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Curious Tangueros welcome!
For those of you who have come to this website to see what all the fuss is about, welcome. I hope you're as amused as I am that you didn't hear about this site from ME. Before you start browsing about, let me let you in on a really big secret: there IS no fuss. Just my opinions, expressed here on my (formerly) lonely little (formerly) personal website, regarding the local Tango scene and (thus far) a couple of that scene's instructors--opinions held at a single point in time and expressed solely for my own amusement. That the opinions are widely-held and accurate portrayals of the State of the (Band)Union doesn't seem to stop certain folks from crying "Wolf!" and whining to their mommies about how mean and unfair and foul-mouthed that new boy is. After all, why deal with CONTENT when the STYLE is so offensive??!
*hoot!*
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As I say, there is no fuss. But for some reason, others want to make a fuss about it, and so here you are. Cool! Before you read ANYTHING on this site, you should read ¡Bienvenidos to pseudoLatino.com!. It's an introduction to what the site is, and what you can expect within. After that, if you want to jump straight to the so-called controversy, it all began here, but going there directly will leave you without a context for evaluating that post's tone and intent. Clicking here will pull up all posts which are tango-related, in chronological order . . . which will help a bit with the context.
If you're one of those really DARING folks who attempt to view things with a little detachment and objectivity (*gasp!*), you might try randomly browsing about the site for a while, in order to get an idea of the general tone--apart from the "offending" post (hint: it's pretty much all in the same vein).
Also, check back in the next day or two because there is more fun and fuss in the pipeline . . . being formulated as you read this message.
Welcome to pseudolatino.com . . . have fun, be safe, and never forget to wear a condom.
Sincerely,
---the Pseudo-Latino
Posted by earwicker at 02:48 PM
TangoBastardo embarrasses the H.A.C.K.S.
Dear Readers, allow me to tell you that I'm at the end of my rope. The good end. I'm not sure how much longer Your Salsa Pretender can stand His Good Fortune. This was another day of wonderful, productive dancing--largely thanks to DancerX, Ratbastardo, and my favorite Genetic Mutation. All three contributed greatly to the day's brilliance.
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Our tale begins with a 90-minute working session involving Yours Truly and DancerX. I have to admit that it took a while to get my mind into Tango gear. After Thursday and Friday's successes, my afternoon had been spent spinning and churning about World HQ to Puerto Rican Power's Pena de Amor. For extra credit, I challenge you to listen to this song without moving your body. Go ahead. Download it and try. I'll wait.
*waiting*
See what I mean?
Eventually, DancerX beats me into shape and we return to our work on Molinetes, Sacadas, Boleos, et al. Aside from causing her terminal shoulder pain because of the inconsistency of my embrace, and despite numerous brainfarts on my part, we continued making progress . . . however gradual. I then switched back to Salsa so we could warm up for Ratbastardo's 8:15 Advanced Salsa Group Lesson, which we attended with about 5 other couples. Perhaps the Emperor of Intimidation sensed Tango in our Auras for he had a surprising little move up his sleeve this evening; a move I've never seen him do in the past--neither in class nor on the dancefloor. Upon arrival, it was obvious that the man was on a roll. He was in hyperdrive. Picky. Relentless. Boundlessly energetic. Our one hour lesson was still going strong after 80 minutes, and the only reason it ended is that some of us simply walked off the floor (we wanted to go to Monica's, after all!). We began with "reviews" of numerous things I'd never done before (nor, obviously, had DancerX). We were playing catch-up--frantically--hoping against hope that he wouldn't decide to pick us apart until we had at least nailed some of the mechanics . . . which he didn't . . . until we did. These moves alone were excellent. Things I've been watching my betters executing on the dancefloors of DFW for months now, without knowing how to do them myself.
