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Way Big Big Ways, Day 1

Way Big Big Ways, Day 1

Your Heroic PseudoLatino--He through Whom you live your lives so vicariously and so well--had a fantastic day plummeting through the clear blue skies of Brazoria County, Texas. Despite a late start due to fog thicker than Ugly Betty's eyebrows, The Skydive Spaceland Big Way Skills Camp was action-packed, demanding, exhausting and, all-in-all, an incredibly rewarding experience. We got in six of the 7 scheduled jumps, which--in my case--were all 20-ways.

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I started the day as second-row diver (10), was shuffled to mid-diver (13), late diver (16) and eventually to a spot in the base (4). Two dives in each spot. All successful. . . meaning that I was in my slot, didn't take out anyone else in the formation, and did an adequate job, or better. Not all of the dives completed, but none of the non-completions was a result of my actions, either direct or indirect . . . which is a good thing. More to the point: even when I was late diving and flying a slot on the outside edge of the formation, I NEVER WENT LOW. Going low is a truly shitty feeling, the magnitude of said shittiness being directly proportional to the number of people on the dive, each of whom is looking down upon the low-goer from a cosy slot and thinking, variously "ooooo poor sucker" or "fuck I'm glad that's not me" or "what a total bonehead loser" or some inarticulable combination of the three.

Imagine 15 people (each of whom has paid $20+ to be on the dive) looking at YOU with those thoughts. Not nice, eh? 20 people? Now imagine 44. Perhaps 150? You can see that the situation might perhaps be undesirable. My own personal maximum in this regard is going low on a 32-way and taking two additional skydivers out with me. A $640 dive involving 32 divers, 2 airplanes, 3-5 packers, 2 pilots, and an hour or more of planning by two Load Organizers . . . and all of it basically shit the bed because Little Ol' Moi was unable to cut the mustard?

Have I mentioned that longevity in this sport requires one's ego to be a tad less than fragile?

This Big Way Camp is technically a "No Fault" event, which translates roughly to no matter how bad you suck, you won't get cut, although you might be forced to jump with a much smaller group of jumpers who suck as badly as you do. The idea is that we are encouraged to attempt things that lie squarely outside our comfort zones. This idea is juxtaposed with another, equally important: this is a rare opportunity to show some of the countries most influential load organizers what you can do. Which, if you push your limits and screw the pooch, isn't a whole hell of a lot. I detect some cross purposes, here. On the other hand, those of us (yes, I include myself, though I'm a new arrival to the category) who have the talent to push ourselves and be successful in a variety of roles, actually do have the opportunity to make a lasting impression.

So far, so good. All my jumps today were with LOs (Load Organizers) with whom I have not previously jumped, and Kate Cooper is one of the biggies (formerly of Perris Valley, now residing primarily in Europe. Norway, I believe). My nicest moment of the entire day came on the last jump, when I was in the base with Kate, and took a totally SWEET dock on her less than 2 seconds out the door. Skydiving, you see, is all about the details. When you're part of the base, your opportunities to shine are less numerous and generally more subtle. This moment was all the more satisfying because I essentially told her I was going to do it before we ever got on the plane:

PseudoLatino: "Kate . . . do you have any objection to me taking a dock immediately out the door, provided I don't rush it and am in the correct position to do so?"
Kate: "Absolutely not. If your exit is solid, feel free to take the opportunity."

Sixteen minutes and 2 seconds later, I had the dock. Rock solid, but soft as a baby's bottom.

Anyhoot . . . I'm exhausted (insomnia last night) and really want to get some sleep, so I can't be as thorough as I'd otherwise prefer. Just know that it was a great day, and that tomorrow promises to be even more amazing. We're starting with 25-ways, launched from THREE different planes (10+10+5). I'm starting the day as a second-row diver on the Lead Otter. 8am sharp. So I've gotta go.

Hope you're all having as great a time as . . .

Your All-knowing Bud,

---the PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Way Big Big Ways, Part 2

For the second day in a row, Your Enterprising, Young, and Handsome Hooligan dove headlong from various aircraft as part of the Skydive Spaceland Big Way Skills Camp. Today's lineup consisted of seven jumps: 4 25-ways and 3 (drum roll please) 50 ways. All seven dives were executed as 3-plane formation loads, and the PseudoLatino once again got to take a good look at numerous slots. He spent 2 jumps in the base of the formation, 2 jumps as a second wave Zipper, and 3 jumps as a third wave Whacker Anchor. And of course ALL of you know exactly what the Base, a Zipper and a Whacker Anchor are, right?

Right.

Also for the second day in a row, Your Hero kicked ass and took names, despite taking things a bit low on several occasions (deployment altitude for my break-off waves tended to be 2500 feet---aka 13 seconds to impact) . . . "a bit low" here indicating that I wasn't actually sitting underneath a fully-inflated canopy until 1400 feet (aka 8 seconds to impact), which is 400 feet below my "hard deck," aka the altitude at which I have to make a decision as to whether the current canopy can be safely landed or needs to be cut away.

