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Shitlist. Annotated.
In which Yours Truly, in preparation for A Post Containing His Most Holy Clarifications, reminds his Readers (Dear and Otherwise) of How This All Came To Pass.
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Since we're all having sooooooooo much fun chitting and chatting and whispering and whuspering and gassiping and gossiping and guessipping, and since I am about to post a clarification of my "old-school, lame-ass, aesthetically- [atheistically? eh, Judge Judy?] challenged hacks" comment, I have assembled--for my own nostalgia and for the balanced informational needs of an oft-annoyed and occasionally curious assemblage--an annotated, chronologically accurate arrangement of the PseudoLatino's mostly-Tango-centric posts which have brought some of you (and, therewith, Moi) to this current state of Aghastivity, Outrageocity, and Righteous Moral Indignationism. Regarding Said Clarification, prithee have patience, for 'twill follow quite shortly . . . I promise thee most heartily.
In the meantime, here are the posts, which grew quite naturally from the many many many non-tango-related posts which pre-, and post-, ceded them. The style of these posts is all of a cloth, and--until the Fateful Day upon which Ms. Jairelbhi "I have a really unusual name and decided to Google It" Furlong stumbled with her usual grace upon them--were living a rather shy and private life under the watchful eyes of a small handful of my closest friends. If you read them carefully (hell . . . even if you just skim 'em without the aid of your Bifocals), you'll see that my opinions were expressed initially as the unbiased observations of an outsider and then, over a short period of intense involvement and experimentation, became the strongly biased opinions of an informed in-betweener.
Make of them what you will, but "Roses: Neon Green," "The Wild Hair," "Yours Truly Pops Tango Cherry," and "Teach.Tango.Tempo." show the progression from uncertainty to "you've got to be fucking KIDDING me!!!" in a clear way. Just by way of example: in "The Wild Hair" I say "Though I don't think that these particular instructors are of the temperment I need in order to thrive, I enjoyed the experience and am looking forward to tomorrow's lesson." In "Teach.Tango.Tempo"--a mere 7 days later--I was already clear that I was receiving "thoughtless, bad, and incompetent instruction." An opinion whose defense is scattered amongst all these first few posts.
Anyway . . . in none of these posts do I mention Rocky and the Bullwinkles by name . . . but they are certainly there in spirit. So, if you're one of those surprisingly rare people who care to know the complete context of a situation before passing judgment or finalizing an opinion, this list has been assembled to make your task a little bit easier.
Many Thanks,
--the PseudoLatino
(who will briefly appear as His Alter-ego in the following post . . . but don't get used to it)
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My first Milonga ever, and my impressions thereof:
The classes and milongas I attended immediately following my first experience.
The Wild Hair
EmPHAsis in Biomechanics
Yours Truly Pops Tango Cherry
Teach.Tango.Tempo. (My second class in a row with the Anal Bede, and you can already tell that love was NOT in the air)
Groping Granny (Three strikes and he's out)
The Gift: You know, for Xmas!
This was the post that caused shitstorm #1--despite their undeniable accuracy and my lack of a patent for the SuperLube.
The next few posts were written in the time between my well-deserved rant and the accidental discovery of my blog by Her Grace
Doubles.Triples.B8.
Fat Lesbian Rat
Sleepy Grasshopper
Napoleon. Roman. Alien.
I knew something was afoot, I just wasn't sure exactly where it was headed
WHAM!!! The guillotine finds its way home.
Responses to the final acknowledgements of my blacklisting and an amusing, unprovoked anti-DFW commentary from our counterparts in H-town
The Tango Terrorist?
Tangorrhoids?!
[insert LOOOOOOOOOOOOOONG silence here]
At this point, MANY months pass (somewhere around 8 or 9), during which I have little energy or desire to write. I spent these months practicing like a maniac, enjoying a new relationship, riding my bike 1300 miles along the Rocky Mountains, starting a new job, and generally trying hard to find time for sleeping (cuz it wasn't happening too much, believe me!). Then, after Jeramy discovered that there was a thing called the "Internet" and that people on that "Internet" thingie could do another thingie called a "search" with a tool thingie called "Google," I was approached by the Anal One to "do something" about my site. I thought about it for half a second, and then I wrote this post. Voila! Shitstorm #2 is born.
And here were a couple final posts around the time the final (for then, at least) shit hit the fan.
Pimp Pulsations. Slithy Troves
Sunday Afternoon Blues; Payin' Dues]
That brings us all up to speed, with the exception of the teeny, weeny little phrase that started SS#3:
Oh . . . and the Evolution Tango show at the Latino Cultural Center this last weekend kicked ass. Specifically, it kicked the asses of all the old-school, lame-ass, aesthetically-challenged hacks that comprise so much of the rapidly disappearing "original" dallas tango scene (yes, I mean YOU Jeramy, and YOU Rocky "I'm a fat-ass, tasteless, groveling, complaining wanker" and all the rest of your ilk.
And here we are again: sitting around the campfire, sharing stories, and feelin' the luuuuuuv. Momma Teresa would be so proud (ok, so she isn't proud; she actually whacked me in the head . . . but her NAMESAKE would've been proud; really! She would have!)