Then suddenly, Ratbastardo morphs into Tangobastardo. I swear he must've smelled Tango wafting from our corner of the studio. He introduced one fantastic, reasonably simple sequence that was so much like Argentine Tango I just couldn't believe it. The leader pulls the follower into a very close embrace ( very "porteño", rhythmic and responsive . . . *hoot!*) does somewhat of a grapevine step and then a very expressive boleo (Our Grand Inquisitor called it a gancho, but it was really a quasi-boleo done by the leader), after which the follower's left leg executes a pair of undeniably Tango-esque adornments. Beautiful. As usual, King Nitpick demonstrated both parts himself, first the man's part, then the woman's (with a lot more focus on the woman's part because . . . well . . . that's just how Ramiro is, folks). I looked over at DancerX in amazement. Complete, total amazement. I could see there was no reason to comment, as she already had the same look on HER face. Awe. And as an aside I wonder, aloud, to all of You, how it is that this guy who doesn't really know Argentine Tango (and doesn't claim to) exhibits more technical ability, passion, grace and musicality than anything you'll ever see from the Pavaditoid Tango instructors in their group "classes" or at your local PseudoLatino-free Milonga whilst observing the self-appointed arbiters of DFW Tango? Eh? Those same folks act shocked and appalled when I tell the world, candidly, that they can't teach--or emote--their collective way out of a wet, nearly disintegrated paper bag. Why? Pah! Bring 'em all to Move Studio one Sunday when Ratbastardo is holding Court. Hell, bring YOURSELF, if you think I'm exaggerating. On a bad day, the man can be a complete BITCH, and a BASTARD, too (and he won't mind if you tell him exactly that), but he couldn't--not with one leg amputated, smoking crack and sporting a brand-new frontal lobotomy--teach or perform as incompetently or dispassionately as someone like Jeramy Bede and partner (about whom the less said the better) or Ms. Porteño Nazista.
I'll say it again: in one mimicked quasi-adornment, Ratbastardo demonstrated more passion and style, more physical presence and technical mastery than anything you ever have or will witness from Porteño Nazista and her Half-Assed Clique-Kissing Society (H.A.C.K.S). You needn't take my word for it, friends (or enemies) . . . go see for yourselves.
Perhaps more on that topic in a later post.
What matters here is that the lesson was fantastic, that DancerX and I left with a lot of great material to work on later, and that we still had Monica's ahead of us. We arrived at roughly 10:15 to find Ambersita and the charming Annette in rapt conversation and to discover that--once again--the band was a no show. Vacation. DJ only. As with Carson's last Thursday, I was disappointed. It seemed a bad sign. But, again as with Carson's, it wasn't. It was a good sign. A sign that I would once again dance my face off and soak my clothing--head to toe--with sweat. There were numerous dance partners to be had, with more arriving every minute, and I danced with many of them (though DancerX, regrettably, had to leave quite early and wasn't properly equipped to dance on Monica's not-so-hot concrete floor). Song after song I danced. Probably 3 out of 4 hours were spent on the floor.
One thing of note for Yours Truly: When I'm dancing with a familiar partner, I often ad lib patterns . . . trying to mimic things I've seen other dancers doing or simply trying to puzzle out a new way to get from point A to point B. On this evening something cool came from my ad libs . . . a brand new pattern that I can actually reproduce (usually I forget them immediately upon leaving the floor, if they're even successful in the first place)! Spontaneous invention is very very cool, and good for one's self-confidence as well.
Probably 3/4s of my dancing was done with the Genetic Mutant, and though this evening was fantastic for me, I'd have to say that it was a first for Ambersita as well. This will come as no surprise to anyone who knows her (she's awful purty), but most of the guys in the freakin' bar asked her to dance. We're talkin' Luis Delgadillo, Fray, and the like. That kind of help, from dancers who--unlike me--actually know what the hell they're doing and know how to teach it, is invaluable. And . . . I'm pretty sure that the see-through cellophane dress she was wearing didn't have ANYTHING AT ALL to do with the requests. Nope. Nothin' 't'all.
And finally, I'll share with you my favorite quote of the evening, overheard while standing in front of Monica's (where smokers and resting dancers congregate to . . . duh . . smoke and rest). There were two girls sitting next to one another to the side of the door, observing people retrieving their cars from the valet. A rather severe looking woman with a hair and clothing style I'll refer to as "business lesbian" hands the valet her ticket and, shortly thereafter, climbs into her VERY nice car (sorry, can't tell you the type, I'm not much of a car guy). One girl turns to the other, nods towards the departing woman , and sez:
"The bitch is ugly, but she got WHEELS, gurl!"
---the PL
Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM
Sickly Salsero
Funny. Your Intrepid Shaker of Booty has spent the last 5 months burning the candle at both ends, without ill effect. Last week, He finally takes a vacation. Seven days' worth. And what does He get for His troubles? You got it. A nasty, chest- and sinus-crushing cold.
