I started dancing salsa about 6 years ago. I was in Guanajuato, Mexico, and my Spanish-teacher-by-day was doubling as my dance-teacher-by-night. She was teaching us more cumbia than salsa, actually, but I didn't know that at the time (and it's all about figuring out the rythm in the beginning, anyway). I had a lot of fun and I was quickly hooked.
Fast forward 6 years. Caliente is playing tonight at the Vet's club, and we haven't gone dancing in at least two months. I've picked up the babysitter. Kids (one of them ours) are running around. I look in my closet for last minute pick of what to wear. I see my metallic, shiny shirts in there from a few years ago. I can't believe I used to wear metallic shirts! I say this to Palmira and she says she thinks metallic shirts are fine, and that I looked "hot" (or something to that effect). This is not flattery; We are married and she knows by now that I'm a sure thing. I have a hunch, though, that history will be a harsher judge of my fashion choices than my wife, so I opt for my standard navy blue shirt to go with my new corduroys (the irony!).
We get to the Vet's club at about 9:30, shortly before the band begins playing. I'm feeling like tonight might be the night where I hit "the zone". The "zone", of course, being whole reason why I do this. It's that magical place where the band (or the DJ) is playing a good song with the timbalero who is going nuts, and I'm feeling it, and I've forgotten to be at all self-conscious, and I stop thinking about what move I'm doing now and what one I'll do next, or if Palmira's bored or not with it, and I'm really into the song, and we're going gangbusters on the floor. My teeth might even reflect a bit of the sparkle from the disco ball, if there is one. That's the zone. And I don't always get there. In fact, I go out seldom enough these days that my odds aren't usually that good. But I've been listening to my Salseros de Verdad CD in the car and really enjoying it and looking forward to tonight, so I'm hopeful.
It just occurred to me that, oddly enough, I do often get into the zone doing one particular thing: when dancing casino-rueda (cuban style salsa dance done in a circle). "Oddly" because all the moves are prescribed: The "caller" calls out the moves that everyone already knows, and everyone does them the same time. You wouldn't think it leaves much room for spontaneity or inspiration. But maybe that's part of what works for me. I don't have to think about what's coming next or use that part of my brain at all, I just enjoy myself ... and I do feel inspired. Dancing with people you know and like doesn't hurt, either.
Caliente starts playing and Palmira and I hit the dance floor. I can't remember what song it is, but they're sounding good. They play "salsa dura", dancer's salsa. No Jerry Rivera here! Thank god. Though I confess I did kinda get hooked on "Cara de Niņo" back when it was a hit. My girlfriend at the time had just dumped me so that may account for it.
This is usually a good part of an evening because this is when my repertoire of 6-10 moves still seems fresh. I've got the move that Larry Robbins taught in a class I took from him almost 5 years ago. Kind of a go-around-the-back and then turn-her-on-the-other-side. That's a staple. Then I've got the "toss-the-hand-and-dance-apart" one. A few casino moves that I can remember. A couple New York ones. And that's about it! Later in the evening I'm going to be bored out of my mind with myself, but I'm not there yet.
You know what's strange? Over the last 5 years I've danced with a couple of local salsa performance groups and have done probably four or five choreographies, and in each of those choreographies I've learned at least a couple dozen moves... and when I'm dancing socially I remember almost none of them. The place in my brain where I learned those moves is not the same place in my brain I'm using when I'm just out dancing socially. They say the average person's IQ drops 9 points after having a child, so that may be the problem. If have any more the best I'll be able to do is slobber. Recent news tells me that may be where I'm heading.
I hear the band announce somebody's birthday, and clapping as people look around for the special person who doesn't seem to be around. I'm talking to Palmira so I don't really listen. A few minutes later some friends we run into tell me that it was me they announced. Not being able to hear anything is the downside of having big, pink earplugs stuffed into my ears. The other downside is that neon pink doesn't go with my corduroys.
A merengue comes on and we dance. Merengue isn't my favorite, but it's good for being sticking your butt out, "pooping out a leg" (as they say), and doing the lawnmower.
Being parents we both tire easily, and we're running up the clock on the babysitter so we decide to go after less than 2 hours. I don't think either one of us has hit the zone, but we've had fun and actually gotten out of the house so we're both happy. We say goodbye to friends we just said "hello" to, and prepare to exit. Before we get out the door Simona invites me to do a Rueda with a few of us from the group hanging around. Hallelujah! I get a short but sweet ride on the rueda gravy train before we leave. I wish I could do this more.