Stay tuned. It's about that time, kiddies!!!!
Posted by earwicker at 09:23 PM | Comments (0)
Please. Press. Pause.
Ok. So I lied. I'm sitting at my desk, at work, trying to get the final editing done on my "clean" and "socially acceptable" explanatory post--and I'm thinking: I could be doing this at home, with a nice class of Shiraz sitting before me. So that's what I'm gonna do. I'll be back tomorrow with the long awaited sequel to "The Old and The Feckless," in which the PseudoLatino locks horns with an infamous pair of Moose (Meese?) and a grouchy, eternally dissatisfied, yet nonetheless adorably chubby-cheeked squirrel with a funny hat.
Hold not Thine Breath, but offer unto Me Thine Patience and Thou Shalt receive Wisdom and a Ripe Avocado.
Me Promise.
---the PL
Posted by earwicker at 09:36 PM
Rocky & The Bullwinkles
In which the PseudoLatino momentarily appears as Clark Kent, engages in a difficult bit of self-editing, and unveils the Old-School, Lame-Ass, Aesthetically-Challenged members of the DFW Tango Community in all their Glorylessness. In other words, this is a post wherein He--which is to say, I--reveal the eternal secrets, perfected over eons, of How To Win Friends and Influence People.
Or not.
Read on, if you wish. You're here, regardless of my clear warnings on the homepage about the content of the site and who is and who is not welcome on this, my personal website. Either you want to be here, or you just can't help yourself from crashing someone else's party to get the latest juicy gossip and controversy. Either way, knock yerselves out.
Pardon me while I get rid of my cape and the silly spandex outfit and emerge--on the other side of the phonebooth--as Clark Kent. . . .
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My dearest friends, acquaintances, enemies, unknowns, undecideds, disinteresteds and whatnots within the Tango community---
[For those of you you who have no idea how all of this started, or why, or when, I refer you to yesterday's post, wherein I collect for you virtually all of my tango-related writing. If you take a few minutes to skim these posts, in the order they appeared, the context of my comments will be much more clearly established. And don't pretend you don't care about anything an obvious JERK like ME may have had to say: if you didn't, you wouldn't be here. If you really don't care, feel free to leave now and do something more productive. Popping zits or memorizing Bush's last State of the Union address come to mind as possible alternatives. ]
A couple of weeks ago--the day after the Evolution Tango performances at the Latino Cultural Center--I had the good fortune to begin a wonderful vacation in Indonesia. En route I was stranded in the Singapore airport for 7 hours, where--in between sleeping on a nice, comfy sofa and filing a missing luggage report--I took the opportunity to write a short post to this blog wherein I described my excitement regarding my journey and reported that the aforementioned performances had been exceedingly successful. I also happened to deride two members of the community by name, and to berate an unnamed group of their "old-school, lame-ass, aesthetically-challenged" ilk. Sadly, I wasn't specific about who was included in "their ilk," and once again a pseudoLatino shitstorm has come into being--with all sorts of people believing themselves part of the old-school, lame-ass crowd.
This was not my intention.
Nonetheless, a veritable landslide of phonecalls and emails were set in motion, many of which have entered my awareness in second- or third-hand paraphrased form (strangely, the only folks with enough backbone to contact me directly have been people to whom I was not referring). Before I make my intentions . . . ummmm . . . VERY clear, I want to dispel one ridiculous idea that seems to be common throughout the responses to my remarks: nothing I have had to say has ANYTHING WHATSOEVER to do with my opinions of myself as a dancer or with the success of the Evolution Tango show "going to my head." That show was the brainchild of George and Jairelbhi Furlong, whose phenomenal performances and tireless hard work and enthusiasm were the foundation of its success. Their talent and charisma were the reasons that show was successful; they alone are the reason why Evolution Tango is fated to succeed wildly; the rest of us--no matter what our contributions may be--are expendable. I do not think I'm god's gift to dance, and nothing I have written, anywhere, indicates anything of that sort. Of course, you all know this already because you will realize that I have written numerous truly caustic posts about the Dallas tango scene that predate this show by nearly two years . . . from a time when I was taking my very first tango steps ever.
Anyway . . . my comments didn't derive from arrogance, or megalomania, or some self-congratulatory, epiphanic evaluation of my dancing abilities. If you think so, you really don't know me very well (a distinct possibility for many of you). So, what was the intention behind my remarks? Who are these "old-school, lame-ass, aesthetically-challenged" people and why am I wasting my time attacking them pseudo-publicly? What prompted me to toss off these inflammatory words in the first place, when I had been silent about DFW tango for quite some time?
