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It’s Still a Salsa Universe with Salsa Characters
Nova’s back with some salsa characters. She’s found a hot breeding ground for some interesting folks.
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.
The Eternal Robin Byrd
Have a basic cable TV question for you (those who are up at ungodly hours of the night or early morning). How on earth is Robin Byrd still on the air? The question doesn’t question the Queen’s throne of hosting the Sesame Street equivalent of sexual health for many of us growing up in the 80’s who were able to sneak a peak. C is for… Clitoris, of course! Do you know where your clitoris is? Here let me show you… And so on, goes her show, offering the same type of diversity as the innocent PBS counterpart. There is something for all tastes there: gender preferences, body images and fetishes. But my Lord, breast implants have come along way since the jugs you see on the show- two stiff orbs with as much space between them as the north and south poles. Brazilians (as in the haircut down south) have become the staple of today’s porn, but at Robin’s you’re sure to see a bush. Yet her shows continue to be aired, with a phone number to call into to boot (the original 970 number?). And the commercials (advertising hotlines and escort services) are the same ones from back then too. So I guess my question is, is this a cult classic? Is it supposed to appeal to that generation who grew up with it and still find those hairstyles and lack of airbrush and make-up titillating? I guess I could google it, but afraid 0f what else I’ll dredge up and’ll hijack my computer. She really means to teach you something, not just get you off. Ever see the musical orgy endings? How isn’t it Sesame Street? I’ll take a cookie, you little monster. With a tall glass of milk. She shows love to each and every one of her guests.
When Salsa Kicks your Butt
It was inevitable. Nova has her first salsa related injury after blogs joking about the dangers of the dance form. But this one didn’t involve a salsa character partner. It was a pearl that did me in. For those not in the know, a pearl is the last half of a diamond, a shine that ends in basically two quick squats. To be fair, it wasn’t the source of the injury, but it did make it worse. Stretching was the match to the straw and gasoline. Out of salsa commission for a few weeks, I’m turning to sports techniques to prevent loosing my Jedi readiness of being an 0n-2 follower:
- 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.
Stolen Images
Apologies if this was already covered by Seinfeld on Nueva-Centric living. Among the abundant subway characters that pack into our steel cars twenty-four hours a day lurks a silent being that can be viewed in two different ways, depending on your mood: When you’re not in an exactly “collective love New York state of mind”, these people are like little stalking Gollums slithering through the tunnels on a mission to possess something. It aint a ring. In better moods, they serve as a flattering mirror; you might immediately fix your hair when you lock eyes with them, smile, or even give a bashful blink. I’m not talking about Shutterbugs, the people who steal an image of you with a camera’s lens, then scuttle away like a Peeping Tom. Hard to justify that type of image mugging. I’m talking about the person in the seat diagonally across from you with penetrating eyes that switch every five seconds or so from a soul-gripping lock on your face and the small pad and pencil cuddled atop their knapsack. When a sketch artist, art student, artist–whatever it is you want to call these subway characters–chooses you out of the rest of the sardine gang commuting alongside you, it’s sort of flattering. Unless of course they chose you because you just look so darn strange, but hey you’ll never know the truth. But the act also evokes a level of intimacy that was never asked for and requires nothing from you except submission. Suddenly you’re aware that someone is taking in all the fine details of your face, a beauty mark on your cheek, they way a strand of hair curls along your neck. You begin to feel their pencil tracing the contour of your nose, outlining the shape of your lips. What probably makes the experience a little confusing (do I sit still, do I smile, do I wickedly roll my tongue across my upper lip?) is that you were never introduced, never did you give permission to sit for a portrait that can stay locked in a drawing pad, be part of a stalker series, be displayed in a classroom or serve as some inspiration for something that hangs in a museum (did I mention how flattering it can be?) It is both a wicked and innocent act. Should they catch you in a not-so-loving mood, then your solace is remembering this: Some things aren’t owned- people’s impressions of you are not yours, though you may exert influence. They are something people take with them, sometimes in number two pencil on the pages of a sketch book.
Super Nova
When Salsa Characters Dress as Salsa Characters
Halloween for the salsa crowd is sort of like an outing of all those inner salsa characters that emanate from the hearts and dance of certain salsero(a)s. It’s like our salsa characters jump out from the words of this screen, liberated to live the lives we pretend to live for them (STAR TREK NEXT GENERATION MOMENT: EPISODE WHEN MORIARTY WALKS OUT FROM THE FANTASY WORLD OF THE HOLODECK TO DECKS OF THE ENTERPRISE). Honestly, going to a Halloween Social felt like the characters from my fiction world broke out of jail and I was partying hard with them.
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.
When a salsera goes (responsibly) postal
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.
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?
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.
The Humiliation Factor
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.
