white linen suit and straw hat?

Fred Astaire: These are the salseros who are just outright dancing demons. Fred Astaires: All other categories you may fall under melt away because your dancing is that good. That’s what we think about during and after the dance. Fred Astaires can also be Frogs and (a very deadly combo) Romeo Don Juans.

Zorro: Who was that masked man? That’s what you’ll ask yourself if you should find yourself dancing with a mystery man who wow’s you during one dance (or evening of dancing), whom you never see again. You can spend the rest of your life going from social to social, wondering if you’ll ever see him again. He leaves you only with memories.

Rag Doll Boogier: These guys are pretty annoying. They are the ones that are just plain rough and uncouth. They throw you around the dance floor left and right, almost dislocating your arm from its socket. They are not gentle in any way, and forget that the woman should be the highlight of most of the dance. See also Predator, Topsy-Turvy, Borracho and Have no Rhythm-Don’t Count-Don’t Care.

Topsy-Turvey: These are the spinners! Most of the time these are the guys that like to spin YOU, and nothing more. Take a Dramamine, ladies, before taking their hands. Rarely though you’ll get ones that like to spin themselves mostly. In this case, brush up on some shines and women’s styling so you have something to do while they’re into the fourth triple turn.

Borracho: The drunk. You are almost automatically dismissed from most ladies’ dances, except when you mask it until it’s too late (for us). You are dangerous because like an octopus with many arms, in each move you have us do, you can be so many other characters. See Predator, Topsy-Turvy, Rag Doll Boogier, and Have No Rhythm-Don’t Count-Don’t Care. Being tipsy is fine. It’s just flat out dangerous to be drunk and salsa-ing.

I Really Despise Women, and That I’m Not a Woman: Just pretend while we dance.

Have No Rhythm, Don’t Count, Don’t Care: You best get off the social dance floor too. You can do your thing at parties and family events, and maybe even clubs. But don’t ask a real salsera to dance with you! I’m all for inventing your own salsa dancing if it is in synch with the music. Maybe you’re the next Eddie Torres for your own count. In this case, clarify this first with your dance partner (or at least make an attempt to work with her own feel of the music).  But don’t feel shuffling here and there constitutes salsa at salsa events with serious dancers.

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Some universes are ruled by 1 dimension. The one that Bianca and Nova stumbled upon was on-2. They are still trying to figure out if its a hospitable place for them, or if they have been tricked into a heartless black hole.

Salsa on-2 seems to follow some type of weird evolutionary process. It’s evident as you pass by the different planets, with their abundance of species (The Topsy-Turveys, the Fred Astaires, etc, etc).  But Bianca and Nova have recently stumbled upon something startling, something that goes a little further than “salsa characters”. It’s Darwinian Salsa. And there exists the Nietzschean “Superman”.

The first sign that some weird Darwinian evolution type of shit goes on if you dance on-2 for too long appeared for Nova at a social ripe with stellar dancers. The dance floor was filled with pretties laying down graceful styling on count. But then a wind swept across the room. A girl walked in swathed in skin-tight shimmery black, with flaming hot pink leg warmers wrapped around her stilt-like legs. Her steps cut through the air with precision, swiftness and purpose. Her moves were quick, tight and controlled. Nova had never seen such a creature before, and the good anthropologist that she is, reported the sighting to Bianca. Nova named her “Scissor Legs”.

Months passed. Nova never saw another like “Scissor Legs” again, so shrugged her shoulders and called it an anomoly.

Until last weekend. After a hour and a half journey in salsa space (an eternity for an anxious salsera ready to land her dancing shoes on the on-2 moon), Nova arrived at a social with Bianca.  Towards midnight, that familiar wind breezed across the dance floor. Nova immediately recognized that sharp breeze, the swift snipping sound of nylon briskly rubbing against itself in self-pleasure, the clip of a fine stiletto cutting through the air. It was a Scissor, but not “Scissor Legs”. That is when it occurred to Bianca and Nova: what they were witnessing was not an anomoly but an entity who inhabits the highest female realm of the on-2 scene. They are beyond the 1-2-3, 5,6,7 count, yet still, somehow dance on-2. The holiest among holies, those who have reached a type of on-2 Nirvana where they control the count and beat. Masters of the on-2 Universe!

They are called Scissors.

Bianca and Nova now know there is such thing as a holy grail for them somewhere along this journey.

And as Nova began to pen these notes in her mind, the wind whipping across her face, her ears pick up the gentle beginnings of another breeze from the middle of the dance floor. It was Bianca in what looked like a Scissor pose. She notes in her anthropologist journal:

Clear evidence that evolution is not a theory but a fact in the on-2 world. New arrivals are not immune. On-2 is a contagion that manipulates genes. The first signs of  Bianca’s evolution are already underway. There is no turning back.