First things first. My main concern is that I be clear about those to whom I am, and am not, referring. I am certainly NOT referring to Karen or Larry Hallman, or the adorable Giuditta "Judge Judy" Prister--for whom I have great affection and whom I have admired and held in awe since the very first evening upon which we met. No way. There is nothing old-school or lame-ass about these people, and I'm sorry if they felt included. Mother Teresa? Well . . . she's definitely oooooooold, alright. But old-school? Lame? Aesthetically-challenged (her fondness for Ballroom notwithstanding)???? Not on your life, buster. Those who unquestionably DO deserve the title of old-school lame-ass are our dearly beloved Rocky and his sidekicks the Bullwinkles (Darryl Gaston & Phyllis Williams), Laurie "Please Come To My Milonga!" Vega, and, of course, the inimitable and pricelessly amusing Jeramy "Anal" Bede. I would love to include Henk and Beatriz Zijderveld in this group, but they have been so utterly invisible within this community for so long--attending precisely zero milongas (except, interestingly enough, the Color Tango milonga . . . where they could strut their unremarkable stuff for a captive audience) and contributing in recent years precisely nothing of note (no students, no events, no nuthin')--that to include them would actually be an insult to the others in this list.
Actually, I take that back. Henk and Beatriz are absolutely worthy of inclusion, because they perfectly embody one of the main characteristics I ascribe to those on this "old school" list: a sense of entitlement. "I did a LOT for the community 10 years ago! And even though my current actions are destructive to that community and people avoid my classes like they avoid public toilets in Shanghai, you will RESPECT me dammit! I earned it back in my GLORY DAYS! GODDAMMIT! RESPECT ME OR ELSE!!! please . . . ? Respect Me? Respect me, . . . or I'll cry??"
This is typical grade-school logic, and worthy of all those on my list . . . but I digress.
The next thing to be answered is "why?" Why did I feel compelled to post at all, and why such an inflammatory post? This one is easy. I produced the so-called "angry" portion of my post because Rocky and the Bullwinkles (specifically)--at the post-Evolution Tango milonga, on Saturday night, the 9th of September, 2006--earned the vitriol of everyone who actually gives a damn (as opposed to giving lip service to giving a damn) about the local tango community. Being one of those who actually gives a damn, they earned, and received, a tiny sample of my vitriol. How?
Simple.
First: I happened to be sitting about three chairs away from Mr. Balboa any time I wasn't dancing on that evening . . . and as such I had the distinct pleasure of overhearing him, incessantly, as is his ongoing, predictable, and totally annoying wont, complain loudly about virtually everything going on at the milonga. For instance, I learned that much of the music being played wasn't really tango, how most of the people there weren't dancing real tango, and how we should really be dancing to even more obscure, crappy recordings than those through which we were already suffering at the hands of the unbelievably knowledgeable yet thoroughly unimaginative DJ Steve Brown (not exactly one of the lame-ass old-schoolers, but not completely innocent of their crimes of rigid dogmatism, either). Those of you who know Rocky know that this is his modus operandi at just about every event he attends. Considering this particular milonga was held in honor of a group of people who had been busting their asses for MONTHS to draw attention to a dance they love, and considering further that Rocky hadn't attended the show, offered congratulations, or even acknowledged that a show had taken place, I found it particularly pathetic that he had nothing better to do than piss all over someone else's parade.
Similarly the Bullwinkles. As you all know from years of experience, the only events--other than their own--that Phyllis and Darryl are guaranteed to attend are those where LOTS of people will be congregated so Phyllis can tell them how her "closest, dearest, most personal of friends" and "the greatest [pedagogue/dancer/performer/tanguero] in [North America/The Western Hemisphere/The World/The Milky Way Galaxy] has graciously consented to be in town on [fill in the date] to honor us with a truly one-of-a-kind and unspeakably elegant, eye-opening [master class/recital/presentation of tango profundity]." Although neither Phyllis nor Darryl could find time to attend the actual event being celebrated on this evening, they had NO trouble showing up immediately thereafter at the sure-to-be-well-attended post-concert event to ply their upcoming Florencia wares (not that their sales pitch was particularly effective, from what I hear of attendance at Florencia's workshop and milonga). This is, as we all know, par for the Bullwinkles' course. It also happens to be disingenuous and (one of the recurring themes here) duplicitous. To top this off, not only were they taking advantage of the fruits of my hard work, and the hard work and sacrifice of every member of the Evolution Tango cast and crew (most of whom are my friends, and all of whom have earned my sincere and lasting respect through their dedication, passion, and professionalism), they had the additional audacity to tell one of my fellow cast members, when he invited them, in advance, to come see the show, that they were not interested because they "had just returned from Buenos Aires" where they had seen "real tango."
Yeah.
Uh huh.
Riiiiiiight.
In any case, this was already enough to warrant a lengthy and scathing post of the sort my alter-ego has so much fun creating. But yet another event transpired on this evening which invited harsh words, and it's a good example of why these folks find themselves increasingly in the minority within our community. I was approached at one point during the evening by a newcomer to tango here in Dallas--a woman--who recognized me from that evening's performance and wanted to ask me some questions about the differences between Tango, Milonga, and Vals. After discussing these differences with her and a gentleman I assumed to be her partner (another newbie), I encouraged them to take the few steps they knew out onto the dancefloor and enjoy the music. They were shy, and told me they felt they didn't know enough. "Nonsense!" I said, and told them they could easily dance to ANY song with nothing in their repertoire but the ability to walk forward and step to the side. I told them this because . . . well . . . because it's true. Still they hesitated. So . . . I asked the woman if she'd like to dance, and we enjoyed a nice tanda of Tangos using nothing but the aforementioned basics. During our dance, she thanked me and told me that "most" of the accomplished dancers were not so willing to "waste" their time on a newbie. I asked her what in the world she was talking about . . . she looked over at Rocky and Darryl and told me she had asked one of them to dance--she declined to disambiguate for me which--and had been told "I'm sorry, but no. I don't want to embarrass either myself or you."
