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S.O.B.

Sorry, Old Bede!

This being a free country and all, and this being my (alas mostly inactive) website, I'm afraid the Long Lost PseudoLatino won't be able to honor Mr. Jeramy Bede's (indirect) request to remove his name from this site. It's a free country, jackass, and this is a personal website. Fortunately, this means that you, too, are free to post whatever you may desire on your OWN site telling people how you aren't profoundly boring and how I'm wrong and how your non-existent DJing skills and lifeless classes are JUST WHAT DFW TANGO NEEDS!!! They may even believe you. Heh. Alternatively, you can call up the folks at Google and let 'em know that you don't like the fact that googling "Jeramy Bede Tango" returns (currently as the 4th result) that long-forgotten Post of Infamy from pseudoLatino.com? After all, it's THEIR webcrawler that found my site.

I'm sure they'll give your request due attention (when they're done laughing).

The internet is full of posts expressing disdain at various services and service providers. Herein I express my disdain at your services and their provider.

Live with it, Chuckles.

---the pseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 05:13 PM | Comments (1)

Lovely Rita

Staying on the topic of blowhards (see yesterday's post for clarification), Yours Truly is about to skip out on life and work long enough to make a quick round trip to H-town. Thanks to yet-another-Category-4 Hurricane--this one bearing down directly upon Galveston, TX--AND thanks to the pseudoLatino familial Matriarch and sole remaining pseudoChihuahua's collective presence in a low-lying area approximately 30 miles from said coastal city AND thanks to god-knows-fucking-WHOSE disenfranchised karma which has been floating over my otherwise beatific life since, oh, say about 6pm this past Saturday it falls upon my shoulders to perpetrate an heroic evacuation of probably useless and unnecessary proportions.

I'll be back faster than you can say "TWO HUNDRED FIFTY MILES OF BUMPER-TO-BUMPER TRAFFIC." At least faster than you can say it . . . hmmmmm . . . 50,000 times?

Stay safe and remember: friends don't let friends learn tango from Jeramy Bede!

As Ever,
--the pseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 09:14 AM | Comments (0)

More on the Meter Maid

Just a word to the concerned: made it back from Houston with Mom and Dog in tow after a mere 25 hours behind the wheel; 4 hours down, 21 back. By the time I got home I had been awake for 32 hours and had experienced the distinct thrill of driving the wrong way up I-45 with 10's of thousands of my closest personal evacuee friends.

Like the old saying goes: When life serves you lemons, make a funny face and try not to vomit.

Or something along those lines.

The worse part of the whole thing, aside from all the sad, hurt, stranded and dead people, is that I had to miss Tango classes on Wednesday night (because I was gone) and Thursday night (because I was delirious).

And while we're on the Tango riff, please send your wishes of wellness and safety--via brainwaves, psychic telemetry, and/or the pseudo-religious voodoo of your chosing--to our beloved Valerina aka Valerie aka The Dancing Nurse Betty. She's holed up down in the bayou city with mother, sister, and other assorted relatives getting ready for that most Unlovely of Meter Maidens.

Ciao for now,

---the pseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 01:00 PM | Comments (0)

An Alien. A Storm. A Beard. Mrs. Bone.

Ok. Let it be said that the downside to having a too-good-to-be-true life is that one doesn't have time to write. The upside, when Bad Evil Badness insinuates itself into The Good Life, is that one does have time to write. Personally, I'd rather go back into blog retirement . . . but until or unless that pesky spaceship returns my favorite alien I've got a few moments to spare, and who better to spend them with than those long-suffering and tremendously patient Acolytes of the well-meaning Pseudo-Latino Spasmodio?

No one, that's who.

So here we are, you and me, together, experiencing a semi-euphoric post-Stratos exhaustion after dancing a whole slew of Salsas and even a couple of Tangos with those (oh so appropriately on this Hurricane Eve) Stormy Ladies, Alice and Alicia. There were no Katrinas or Ritas present, as far as I could tell, unless those dismembered female torsos near the door were perhaps so named. I dunno, cuz they refused to speak with me (death does that to a body, unless one has a special book which teaches one to commune with the dead . . . and--more importantly--to distinguish with exceptional reliability and accuracy between the merely dead and other extra-mortal entities, such as--to name but one example--one's guardian angel. If one DOES have such a book, well, one would have been more fortunate than I in the presence of these two Corpse Brides).

NOTE: Some links in this post are not yet live. So sue me.