Here at Pseudo-Latino World HQ we're not sure whom to blame but--being the magnanimous folks you've all come to know and love--we're willing to spread that blame around equally. Please send all your accusatory missives to DancerX and Ambersita. THEY did it!
Get 'em!
Posted by earwicker at 11:48 PM
Wow. Wow. Wow.
In which Your Intrepid Buttwiggler learns some new moves, polishes some old ones, and generally gets his groove on.
Yes.
His groove.
On.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::For the second time this week, Ratbastardo was at the top of his game and helped me get closer to the top of mine. We reviewed some of the moves from Sunday's Advanced class . . . very nice . . . and I broached the subject of leading double turns for the woman, both inside and outside. My technique, though still embarrassingly rudimentary, has improved enough that a whole new level of options have started to open up for me. I actually feel like I'm making real progress. And of course Ramiro never stops harping on the fundamentals, even as we're moving forward to more complex topics. The guy's amazing. Really.
Feeling like a million bucks, I went straight from King Nitpick's to Pseudo-Latino World HQ where DancerX was ready and waiting to plow through some Tango fundamentals for another hour and a half (to be honest, I twisted her arm and got her to help me solidify what I'd just learned with Ratbastardo before we moved on to Tango . . . but Tango was the main attraction of the session). As the time of HER departure neared, the doorbell rang once more and none other than Ambersita was standing on the HQ's front porch, dressed to kill and ready to practice some Salsa. DancerX and Ambersita went over some follower's basics and then DancerX observed and commented and observed some more as the Genetic Mutant and I went through some basic this'es, thats, and th'others. DancerX--let it be known--is profoundly energetic and generous and helpful and encouraging to those of us who are just learning to dance. Her advice is the voice of experience and you, Dear Reader, should never pass up an opportunity to take this lovely woman out on the floor and do some rug cuttin'. She's awesome, she is. (Just gotta watch out for those occasional outbursts at leather-wearing peace officers. Yup.)
Ambersita and I followed up with a couple MORE hours of productive practice, some funny faces, lots of coughing, ridiculous amounts of gum, a quick Starbucks run and, eventually, a few "wow"s. Another incredible experience to top off an already incredible day . . . and once again I have the SAME three people to thank: DancerX, Ratbastardo, and the Sweatless Genetic Mutation.
It absolutely ROCKS to be the Pseudo-Latino these days. And you can trust me, because I AM . . .
---the Pseudo-Latino
Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM | Comments (1)
Pushing His Luck
His health-lesson unlearned, the Sickly Salsero once again meets DancerX at Fred and Ginger's for a private lesson (this being #7 in a series of 10) during which much transpires and much improves. With DancerX He then returns to Pseudo-Latino World HQ for a short practice session (1.5 hours of ganchos, boleos, molinetes, drags, and rulos), before making the silly decision--in a state of physical exhaustion and continuing illness--to make his usual weekly stop at Carson's. Carson's would have been great but for His complete lack of mental acuity. The energy just wasn't there, and it was halfway through His first dance (with a beautiful latina photographer with skills) before His brain was able to start remembering patterns of any sort. Finally, the gray matter did kick in and He was able to represent, at least passably. Word up. Gentle Ben and the Genetic Mutant arrived somewhat later to share the dancefloor.
The PL left early, feeling completely exhausted and with a relapse fast approaching.
Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM
Convalescence
After a long (and lingering) illness, Yours Truly is gradually getting back into the swing of things . . . but with all the catch-up left to play, it might be a while before He can let you in on all His little secrets. The things that matter? Dances are being Danced, Lessons Learned, Work Worked, Horizons Expanded, Wows wowed.
Lots of wows. Wonderfully wowed.
Wowalicious.
W.o.w.
