Shoe Brush Stealer

There is no comedy or wit in this character. To the guy who borrowed my shoe brush and never returned it, poo-poo to you.

Let’s Make Love…

Those last three periods of his name are essential in understanding this character, because that’s how he leads. You feel the dance starting out slow, as it typically does as partners feel eachother’s level and pizazz out… but then it’s one minute into a song that’s pounding away and this guy’s leading you like it’s a ballet. You don’t know what to do… Wasn’t this a quick 3 minute fling? You begin to blush as you understand, too late, that this is a salsa character who’s Westley the Farm Boy, not the Man in Black Dread Pirate Roberts you fantasized he would be in the dance (Princess Bride, people).  And he’s just made salsa love to you without you knowing it. By the time you realize this, you leave the dance full of shame at the vulgarity of  how you tried to do a licentious hip swivel when the poor guy was just interested in a soft brush of his hand across your back in a cross-body-lead.

Projectile Missile

Quick, duck! If you suddenly see objects shoot across the room, take cover. There is a Projectile Missile on the loose. And 95% of the time they are ladies. I myself was recently called out. A salsera has to select her outfit most carefully, as all those cutesy accessories we like to walk around in become weapons of mass destruction on the dance floor. Bracelets, pony tail holders, necklaces, earrings, and the nuclear bombs that men tend to dance with, cell phones. So if you see someone looking a little too shiny in their bling or someone who is a little too heavy in their pockets, it might be best to carve out another niche on the dance floor.

Salsa Dummy

All followers are this character to a certain degree. This is when you become lab rats for leaders to experiment their clever turn patterns on. It’s a no win situation, ladies. If you don’t do it, leads don’t get better and like it or not, your enjoyment of the dance is largely in their hands.

Get Another Hobby

thanks to JPLogan for pointing these guys out. These are the “Don’t Care” characters who have been dancing for so many years and show absolutely no desire to dance anymore. They don’t look at the girl, they barely lead, they barely do anything! Yet because they are so trained in the count, and because they have spent all their free time learning turn patterns and the latest shines, still they come like sad robots to socials to execute their programs.

Salsa characters of the past…

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• Mental visualization. They say it helps athletes to visualize over and over a certain play, jump, free throw… So why not turn patterns and shines? So far, I find this useless. Putting on music and staring into the ceiling trying to conjure mental images of dancing with a partner doesn’t work as a follower for me! And truthfully, I’m afraid that such deep concentration will will myself into some parallel salsa dimension that I won’t be able to get back from.
• Dancing in place. Sort of. Related to above, but with a slight attempt to mimic the footwork. Inherently dangerous of retriggering the injury. And you might scare your spouse that you’re having a stroke, shuffling like that.
• Indoctrination through videos. I do this anyway, and it does work. Watch turn pattern videos over and over, rewinding to specific moves. Memorize. Memorize. Memorize. Experiment on unsuspecting leaders when the time is right. Risk? Same as mental visualization-willing yourself into another salsa dimension with no way back.
• Mediate to the music and become one with the count. We’re back to the risks of #1. But I actually think this is the key to obtaining the holy grail of on-2 and becoming an almighty Scissor. I think I’ll focus on the music and the count, and try to figure out how I can break its barrier and master it.  How to make my feet dance around the count of the flute and not just the clave.

So that’s how Nova will see things. She’s on a mental salsa retreat, a recluse in the hills and caves of Inwood. Who knows, I might return a better dancer! If it’s been awhile since you’ve heard from me, someone look for me in another dimension. Bring your dance shoes. You might want to stay.

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Out of the Looking Glass, here were some salsa characters that showed their scary faces at Halloween:

The Pimp: His bitches are all his students: the girls he makes wear heels, the guys he forces to do a male macho strip tease (oh, ok, they were shines).  He has his dancing way with all the girls whenever he wants them, and even the quivering male student too, if a point is needed to be made. The pimp goes by the name of teacher (Jedi) on every day except Halloween.

Narcissus: Boy do they come out on Halloween. It’s like all the salsa characters defect into this character come Halloween. Most girls would rather be dancing with a mirror than their partners on the Night of the Dead.

The-Ugly-Green-Eyed-Monster: Oh, doesn’t this sound so very Halloween? Unfortunately, these characters DON’T wear a mask or costume. It’s them in their naked, bare-ass form. They are conjured when a Narcicuss places the mirror in front of his/her face, though the Narcissus doesn’t notice it.  Mirror, mirror on the wall. Who’s the ugliest of them all ? The Ugly-Green-Eyed-Monster. They have the chromosomal pre-disposition of being XX and spend more time glaring at other XX’s than they focusing on their dancing. Like the Cheater who scans the room for his next dance during a dance, the Ugly-Green-Eyed-Monster is so possessed with envy it scans the room with eyes of venom, looking to hate. What is the garlic for this vampire? Go on with your business, smile, ignore them. They will likely gain another frowning wrinkle, and wither away.

The Sexpot: It’s our chance to dress how we really feel when we dance. Prudes, get over it.

Closeted Psychopath: Don’t want to take off your mask for us to see you? Dressing as a comic book character with an unknown father who kills people who remind him of his prostitute mother? Buddy, move on from this salsera. You are probably a Shy-But-Why in your real life salsa character. Scrawny and gentle.

I’m-just-too-cool: Coming to a Halloween Social without a costume, or even a mask? Really? The only excuse for this is some serious spiritual conflict about worshipping spirits of the dead.

Succubus: The salsera/o who latches onto you because they are afraid to be alone, don’t know how to mingle and just love to feed on your energy. Be gone, ye Succubus. Go make your own party.

The Dog: The Salseros who spot a Sexpot but mistake her for a fire hydrant. A Predator when it isn’t Halloween.

Keep clicking for more salsa characters…

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As freeing as salsa is, there are moments when a salsera asks herself:

• what curse brought you into my life that I have to learn 188 shines that go by 188 different names in different studios?
• how many damn stretch pants can I own and not look like a mannequin at Strawberry’s?
• why, why, why am I touching the unknown hands of so many unknown men with so many unknown thoughts as they touch me?
• why do I subject myself to spontaneous Mr. Fantastic moves by men who don’t know what they’re doing?

There is a need for ninja salsa courses where experienced male dancers can accelerate the learning of the females so we don’t have to wait around for the learning curve to kick in. I got a crash salsa start this way. I now feel held back, with all humility because before this I had a hard time keeping up. It’s time to communicate this to the teachers.

The saving grace that prevents me from using my salsa stilettos as ninja stars into the heads of jerks, and those who are gaining experience from me but not giving any back,  is that all this is part of a wonderful learning process that eventually will evolve into a high command of dance and unison with a celebratory form of music. When one gets grouchy, remember, you are gaining tools to make a “better fun”. And it’s a team effort, sometimes you have to be a Robin Hood. Blah. Ok.

I think I’ll go practice shines by myself in the corner until I decide it’s worth it again.

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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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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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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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