Hello?????
I couldn't believe my ears. I told her that neither of these two men were indicative of the community (most of us having removed the corks from our backsides long ago) and that the overwhelming majority of us--leaders and followers alike--remain grateful to those who were willing to dance with us when we didn't know shit from shinola, and that anyone who didn't want to be "embarrassed" dancing with her was a raging asshole who wasn't worth dancing with in the first place. (I should point out--just FYI--that she followed quite nicely and very musically).
Hell, even the Sorry Old Bede has more class and character than that.
If there is any attitude more unbelievably harmful, arrogant, and self-defeating than the one foisted upon this unsuspecting beginner, I can't imagine what it would be. But it did get me thinking even further about these "lame ass, old school, aesthetically-challenged hacks." I was forced to recall any number of milongas I attended where Rocky was present; milongas where I witnessed him, first-hand, patronizing dance partners who didn't know the "rules" as he sees them, and turning newcomers off to the whole idea of tango by chastising them when they failed to adhere to these rules. These newbies (and even some old-timers) had committed truly unpardonable sins like attempting to (*gasp!*) converse with him while dancing (only Rocky, who has received the Stone Tablets of Tango Etiquette from the Burning Bush on Mt. Buenos Aires, gets to determine when, where, and how social interaction can happen on HIS dancefloor by god), or moving towards the embrace too soon at the beginning of a song (Buenos Aires Dogma, aka BAD, dictates that one spend at least the first 30 seconds of a song standing still in the middle of everyone else's line of dance, with one's hands in one's pockets, getting all the small talk out of the way so one can dance in silence for the subsequent 2.5 minutes of the obligatory 3 minute, scratch-ridden, monaural ditty). I know that these things have happened, repeatedly, because they've happened to my friends and acquaintances--some of whom were relatively new to Tango at the time and who abandoned Tango, deciding that they had better ways to spend their limited social time than being condescended to by a grumpy, eternally dissatisfied, unfriendly man.
Who can blame them?
I suppose that since I've mentioned her, I must also say a brief word about Ms. Laurie Vega. My main complaint about Elle Vee is that she's duplicitous and disingenuous in the same manner as the Bullwinkles: if she wants something from you (most commonly attendance at one of her Dead Mariposa Milongas, or perhaps she'd like you to purchase some custom dance shoes), she's as nice as she can be. If she doesn't want anything from you, you'll be lucky if she acknowledges your presence. Most of you will know without further explication exactly whereof I speak. But here I must return once again to the topic upon which I focused in my very first harshly critical post ("Enough is Enough"): if you're going to present yourself as a dance instructor, you'd goddamned well better be able to do that dance . . . which requires, in every possible scenario and at a bare minimum, an ability to dance to the beat of the music. Laurie can't. My first recollection of her was at the Anal Bede's Beginner's Xmas Milonga in 2004 (December 3rd, to be exact) . . . dancing freestyle to some pop tune with one of her "pet" students (always males, by the way . . . hmmmmm) so horribly that several of my fellow newbies were stifling outright guffaws. When we found out she was an instructor, we were dumbfounded. I don't care how many times she's been to Buenos Aires, or how many partners she's hired to make her look passable at various events (this past TangoThon, for instance--where her performance was almost watchable due to some mercenary Tanguero who--no matter how much he was paid--didn't get as much as he deserved), she hasn't a musical bone in her body, and has no business teaching any dance-related skill to anyone whatsoever. I believe that I used the word "palsied" when I mentioned her in some previous post . . . and, well, sometimes when you find the right word, you just know it's the right word. But I won't go down that road right now . . . I'm Clark Kent . . . remember?
This of course leaves me with my favorite person of all, Jeramy "Anal" Bede. The truth is that I only mentioned Jeramy in my "old school" post because he's so easy to rile up, and it's fun to watch him run around behind the scenes, pretending to be The Good Guy and The Wronged Party in pursuit of his passive-aggressive wet dream: regaining his lost relevance, fading respect, and dying business by getting other people to pity him and manipulating other people to take the actions he is neither courageous nor morally substantive enough to take on his own. I freely admit that it is endlessly amusing to me that a man who has a certain . . . ummmm . . . "predilection" for his female students, and who is presenting himself and our beloved dance, the Argentine Tango, as a cheap, trite, sexual caricature or itself (as his photo, taken from this site, demonstrates), should sincerely believe himself to walk upon some moral high ground within the community. I also freely admit that I find him contemptible for using my posts and my actions as a pretext to turn members of the community against "the Furlongs"--my friends George and Jairelbhi (who have NO control over anything I say in these posts, in person, or elsewhere).
And I continue to find it a little funny that many of you, these "other people," fall for it: hook, line, and sinker.