Stay Tuned,
---the Pseudo-Latino
Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM
Symmetry, or The UrGift redux
In which Your Humble Purveyor of Spasmodic Pitch, Yaw and Roll confronts a Primordial Gift and dances with an ex-president's daughter.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::A vast improvement over last week's Carsonic Experience, in terms of health and fun and dancing (if the last two are in any way separable). You will recall that Your Salsic Pretender generally spends his entire time at Carson's dancing: Band sets are spent on the dancefloor, doing His best and worst with whomever will have Him; DJ sets are spent on the sidelines, busting whatever moves He can imagine to whatever music happens to come His way ("Stayin' Alive" is a favorite; also "Kiss" and "Play that Funky Music, White Boy"). Tonight was no different, but there was one side effect of this behaviour on this particular evening that bears mentioning, at least to members of the Society of Friends of The Pseudo-Latino. Long-time readers will remember a post which was, in essence, the very first instance of The Gift. In that post, a very attractive woman ("a god-like Latin woman" is how I described her therein) approached The Holy Flailmeister and asked Him to dance . . . but not to salsa. He (meaning I) no longer remembers what type of dance it was, only that it was neither Salsa nor Merengue. This post, and the events it described, took place on August 4th, 2004 at Sipango. . . precisely six days after I had taken my first Salsa steps EVER (with Ambersita, who was naturally also on hand this evening). Only 6 days into my journey, this woman was subjected to my heinous ineptitude, yet graciously finished out the dance despite what must have been a horribly painful experience on her part.
After that night, I didn't see her again for quite a while. Lately, though, she's been out and about . . . and very much on my radar. Even with my improved knowledge and abilities, when I see this woman dance I'm impressed. She looks good, she moves well, and she radiates confidence. Well . . . as I danced about the sidelines during a DJ set, I leaned over and pointed this woman out to the Genetic Mutant. I told the GM that, someday, I was going to have to ask this woman to dance again in order to provide some sort of poetic balance, some closure, to my 5-1/2 month long dance journey. I told Ambersita the story of my bumbling incompetence at Sipango on that evening, and told her the day would come soon.
I then continued to dance about the sidelines.
The band once again took the stage, and Salsa once again filled the air. I danced with a girl from Stratos I refer to as Chelsea Clinton. She's tall, and--I now know (though I had always suspected)--she's very very good. I do a passable job with her. So far so good. I dance with the Genetic Mutant, and then--while waiting for another song to which I feel the need to shake my groove thang--dance around the sidelines some more. Not 15 minutes have passed from the time I told Ambersita about my need for closure. As Ben looked on (for he, too, was present and accounted for), and to my profound surprise, I turned around and found myself face to face with the Latin Goddess who had walked up to me (once again, all these months later) and confronted me with the following statement (notice that it is NOT a request or a question), which I reproduce here faithfully and without alteration: "I have to see if your that good ON the floor." She then stands there waiting to be led onto the dancefloor. Though my virtual jaw had dropped to a point about 8 centimeters above my big toenail, I maintained my outward composure and we found a small spot amongst the teeming multitudes. I'll have you know that, once again, the song was not precisely a Salsa--rather it was an odd beat somewhere between Salsa and Cumbia. Nevertheless, Your Hero didn't falter. He wasn't perfect (He dropped a couple leads) but neither was she. She was REALLY good, but not perfect . . . and while we were dancing I reminded her that she actually had danced with me once before; I reminded her under what conditions and told her that I was very glad for the opportunity to redeem myself, however limited that redemption might actually be. She smiled. When the song came to it's easily predicted and syncopated halt (yes, I DID dip her--thank you very much) she made an approving face and said "don't worry. You did just fine."
Excellent, it was.
Closure. Symmetry. Progress. The UrGift, revisited.
Stay tuned, My Friends, for Life is good and the Pseudo-Latino is living it well and true.
Live Long and Perspire,
---the PL
Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM | Comments (0)
Tango Sub Rosa
In which Your (normally) Heliotropic Hero goes underground with 4 alpha-numeric Tangueros, the King Nitpick keeps it up, The Polyphonic Spree is rightfully detested and--yet again--DancerX, Ambersita, and Ratbastardo contribute fundamentally to The Salsa Pretender's general sense of happiness and well-being.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::At long last, the Pseudo-Latino was able to bring together a coterie of co-conspirators for a Little Nothing . . . also known as a "practice session" or, if we're pretending to be more erudite and sophisticated than we, in point of fact, are, a "collaborative practica." (Being the charitable soul that He is, the PL will happily forget the fact that "practica" is plural and that the cardinality of the event referenced, via hyperlink, above is, unfortunately for the event Namers, one . . . making it singular and, subsequently and accurately, a collaborative practicum. Oh well. Better a Pseudo-Latino than a Pseudo-Cultured Pseudo-Intellectual, I suppose.) Dancers W - Z, clearly including the infamous DancerX, spent the better part of four hours at Pseudo-Latino World HQ rehearsing their various and sundry Tango repertoires to an assortment of music which--unlike the music one will experience at most Pavadita-centered Milongas--doesn't suck.