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In any case, these Tangos were danced to Cha-cha--played by a DJ who, yes, still blows. Why dance Tango and not a proper Cha-cha? Because Yours Truly simply had no urge to embarrass himself with steps he hardly knows on this, his first post-alien night back in the Salsic Saddle. Alice and I even got a small bit of applause from one of the high-end Salseras who knew what we were doing and thought it was a cool idea (which it was; it fit very well to the music). We'll see where this goes as I get back into the Salsa swing of things. What does that mean? Well . . . who knows. How does this sound: Carson's or Gloria's on Thursdays, Stratos on Fridays, and perhaps a once-again-reopened 5th Avenue on Saturdays, RatBastardo's classes and the as-yet-unvisited Addison Monica's on Sundays and even Babalu Wednesdays once or twice? We'll see. On the other hand, I'm just not as into the scene as I used to be. I love the dance, despite being pretty rusty, and the music is exponentially more vivacious than anything one hears at a DFW Milonga. It is possible, however, to get a little sick of the always-on-the-prowl aspect of many of the regulars--guys and girls alike. Or perhaps I just notice it more after such a long time away, and an even longer time since I've been onsite without my beloved PseudoLatina? Whatever. Who knows? Who cares? The bottom line is it can be more than a smidgeon smarmy (tonight's slimeball award winner goes to a man in his late-50s, perhaps even early-60s, who was drunkenly hitting on a brace-bearing girl of no more than 16, there to dine with what appeared to be her older sister and another giggling teen friend. Ick.)

One thing that saddens me about the Lost Months of these Chronicles is that the most fertile time of growth as a dancer of Tango has gone unrecorded. Despite having lived a Life Obsessed for the last 9 months--despite having taken countless lessons, attended a wonderful masterclass and workshop in Sacramento, CA, having spent many hours dancing with local talents the likes of the more-talented-than-she-knows Sweatless Genetic Mutant, the sadly-missing-in-action Dancer X, Ginger (& even her hubby Fred--for yes, I've begun to expend some energy on learning the follower's part as well as the leader's)--I have no durable record of those exploits or the canvas upon which they came to life. As the Tango Terroriste fervor has died down I've even had the honor of dancing, on a small handful of occasions, with the glorious Giuditta. . . but there exists no relivable trace thereof.

And that's a damn shame (as are many things of late).

While I'm speaking of Tangueros with whom I've had the honor to share an embrace, I would be remiss not to mention my current practice and performance partner . . . whom we can, without compunction and with a huge smile, hereafter and evermore refer to as The Bearded Lady. The Bearded Lady has yet to be properly introduced, although as a fellow Houstonian trying to assist her family during the onslaught of Rita I did mention her in today's earlier post. The Bearded Lady is the first regular dance partner I've ever had who is as addicted and committed to dancing a given dance (in this case, Tango) as I am--and who (apparently) enjoys dancing with me as much as I with her. That's pretty fuckin' cool, yo (and really rare, and really to be cherished). This is not to slight any of my other on-again, off-again partners, nor to say that I don't thoroughly enjoy dancing with those partners who have other interests of a far higher priority--I most undoubtedly do (though at least one refuses to believe this simple and obvious truth)! No. This is merely to acknowledge that with The Bearded Lady I have for the first time ever begun to experience a long-desired State of dance-Being: a state of familiarity and comfort. It just feels RIGHT when I have Valerina (as we may also refer to her from time to time) in front of me, it feels right when the music starts, when I adjust my arms to invite her into an embrace and she accepts. It feels RIGHT when the embrace surrounds us, when the music compels me to move and she moves with me--calmly reading my mind and seemingly knowing everything I'm going to do well before I do it. I will admit that our synchronicity is still in its infancy, often goes haywire, and is radically constrained by blossoming-but-limited technical prowess. It is nevertheless--and without any credible doubt--indescribably wonderful. Unforgettably cool. It's a major musical turn-on and as such it rejuvenizes itself. So . . . my thanks to The Bearded Lady for tolerating my over-exuberance and under-preparedness, and for being as passionate an addict as am I. I hereby promise not to annoy you any more than absolutely necessary in order to get my/our fix. You rock!

Hmmm . . . it occurs to me that we must acknowledge a third nickname for The Bearded Lady: SistrahShoeSlut (and oh is she ever)! But more on that topic some other time.

[editor's note: SistrahSuplex was also a very familiar partner--long ago and in another lifetime. And Your Holy FlailMeister did have one other partner--a beautiful and charming Salsera--with whom he looked forward to this sort of familiarity and with whom he did practice from time to time. Sadly, even though he "thought [she] should hang out," and she agreed--and did so (think "Wow!", "Barry White," and "phlegm"), a variety of unknown demons prevented her from relaxing enough to dance the way she wished. The degree of this tragedy is yet to be realized and will probably be the subject of countlless Doctoral Dissertations at the University of Boo-Tay's School of Avoidable Tragedicity--chaired by the lecherous and vile Mrs. Bone--"The Bane of Bandpractice."]

Anyhoo, it's 3:30 in the A.M., I'm babbling like a complete idiot (if any of you are too close, I apologize for my breath) and I need to haul my sleepy ass of to bed. The PseudoMama and the PseudoChihuahua are gonna need my attention all too soon. Not to mention that I need to go listen to specially-hexed recordings of Too Much Heaven, By Your Side, and the clearly vise-gripped-induced passage from that perennial favorite of "cheese list" favorites: Baby Come Back.