So my dear friends, acquaintances, honorable enemies et al: feel free to condemn me and my big, profane, hair-trigger mouth all you want, and continue--if you must, and if it makes you feel better--making illogical, unsubstantiated, and indefensible claims regarding the imagined damage I have theoretically done (or am doing) to this community. But (there's always a but, eh?) . . . remember that you've NEVER heard me reprimand anyone at a milonga for breaking non-existent, out-moded, meaningless rules, or seen me sitting in a corner, shaking my head in open disgust, refusing to dance to songs of which I don't approve with a look on my face like I'm being forced to eat the watery, diseased feces of a rabid camel. You've NEVER overheard me complaining about how there's just no one in attendance worth dancing with, or about how everything at the milonga is just plain wrong and bad, or whatever else has me pissed off at the universe on that particular evening. You've neither seen nor heard of me refusing to dance with someone inexperienced (or even just plain irredeemably bad) because I'm afraid to embarrass myself or them. You've never had me kiss you on the cheek and feign friendship one day, only to avoid you or refuse to acknowledge you the next (after I got whatever it is I wanted on that particular occasion). And you've certainly not heard of me seducing my students under my significant other's nose.
Nope. You haven't.
So . . . you'll have to excuse me (or not) if the success of the Evolution Tango show--which represents just about everything that the aforementioned old-school lame-asses openly deride--makes me chortle aloud insofar as it demonstrates the further marginalization of their prescriptive, joyless and bitter ideas about how tango--in DFW or BA or anywhere else--"ought" to be. Given my personal views, Evolution Tango was a major victory for an all-inclusive, open-minded yet nonetheless highly-disciplined approach to tango. The Evolution Tango shows demonstrated that tango could be overtly fun and playful, that it can encompass the new AND the old, that it might just have some life left in its atrophied cultural limbs. And since I had just been subjected to a particularly poignant edition of Rocky and the Bullwinkles' ever-present, sourpuss grousing at the post-performance milonga on saturday, September 9th, I felt the urge--when reflecting upon the success of those performances--to point out that their negativist, dogmatic bullshit had taken yet another huge whack on the head.
Because . . . well . . . it had.
And a whack on the head is what they've been begging for since I first became aware of this community nearly two years ago . . . watching them, before my very eyes, becoming more and more embittered as their stranglehold on the aesthetic direction of a community to which they had ceased to meaningfully contribute became weaker and weaker. Their attitudes and actions, no matter what their past contributions may have been, are self-marginalizing. They're on their way out. It isn't just Jeramy Bede who has had to deal with lost relevance, fading respect, and dying business; all of these old-schoolers face a choice: evolve or fade away. Personally, I don't care which they choose, but the days of a tiny little tango community that worships everything they do are long gone, and are never coming back. We all know it. There are other people on the scene who have better attitudes, who dance better, and who are willing to do whatever it takes to bring about a change and to bring Argentine Tango to a larger audience (all of that without compromising the things which make that dance so wonderfully unique and beautiful in the first place).
Before I leave you all to your schadenfreude, anti-jim machinations, and generally gossip-happy ways, I want to make sure you understand what I mean when I say that I flat out rejoice in the marginalization of these old-school folks. I do NOT mean that we shouldn't dance to older Tango classics (though I do mean that we should quit playing the old, unlistenably bad recordings that the old-schoolers so illogically and counter-productively adore); I do NOT mean that we shouldn't be teaching, learning, and incorporating traditional forms of tango into our own repertoires (I'd give anything to be able to dance Milonga like the Bullwinkles, for instance, although I'd rather not have the constipated and surly look that Darryl has plastered onto his visage at all times); I do NOT mean that there isn't--or shouldn't be--room in the community for any and every conceivable style of tango; I do NOT mean that everyone over the age of 40 needs to be put out to pasture (being 42 myself, that'd be a really stupid position to take, no?). What I DO want to point out is that the negativist, prescriptive, tradition-for-tradition's-sake approach to tango is a large part of what makes Tango a dying culture everywhere in the world outside of Buenos Aires; I DO want to point out that this attitude is the reason we have serious trouble attracting new, younger dancers to our community and even more difficulty keepng the few that happen along from time to time; I DO want to acknowledge how utterly pathetic the sense of entitlement is in people whose contributions lie many years behind them and who expend a great deal of energy bad-mouthing (behind their backs, naturally) those who are actually making a difference.
Some people, in response to my post, have complained that we should celebrate our differences. To this I say "no shit? Really???" I mean, duh. C'mon. I couldn't agree more, and I do celebrate them. I've nowhere complained about these differences, rather I have complained about people who expend their energy complaining about what is and isn't tango and put a damper on everything that doesn't fit their silly, worshipful, and ultimately arbitrary definitions; I have decried the extremely amateurish (at best) abilities of some people who set themselves up as teachers and, by virtue of that fact, as representatives of tango; I have complained about people who alienate newcomers and veterans alike with their dogma and their unfounded, self-righteous negativity . . . and I have ridiculed all of them regardless of their perceived (or, still worse, petulantly demanded) status within our community. And I will continue to do so.