By all accounts it was a fantastic success and will be continued every Sunday afternoon for the foreseeable future. The event will henceforth be known as Tango Sub Rosa (sub rosa means "in secret; privately or confidentially").
After 4 hours of Tango Sub Rosa, the PL and DancerX headed out for RatBastardo's weekly group class in Advanced Salsa with a quick pitstop at Taco Bueno (blech!). The King Nitpick was in fully flamboyant form this evening, and the class was great fun and a great success. We had an exact match-up between men and women--a very unusual occurence--and nearly had to postpone the class for a few minutes whilst Ramiro dealt with an unexpected tragedy (one of the female students nearly got MAKE-UP on his fancy, frilly white shirt; the AUDACITY!). With DancerX there to make me look good, and with Ratbastardo in such unerringly good form, these advanced classes have become a wonderful staple in my weekly dance diet. Thanks, DX!
No Monica's this evening. Five hours of intensive dance rehearsal was enough for Moi. Instead, I hauled my Royal butt out to IHOP to hang with my new Hip-Hop buddy, Ambah-sita the quasi-Humanoid Sweatless Genetic Mutant for a couple of hours--discussing alien mutations, categories and classifications for alien probes, intergalactic dance sensations, 26 ways in which rat feces compares favorably to the music of The Polyphonic Spree, and several Puns of the Day.
It was, I'm told, Good Good Times Times.
But now . . . off for bed (as Your Hero appears to be in danger of a Bad Health Relapse).
One does what One must, and to Whom One must.
Thus spake . . .
---Your Pseudo-Latino
Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM | Comments (1)
Drainy Days and Mondays
The Doting Minions of His Majesty will be saddened to learn that The Bad Health Relapse did indeed occur. With a little help from modern medicine and some much needed rest, we here at PseudoLatino.com feel certain that His persistent sinus infection (for that is indeed the diagnosis) will soon meet its Maker. In the meantime, said infection is producing bazillions of cubic gallons of nasal drainage. As a result, and although it felt profoundly wrong to do so, Yours Truly canceled his private Tango lesson for the evening and skipped his usual group class. Fred and Ginger are surely crushed; forced as they are to spend a night without the awkward and convoluted flailings of the Tango Terrorist.
Oh well. They're young and resilient. Someday they will be able to pick up the shattered pieces and move on.
Someday.
Just not today.
Posted by earwicker at 11:30 PM
Red Karmic Happiness
Surprisingly enough . . . sometimes . . . when you least expect it . . . life is good.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::Though improving, the Pseudo-Latino was still feeling a little puny today, and busy. So . . . no lesson. My dance activities were limited to a short rehearsal with DancerX at the PL World HQ and a mega-short outing to Carson's. I danced only twice and stayed less than an hour. One of those dances was with Betsy (of Fray and Betsy fame), and I was able to try out some of my newer, more advanced, leads. Although she is definitely an intimidating dance partner, she's the greatest kind of partner an aspiring dancer can have: friendly, attitude-free, talented, experienced and willing to offer constructive criticism. Thanks, Betsy.
Also worth noting was the presence of two new female dancers, a beautiful blonde and a lovely red-head--who is now my hero. I watched the Guy I Love To Hate, Emiliano Della Serra, ask the red-head to dance. Apparently, in his sub-sentient pea-sized brain, he determined that these ladies, being unknown faces on the scene, probably didn't know how to dance. (Recall that Della Serra only asks non-dancers to dance so he can "impress" them by "teaching" them his "moves.") Red accepts Della Serra's invite and they go out onto the floor. As usual, I watch them out of morbid fascination . . . unable to look away. This time, the payoff was huge. I watch as Red gets quickly frustrated, breaks frame, and pulls Della Serra back to the sidelines. As soon as they arrive, Red starts to teach HIM the basics. He tries to walk away, she restrains him, says "no! Let's get this right!," and pulls him back . . . working on the basic with him. "No. That's not in time with the music!" she sez, "it's like this." She demonstrates. He squirms. I cross my legs to avoid wetting myself with laughter.
Who'da thunk that Karma is a redhead?
At this point I had to go home, but I went home happy (a state of mind to which the subsequent 4.5 hour-long phone call contributed tremendously).
It's like I said: sometimes . . . when you least expect it . . . life is good.
Posted by earwicker at 05:42 PM | Comments (0)