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There are certain hazards associated with dancing, and some particular ones that afflict the mambo dancer. As a follower, here are some medical claims we often have to file against some leaders:

• head concussions from being wonked on the head by an elbow.  Usually when the guy is learning a new turn pattern.
• bruised toes, when heavy, manly shoes step forcefully down on bare, feminine feet in stilettos.
• black eyes again from those chaotic elbows
• perpetual threat of dislocated shoulders from the whip or windmill
• perpetual threat of a broken wrist or arm from just about any turn
• olfactory distress from constant exposure to body odor
• chaffed hands from excessive need to use hand sanitizer (when you practice “safe-salsa”).
• pulled hair (when it gets caught on a watch)
• scratched hands (when a turns go wrong)
• body bruises in general if you have the misfortune of being dropped, slammed into a mirror or nearby couple

Miss anything? How about complaints from the Salsero end?

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The Bulldozer

This is the guy who will knock you into every single couple in your dancing radius. Forgetting that leading is also spotting for the little top in heels that you are spinning left and right, Bulldozers will charge you through the dance floor without any control or regard for those around you. Identify them quick  and early on in a dance ladies, so you know to tighten your steps and focus on what’s around you. The dance will probably be lame because you won’t be free, but your objective in dancing with a Bulldozer is to finish the dance in one piece to move on to a Fred-Astaire. Bulldozers are cousins of Topsy-Turveys (keep reading).

Columbo

Salsa dancing is very much like wearing a mask over our every day lives. When we hit the dance floor, we are simply salseras and salseros. Sometimes though we wear evidence of our outside lives that our partners pick up on during a dance that make a person go, hmmmm…. The worn hands: hardened with callouses, dirt under the fingernails not from neglect but from labor, the scratches and scars. And the muscular arms that go with them. The t-shirt from a company or product. And sometimes it’s the work clothes and equipment you bring to the class or a social discarded in the corner. It brings out the Columbo in you, so we’ll call the salsera/os that inspire this Columbo. Some things are better left unasked. Enjoy the dance.

Shy-But-Why

These are the dancers who are diamonds in the rough. They have a salsa soul but doubt their Jedi powers. They come as leads and followers. If you spot one, it is your duty to guide them to the dance floor and help them overcome the cloud over their salsa brilliance.

Ghosts of Past:

Mambobot: Idea submitted by JPLogan. Oh it is painful how many of these there are… The salsa folk who dance like the letters off a class syllabus. They execute moves in exactly the same manner without individual flair. Unfortunately you’ll see plenty of this at the congresses. Not to be confused with, Have No Rhythm, Don’t Count, Don’t Care.

The Throwback: Whip out the toupee, 70’s bells, ruffled tux, and a pair of aviator shades. With low lights it’s hard to spot this aging Salsero. He’s probably been dancing since salsa’s birth, and has the entire Fania record collection at home. This doesn’t stop him from coming out at night, bless his dancing heart. One way to identify this character is to examine the smile he’ll flash you during a rumba move- those perfectly shaped shiny bright teeth are probably grandpa’s dentures.

The Leper: Anyone who has unidentified body odors, marks, or open wounds is a bio-hazard to a fellow dancer! Usually you discover the identity of this character way too late (like when the doctor is diagnosing you with some rare hand disease that is only transmitted from 3 minutes of palm-to-palm hand holding). It’s hard to be a salsa dancer in the age of swine flu. Perhaps that’s why we dance with dimmed lights.

The Tease: Submitted by JPLogan. Usually a female (sorry girls, but it’s true) but some men also play this game; this is the salsa dancer that will give you some major “I want you off the dance floor ” signals, but will leave you stone cold on the dance floor, laughing at you like a shrew. Categorizing someone with this name is very risky- sensual does not equal tease (it is dancing, after all). But if your dance partner whispers sweet nothings in your ear, unleashes heavy winks or gives you some x-ray vision stares across the dance floor, beware! This salsa character might leave your head spinning long after your turn patterns are over.

Ghosts of past…

Narcissus: Let’s start with you, Narcissus, as you’re so easy to spot. You are the not-salsero who asks a girl to dance, but spends the entire time watching yourself dance in the mirror. You are fond of the side-step because it allows you to position yourself at an angle where your dance partner doesn’t obstruct your view of yourself in the looking glass. When you do remember you have a dance partner, it is only for a moment, because you adjust the girl’s grip on you as a queen would rearrange a diamond bracelet so that it better highlights her wrist.