Have a good night, my friends.

Your impeturbable, loving and steadfast,

---pseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM | Comments (0)

Milonga? Just a TAD

For the first time since early last December, Your Beloved Tango Leper attended a T.A.D. Milonga and had an unexpectedly stellar time. This despite the scent of granny's pot-pourri wafting from several conspicuous parts of the crowd. This may leave you asking the unspoken question ( "Mr. PseudoLatino, sir, can you please clarify, in your magnanimity and terse conglomeration of vocabules: stellar why? Stellar how?") Which I, as is my wont, will graciously condescend to answer.

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Amongst other things, I had a nice conversation with Connie (unassuming and jovial), was grudgingly acknowledged by the Anal Bede's better halves, danced with Candice (playful, charming, and encouraging), Karen (poised, fluid, fun), and Kay (cool, collected, curious), braved an entire tanda of Milongas with Alicia (balletic yet--like Yours Truly--milonga-shy), and had the distinct pleasure . . . nay HONOR . . . of dancing once again--at long last--with Giuditta (gregarious, graceful, gorgeous, and too damned good to be dancing with the likes of ME). I danced 4 (5?) songs with Giuditta (hereinafter dubbed Judge Judy): the last song of a Piazzolla tanda, Oblivion, and a set of waltzes (3 or 4. . . can't remember), but it's the Piazzolla tune I'd like bring to your collective attention.

I've not really danced with Judge Judy--excepting a couple instances I can only hope she'll forget--since the onset of my Tango Leprosy almost 10 months ago. The song that broke this long kinetic silence was Piazzolla's intensely lyrical Oblivion. I wasn't really sure what to expect of the dance: the song is very slow (which means that musicality is more important than flashy tricks) and it generally takes at least a couple of songs to get in tune with an unfamiliar dance partner (this is true at any level of technical accomplishment). But not tonight--at least not in my opinion. I took my time. I walked; I paused in subtle ways (at least they felt subtle at the time--but with my limited skills "subtle" is generally spelled "S-L-E-D-G-E-H-A-M-M-E-R"); I accompanied a sudden ensemble accent with an accented promenade step and WHAM! there was Judge Judy--sensing EXACTLY what I had tried to do and matching it perfectly. Whoa! I smiled. Or I thought I smiled. At least I meant to smile . . . and Her Honor seemed pleased by the event as well. We continued. It happened again, and again, and again, but that initial promenade was the moment that most stuck in my memory. Just too cool. Now perhaps I'm grasping at straws, or Delusional, or Psychotic, (yeah yeah, I know) but my impression of the dance was fantastic. And there's nothing you nay-sayers can do to take it away from me. Dammit.

Anyway, despite incessant inquiries as to the whereabouts of The One True and Abwesend Alien, it was an unexpectedly wonderful evening.

Party on, Barth.

---the PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM | Comments (0)

Schizophrenic Nut Nukes

PseudoMom and PseudoDog accompanied PseudoLatino to a Tango rehearsal at the home of Fred and Ginger. For three hours, first four dancers, then six, suffered an onslaught of schizophrenia as they moved forward in an evolving neo-tango choreography due for public consumption whenver it's goddamned good and ready (thank you very much). All testes and mons veneres emerged unscathed from the encounter despite the (VEWY VEWY LATE!!!) arrival of one Betsy "Nut Nuker" Lee (no relation to Robert E.) As Valerina aka The Bearded Lady aka SistrahShoeSlut remained in Houston and as Judge Judy arrived sans Bailiff, Your McDood suffered the unbearable misfortune of dancing with the infamous Judge for a second day running. And lemme tellya: what a freakin' barrida! There's only sooooo much perfection I can stand in a single weekend (the perfection of my beloved Alien notwithstanding) . . . so, Judge Judy: YOU'RE A DRAG, YO! Next time, don't dance so perfectly, m'k? Like every american, I need my idols to be SMASHED, DESTROYED, and brought down to MY level of mediocrity.

M'k?

Alles Klar?

Gut.

Bis Später. . .
Dein,

---pseudoLatino

ps

Shouts out to Hartmut the Hunter and Sistrah Suplex for giving the PseudoLatino World HQ a call on this fine day. We miss you guys. Really we do.

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM | Comments (0)

Alien Postcard Project Initiated

On this day in the Year of Our PseudoLord 2005 began a Postcard Relief Program from the DFW Metroplex to Outer Space. The relief efforts were coordinated by the Bush-Clinton Formerly-Presidents-Currently-Idiots Fund For Extraterrestrial Angst Reduction (F.E.A.R.) in lieu of the already waning popular interest in the Hurricane Katrina aftermath. The program will continue until further notice.

'nuff said.

Posted by earwicker at 09:23 AM