These are the facts, friends. This is the position I have taken and expounded upon from Day One. The proof is here on the blog for everyone to see. If you believe that unearned respect and superficial ass-kissing are your inalienable rights as members of the human race, well . . . you'll never make a well-reasoned, logical case for such a position . . . and you'll do well to permanently write me off.
Hell . . . we can happily make it mutual. Whaddaya say? Don't worry. It's ok. I'll have no problem sleeping at night if you do so.
If, on the other hand, you value stylistic and philosophical differences of opinion as strongly as you value stylistic and philosophical differences amongst dancers on the dancefloor, AND you think it is important to make our community more vibrant and attractive to a newer generation, then we'll get along just fine. Now and forever.
Thank you for your time, attention, and consideration,
Sincerely,
james w. bennett iii
aka The PseudoLatino (who is heading back to the phonebooth even as he types these lines)
ps
Regarding the Anal Bede's Hedonism1.com activities and photo: I fully support Jeramy's right to engage in any consensual sexual activities he can con someone into sharing with him. I honestly (in all seriousness here) think that's a perfectly respectable thing to do. We live in a ridiculously repressed society which has great trouble coming to terms with its sexual urges. Even Yours Truly enjoys a bit of the "alternative" from time to time--my personal preference is for Barely Legal, Cross-Dressing Avocados, fresh out of the microwave. To that end I recently purchased a lifetime membership to http://www.rawVeggieSex.com (Yummy!) where I spend most of my time in the Post-Op Avocado seeks Open-minded Male section. So . . . no problems there. I just find it a wee tad funny when I try to reconcile his aging swinger proclivities with the "Jim's posts make me look unprofessional" whining that he perpetrates upon the general community. "Hmmmm . . . let's see . . . what makes me look more unprofessional? The wild rantings of a foul-mouthed doofus whom no-one really knows or cares about, or actual online photos from my group sex getaway vacation?"
*hoot!*
Posted by earwicker at 03:11 PM | Comments (9)
Note on Comments
On the offchance that anyone wants to comment upon/reply to the Rocky & The Bullwinkles post, a couple of notes:
(1) I'll post all comments that aren't simply "Fuck you, Asshole" (Although you're welcome to SAY "Fuck you, Asshole," if there's more to it than JUST that). No exceptions, no editing, no nothing.
(2) If you DO post, I can only see the comments and approve them when I'm at work (no internet access at home), so don't think I've censored you. I'll get to it promptly.
Thanks,
---clark kent aka jwb3 aka Yours Truly, The PseudoLatino
Posted by earwicker at 04:47 PM
PseudoGeek goes to Tijuana
In which Yours Truly gets some much needed downtime, throws away a great deal of CRAP--finally, learns why software sucks, remembers why it's a baaaaaaad idea to smoke, and revists a local dance culture from which He and His Tangoid compatriots could learn so much (and is overjoyed to once again see His favorite Lesbian Rodent)...
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The habit of writing to this blog, even semi-regularly, has long since escaped this intrepid Salsa Pretender . . . but from time to time--this evening being amongst them--the urge is strong and some ingrained impulse, however weak, awakens to drive Him--which is to say Me--onward. I have just returned from the Tijuana Bar & Grill, which is the new Sunday evening home of my favorite dance and its most flamboyant and talented avatar, Ratbastardo. My last few forays into Sunday evening Salsa had been less than satisfying, with Ramiro moving from one Monica's to the other as Monica (neé Eduardo) vacillated in her attempt to sustain a decade-long commitment to Ramiro and the Salsa community. The crowd had dwindled mightily since the dawn of Yours Truly's Salsa Consciousness; uncertainty rendering impotent one of Dallas' most reliable dance evenings (keep in mind, Dear Reader, that Monica's Salsa evenings had even survived the likes of the Anal Bede unscathed!; must've been those salseros' "lack of discipline" that saved 'em, eh?). The sunday evening institution, as far as Monica's was concerned, was finally laid to rest a few short months ago. The ever resourceful Ratbastardo, thankfully, was able to procure a new home for his after-class practice session and the PseudoLatino--rusty and timid though he may be in all matters Salsic--was finally awake and motivated enough to drag his sorry ass out of PseudoLatino World HQ long enough to check out the new digs.
As mentioned, Our Favorite Rodent has taken up shop at the Tijuana Bar & Grill (4900 McKinney Ave, Dallas, TX 75025--basically at the northwest corner of North Central Expressway and Monticello ). Though Tijuana doesn't have a dedicated dancefloor as such, its tiled, smooth surface is far better than the sticky concrete at Monica's (either one), there is plenty of room to dance, and the layout is functional, though it demands one's attention when attempting to transverse the establishment when the dancefloor is full. I have been absent from the scene for sooooo long now that the majority of the faces where unfamiliar, though there were a great many talented dancers amongst the new faces. Quite a few of the old-timers were also on hand, which warmed my otherwise frigid and inhuman heart.