Predator: As vulgar as the one in the movie, you don’t salsa to dance. You salsa to get a quick feel and three minutes of hand-holding. Your favorite target are the beginners, not so much because they are your choice; the more advanced girls don’t have to dance with you anymore. And besides, those girls already got your predator number. You come in all shapes, sizes, ethnicities, and ages. Guys, it’s less frustrating on all of us to just drop the money on a good lap dance at Hustler. They have a taxi stand right outside their doors to take you home when you’re done.

Frog to Prince Charming: Oh, you’re a delight! You are the guys whom most would least expect to be great dancers. Either because you’re no Fabio in your outer shell, you emit a rhythmless vibe off the dance floor, or you’re straight out of Revenge of the Nerds. When the clave sings, POOF! You bedazzle us with the smoothest moves, showing us, indeed, there is such thing as Clark Kent and Superman.

Romeo Don Juan: Ahh… you are dangerous. You have a mix of moves, sultry eyes, a sexy smile and good looks. Dancing with you is not just a dancing pleasure… it’s a woman’s fantasy. Your dancing plays a narrative in our minds. Don’t burst our bubble by opening your mouth or telling us of life off the dance floor. Keep counting with us, and next time, can you wear an all white linen suit and straw hat?

Fred Astaire: These are the salseros who are just outright dancing demons. Fred Astaires: All other categories you may fall under melt away because your dancing is that good. That’s what we think about during and after the dance. Fred Astaires can also be Frogs and (a very deadly combo) Romeo Don Juans.

Zorro: Who was that masked man? That’s what you’ll ask yourself if you should find yourself dancing with a mystery man who wow’s you during one dance (or evening of dancing), whom you never see again. You can spend the rest of your life going from social to social, wondering if you’ll ever see him again. He leaves you only with memories.

Rag Doll Boogier: These guys are pretty annoying. They are the ones that are just plain rough and uncouth. They throw you around the dance floor left and right, almost dislocating your arm from its socket. They are not gentle in any way, and forget that the woman should be the highlight of most of the dance. See also Predator, Topsy-Turvy, Borracho and Have no Rhythm-Don’t Count-Don’t Care.

Topsy-Turvey: These are the spinners! Most of the time these are the guys that like to spin YOU, and nothing more. Take a Dramamine, ladies, before taking their hands. Rarely though you’ll get ones that like to spin themselves mostly. In this case, brush up on some shines and women’s styling so you have something to do while they’re into the fourth triple turn.

Borracho: The drunk. You are almost automatically dismissed from most ladies’ dances, except when you mask it until it’s too late (for us). You are dangerous because like an octopus with many arms, in each move you have us do, you can be so many other characters. See Predator, Topsy-Turvy, Rag Doll Boogier, and Have No Rhythm-Don’t Count-Don’t Care. Being tipsy is fine. It’s just flat out dangerous to be drunk and salsa-ing.

I Really Despise Women, and That I’m Not a Woman: Just pretend while we dance.

Have No Rhythm, Don’t Count, Don’t Care: You best get off the social dance floor too. You can do your thing at parties and family events, and maybe even clubs. But don’t ask a real salsera to dance with you! I’m all for inventing your own salsa dancing if it is in synch with the music. Maybe you’re the next Eddie Torres for your own count. In this case, clarify this first with your dance partner (or at least make an attempt to work with her own feel of the music).  But don’t feel shuffling here and there constitutes salsa at salsa events with serious dancers.

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Part of Urban Confessions Week

Those in the confessional:

Nova is making a guilt-free declaration: She dances “on-two”, mambo style and makes no apologies. No, dears, it isn’t snobbery, I’m not part of the gang taking salsa away from its Nuyorican streets and “legitimizing” it in ballrooms with white academics. Dancing “on two” is a practice of cultural preservation of a distinct style of salsa dancing. It fits me like a glove, fills me with a joy of living, and does the same for others too. And practicing a certain form of salsa dancing sort of makes it an exciting hobby.

Does being an on2 dancer make it harder to spontaneously go out and be able to express your adopted art form? Sure… so you try to learn to manage to celebrate salsa’s other forms. But in your heart you ache… you can’t become one with that second explosive beat that drums along with your heart.

And for all you non-counters out there that think the passion of music is lost in numbers… it can be said that numbers are the fabric of everything- we forget or don’t realize this because numbers speak in different languages. And, as JPLogan so astutely pointed out to me one salsa night, the biggest counters are the ones making salsa itself: the musicians! Does this mean you need to go out and buy an abacus to bring along with you to the dance floor? No… after awhile the numbers are dressed differently, sort of like when you stop “translating” a foreign language slowly in your head after you have a fundamental command of it.

So take those salsa shoes out of the closet, get to Iguana, a social, whatever floats your boat and when the music starts, if you’re a lady, step out with the right on one, a man, break back with the left. Doesn’t that feel good?

For more about this, visit: salsanewyork.com

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