I'm a little slow today. I just switched to Sanka. So...have a heart?

Wednesday, October 12, 2005

In the mornin', in the evenin', ain't we got salsaface!


I was lunching with my secretary the other day, and she was mulling over possible plans to go out for her birthday. I don't know what sparked it, but I said, "Just don't go out Salsa-ing. I hate watching people Salsa."

She snorted coke through her nose, as she is wont to do and asked me why. Oh, but that came out wrong. She wasn't blowing snow through her nose, she was drinking a Diet Coke and laughed so hard some came out of her nose. People in my office think I'm very funny whenever I say most things.

It was then that I let her in on what the Gringo sees when there's salsa going on: The Salsaface.
It's not just the salsaface, it's the salsaeverything. Dancing is supposed to be fun, it's not to be taken too seriously -- I mean, it's an expression of joy right?

The salsa. It just looks like it takes too much. First...the pants. Men doing the salsa always wear this lightweight wool-polyester blend of pants, with a pleated front, and a zoot-suit saggy ass. I hate those pants. They're usually in an off-shade of khaki. They're whatever I think of when I think of the word "slacks," which is a word I alternately adore and loathe.

I really hate the pants. I hate the shape of them, hippy in the waist, and tapering down at the ankles, with cuffs. I hate the way the pants move when there's a vigarious salsa going on...half a beat behind the body. I hate the pants.

Then, there's the shirt. It's a guyabera or a loud-patterned shirt, that has just enough synthetic fiber in it to give it a shiny gloss, and keep it half a beat behind its wearer as well...

Basically...when I think of people doing the salsa, I think of people dressed like it's 1992, and we all know that's a very. bad. thing.

Oddly enough, I never think of women doing the salsa. They somehow look like they're having fun...either that, or they simply don't look stupid while cha-cha-cha-ing around the dancefloor.

The music's not bad. Peppy, upbeat. Catchy. It'd be better if it wasn't the ONLY THING I HEAR DOWN HERE, but no biggie. Actually, I'm probably hearing a myriad of music that I simply don't know what it is... bachata, merengue, rhumba... I ain't got a clue. If it has a loud bongo section and horns, I think, "Salsa!" It's simply all salsa to me. Oh, and all Asians look alike. And all Jewish men are close to their mothers. (I'm kidding. About everything except the fact that it's all salsa to me. Because honestly... It is. I don't hear the "dat-dat-dat da! da!" in anything, so I hear it in everything.)


The Salsaface. The salsa, to me, is a very wormy dance. Everyone' s knees are bent and the shoulders and arms are just flying around. Lots of twirling. It's like a Charleston, only with twirling, and without that madcap-there's-a-kazoo-and-a-slidewhistle-in-this-song! sense of fun. Forced fun.

If you ever watch anyone's face while doing the salsa, they're not grinning or smiling. The brow is furrowed, or an eyebrow is raised. The lips are pouted out, and the eyes are smoky...almost sensual, except... not at all.

It's a look of intense concentration and worry, mixed with that ever-present and heavy-handed dash of Machismo. Oh, and unwarranted pride in the dance that is currently being performed. Lots of that too. And it comes through. Chests are puffed out... shoulders and head thrown back...

It's the salsaface. The salsaface, combined with the horrendous outfits, and the loud, LOUD music... make me hate watching salsa. Everyone just looks too serious. No joy, JUST SALSA! HAGALASALSA! AHORA MISMO!

So that's why I just say "No." to the salsa. I say yes to everything else, though. Except fish. I hate fish.