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When Your Salsa Shoes Catch Fire

I was buffing the bottoms of my salsa shoes after a night of dancing when (I kid you not), a spark flew out from where the metal bristles touched the sole. I’VE MADE SALSA FIRE, I thought! I’ve tapped into some type of alchemical formula that’ll make me a Scissor! (On a more logical note, what on earth are they coating the floors with at some socials?)

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 Ever-expanding MARVELous Salsa Character Universe

Here we go… welcome to the club, you salsa characters:

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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And the list keeps growing… more salsa characters

Some more salsa faces to meet, plus the ghosts of past…

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. And the list keeps growing… more salsa characters – continue reading …

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Medical Insurance for Salseras

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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