So . . . anyhoot . . . I arrived sometime around 9:45pm, only to be greeted most heartily by Ratbastardo. Señor Salsa informed me, much to my surprise, that he was most amused by my recent posting regarding the Anal Bede. My surprise centered not so much upon his amusement (which I not-so-humbly believe should be shared by anyone who knows of and honestly evaluates the ongoing foibles of Tango's resident Used Car Casanova) as upon his up-to-date knowledge of pseudolatino.com's content and activities. And here I was under the impression that I was writing a quiet-yet-opinionated personal journal which had--at most--gathered the undesired attention of a tango community longing for a bit of controversy! Oh well. I guess it's a good thing that I've been honest in my writing from Day One, and that I'm prepared to use The Force for Good, and never for Evil (no need to thank me . . . really). Jeramy Bede's indiscretions and incompetence aside, I was amazed and excited by the new Sunday Night Thing. The atmosphere when I arrived was a cross between Good Olde Monica's and the Tuesday night jam sessions at La Esperanza: people were dancing to REALLY good tunes (I don't know who the DJ was, but hats off, dood); the ambiance was warm and comfortable; everyone was completely laid back and relaxed; the couples on the dancefllor were experimenting with new combinations--helping one another out when things got complicated. From the time I arrived to the time I left (around 11:30pm), there was an uninterrupted stream of contemporary tunes (helLLLLLOOOOO tangueros! PLEASE get this message!)--all of which were Salsa, and people were streaming in by the dozens.
It was guh-REAAAAT! (Go ahead, mutant, make fun of my unabashed expressions of enthusiasm. You know you miss it! Hah!)
It took me a while to get up the nerve to dance, but the presence of the inimitable Alice helped me over the hump. I'm afraid I was extremely rusty, but didn't do too bad. As ever, I was able to nail the rhythm and harness the energy of the music no matter how badly I sucked in virtually every other way. Thank the Holy Vagina for small favors!! With a few return visits, I should at least be back in the game . . . no matter how far behind. In addition, I discussed group classes and a return to private lessons with Ratbastardo, and contented myself with his willingness to have me back. Yeah, yeah, I know: he'd be willing to have me back no matter what--so long as I fork over the requisite dough. Still. The guy is an amazing teacher and incredible dancer . . . I'm honored to be able to work with him, whether he makes fun of me behind my back for sucking ASS or not. If you've worked with him, you know what I mean. If not . . . your loss.
I was also reminded, for the umpteenth time, that the Tango community has an unbelievable amount to learn from the Salsa crowd: about venues, repertoire, and attitude . . . for starters. This is what I really needed tonight, folks, and I state herein my intention to make Ramiro's intermediate and advanced Salsa classes and the Tijuana aftermath into my Sunday Evening Religion.
The little mythological dood on his little pair of crossed sticks? Nah . . . I'll take Ratbastardo and the local Salsero community as my saviours over that guy any day.
Amen.
. . .
Some of you may wonder why it is that Yours Truly finally managed to drag his sorry ass back onto the Salsic dancefloor, after all this time. The reason is that, despite the amazing beauty of this weekend's weather, Your Fearless Leader was thwarted in his usual saturday routine (get up early, drive to Whitewright, skydive until sunset) by unexpectedly high winds. I drove all the way to the Great White(wright) North first thing Saturday morn, only to be confronted with 25mph+ winds. Even if my own gear were finally assembled and within reach of my grubby little paws I wouldn't have jumped in that weather (23mph is my self-imposed max given my current canopy size: 190 square feet). As it stood, I had to rent gear, and Skydive Dallas doesn't allow licensed skydivers to use rental gear in winds above 22mph. Oh well. Somehow I wasn't overly disappointed, and returned home to spend the weekend cleaning, reading (short stories are my current obsession), and making plans for the interior of my loft.
Saturday evening saw the disposal of a large number of items that have been taking up space within PseudoLatino World HQ for YEARS without providing any counter-balancing benefits. Good riddance, I say.
As far as my reading goes, I read a couple of short stories from The Best American Short Stories 2004 and a how to book about writing Short Stories (yet another activity that has been vying for my already jam-packed attention). The book I spent the most time perusing, however, was David S. Platt's Why Software Sucks . . . and what you can do about it. Being an IT professional myself (a software engineer/architect, if you must know), I've long been interested in discussions of usability and interface design. Platt's book is a raucous (in true PseudoLatino fashion, actually) look at how and why most software stands at an infinite distance from the actual needs of its users, and it makes no bones about ripping to shreds those pieces of software that best exhibit stupidity, ignorance, and blatant disregard for That Which Makes Sense To The User. It's a funny book.
. . .
Final note: my main activity these days seems to be inhaling smoke from cigarettes. I do it at work, between skydives, during breaks at dance rehearsals, and anytime I'm behind the wheel of an automobile. It's a nasty and horribly unhealthy habit. Today, as yet another benefit of my skydive- and rehearsal-free weekend, I put my bike on the car and drove out to the area where I am employed doing the aforementioned IT work. I rode the bike--in crisp, uncharacteristically cold air and brisk winds--just over 14 miles. My body fared reasonably well. My lungs less so.
Smoking is a baaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaad idea, folks.
Really.
And that'll do it for today. Hope you're all well and feeling the LUV.
Your,
---PseudoLatino
Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM | Comments (0)
Ten Long Miles
In a shocking display of pseudo-athleticism, Your Shaft Cranking Bastion of Pulmonary Catharsis slams out 10 miles on his beautiful Trek 5200 Steed in just over 30 minutes. Not bad for an old fart with a proclivity for unfiltered, hand-rolled cigs whose physical activity over the last 7 months has included little but skydiving (gravity does most of the work, folks), tango (not a very demanding dance in an aerobic sense, folks), and crazed group sex with the Olsen twins (no comment, folks . . . except to say I was compelled to do it; they forced me; they were armed).
May the Force and Her Furby be with You,
---you know who
Posted by earwicker at 07:40 PM
Against the Day
For those of you out there in possession both of a mind and the nagging inclination to put it to use, I hereby declare for your most intensely badass delectation the pending arrival of yet another book by the greatest living author working in the english language today (and yesterday, too), Sir Thomas Cant-Find-The-Ruggly-Mofo Pynchon.
That book is entitled "Against the Day" and you WILL rush out to buy it when it becomes available, which, according to online sources, will be November 21st of this Now More Wonderful Year.
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The description of the new book found on Amazon.com sounded strangely familiar to me as I was reading it. And then I got to the end thereof and realized that (and this, folks, is fucking BRILLIANT on the part of Amazon) it had actually been written by TRP himself. Amazon is indeed capable of true rockage from time to time.
Spanning the period between the Chicago World's Fair of 1893 and the years just after World War I, this novel moves from the labor troubles in Colorado to turn-of-the-century New York, to London and Gottingen, Venice and Vienna, the Balkans, Central Asia, Siberia at the time of the mysterious Tunguska Event, Mexico during the Revolution, postwar Paris, silent-era Hollywood, and one or two places not strictly speaking on the map at all.
With a worldwide disaster looming just a few years ahead, it is a time of unrestrained corporate greed, false religiosity, moronic fecklessness, and evil intent in high places. No reference to the present day is intended or should be inferred.The sizable cast of characters includes anarchists, balloonists, gamblers, corporate tycoons, drug enthusiasts, innocents and decadents, mathematicians, mad scientists, shamans, psychics, and stage magicians, spies, detectives, adventuresses, and hired guns. There are cameo appearances by Nikola Tesla, Bela Lugosi, and Groucho Marx.
As an era of certainty comes crashing down around their ears and an unpredictable future commences, these folks are mostly just trying to pursue their lives. Sometimes they manage to catch up; sometimes it's their lives that pursue them.
Meanwhile, the author is up to his usual business. Characters stop what they're doing to sing what are for the most part stupid songs. Strange sexual practices take place. Obscure languages are spoken, not always idiomatically. Contrary-to-the-fact occurrences occur. If it is not the world, it is what the world might be with a minor adjustment or two. According to some, this is one of the main purposes of fiction.
Let the reader decide, let the reader beware. Good luck.
--Thomas Pynchon
A brief excerpt from the book (also found on Amazon):
Back in 1899, not long after the terrible cyclone that year which devastated the town, Young Willis Turnstone, freshly credentialed from the American School of Osteopathy, had set out westward from Kirksville, Missouri, with a small grip holding a change of personal linen, an extra shirt, a note of encouragement from Dr. A. T. Still, and an antiquated Colt in whose use he was far from practiced, arriving at length in Colorado, where one day riding across the Uncompahgre plateau he was set upon by a small band of pistoleros. "Hold it right there, Miss, let's have a look at what's in that attractive valise o'yours."
"Not much," said Willis.
"Hey, what's this? Packing some iron here! Well, well, never let it be said Jimmy Drop and his gang denied a tender soul a fair shake now, little lady, you just grab ahold of your great big pistol and we'll get to it, shall we." The others had cleared a space which Willis and Jimmy now found themselves alone at either end of, in classic throwdown posture. "Go on ahead, don't be shy, I'll give you ten seconds gratis, 'fore I draw. Promise." Too dazed to share entirely the gang's spirit of innocent fun, Willis slowly and inexpertly raised his revolver, trying to aim it as straight as a shaking pair of hands would allow. After a fair count of ten, true to his word and fast as a snake, Jimmy went for his own weapon, had it halfway up to working level before abruptly coming to a dead stop, frozen into an ungainly crouch. "Oh, pshaw!" the badman screamed, or words to that effect.
"Ay! Jefe, jefe," cried his lieutenant Alfonsito, "tell us it ain' your back again."
"Damned idiot, o' course it's my back. Oh mother of all misfortune--and worst than last time too."
"I can fix that," offered Willis.
"Beg your pardon, what in hell business of any got-damn punkinroller'd this be, again?"
"I know how to loosen that up for you. Trust me, I'm an osteopath."
"It's O.K., we're open-minded, couple boys in the outfit are evangelicals, just watch where you're putting them lilywhites now--yaaagghh--I mean, huh?"
"Feel better?"
"Holy Toledo," straightening up, carefully but pain-free.
"Why, it's a miracle."
"Gracias a Dios!" screamed the dutiful Alfonsito.
"Obliged," Jimmy guessed, sliding his pistol back in its holster.
I'm under the impression that the excerpt came from this press release from Penguin.
Enjoy, and don't say I never gave ya nuttin'
Your,
---pseudoLatino
Posted by earwicker at 08:07 PM