The 50-ways, in particular, were a total kick in the pants for Monsieur Moi. Although this is NOT our skydive, here's a youtube video of another 50-way to give you an idea what it looks like to have that many people in the air at once, pouring out of 3 different airplanes.

I can't begin to express to you just how amazing this sport is.

Ciao,

---the PL

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Big Way Wrap-up

Sadly, there were no available slots for Saturday and Sunday'ss Texas 44s Event, so Gravity's Gadfly, which is to say Yours Truly, was unable to participate (though I swear to you that my performance the past two days would have given me a very good chance at any slots that might have opened up). Nevertheless, I managed to do two 14-way formation loads (two planes) in the morning and then spend the afternoon hob-nobbing with the Matriarch of PseudoLatinodom.

All in all a fantastic close to a really beautiful and exciting weekend down at Skydive Spaceland.

Next on the agenda? Drive back to Dallas, grab a few hours of sleep and head back to the PseudoLatino's home away from home, Skydive Dallas, for some relaxing Sunday jumps.

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

The Perfect Ending

No guys . . . I did not say "Happy" Ending. I said Perfect Ending. Your Flight Knight just returned to the PseudoLatino World HQ from a most excellent day diving the skies of North Central Texas. Another Eight FreeFalls richer, my day ran the gamut from an ad hoc 4-way Early Bird free-for-all to a nicely executed O,K,N,G with 3/4ths of my as-yet-unnamed 2008 Nationals team. We also ran through a B,7,L, an E,15,Q and a D,21,H.

Yeah, yeah. I'd be jealous, too, if I hadn't already been there.

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The winds were a little bothersome first thing in the morning, and resulted in a bad spot which found me a quarter mile off the drop zone having to make small talk with La Femme Nikkita--our resident alcoholic nudist mud-wrestler bimbo. You know what I mean by "small talk," right? Our unrestrainedly clever diepnosophistic repartee was rife with such immortal linguistic bon mots as would make Herr Joyce kelly green with envy. Let's eavesdrop for but a moment:

la femme: "like, how are we, y'know, gonna, like, get, like, over the bobbed wire fence?!"

el hombre: "you mean the barbed wire fence?"

la femme: "well, like, you say tomahtoe and I, like, say tomaytoe, like, y'know, with the 'e' and everything. Get it??" *vapid giggle*

el hombre: "With the 'e?!' Dan Quayle would be soooooo proud"

la femme: "Quayle? Why are you, like, talking about, like, y'know, birds and shit? It's hot and, like, dirty in this field, y'know! I need to get back so I can do jump 69 with my sweetie poops!"

el hombre: "Which Sweetie Poops? You seem to have several? Now . . . can you please just daisy chain your lines and let's climb the fence?"

la femme: "Daisy Chain? What's that? I don't, like, see any flowers. But . . . have you, like, ever, y'know, like seen me run, like, naked through the hangar?!?"

el hombre: *begins sobbing*

As you can clearly see, I was--as anyone could not help but to be--captivated by this stimulating conversational deathspasm. I prayed for a quick death, perhaps by having long skewers inserted into my eardrums so that I could die in blissful silence. But instead of death, I got a golf cart . . . as someone else from our flight finally came to rescue us me from our long walk her insipid thought-vomit.

Thank goodness for small favors.

The rest of the day was characterized by gorgeous weather, good spots, and challenging skydives with good friends. There was even a nice mexican dinner and some margaritas to cap it off.

Final tally for the last 4 days: 22 jumps, peace, love, and understanding.

Time to return to the real world.

Your,

---PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Way Big PseudoLatino.com

I'm sorry to give you a multi-post Sunday, Dear Readers, but I have to share with you the true JOY of having one's website equipped with software to track visits, unique pageloads, visitor locations, referring websites, and many other interesting statistics. At the instigation of Ginger (of Fred and Ginger fame), Your Holiness empowered His WebGospel with a free traffic tracker from StatCounter. And what a revelation!

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Did you know for instance that PseudoLatino.com received a visit just last friday from Hyderabad, India, from someone who had searched Google for "chimpanzee-mating" and clicked on the THIRD LINK on the first page of the search results?!?!? That would be the post entitled "The Pseudo Latino: Zip Your Fly, Stupid White Guy."

How 'bout my visitor from Lombard, Illinois, who searched Ask.com for "I tunes latino randy" and felt compelled to click on "The Pseudo Latino: They Hate Randy Newman."

Even more inexplicable is the visitor from London, England, United Kingdom on Halloween evening, who did a google search for "groping grannies" and ended up, not inexplicably, at "The Pseudo Latino: Groping Granny," amusingly enough the first post where Yours Truly related the truly degenerative, art-killing behaviours of the Anal Bede. Even the BRITS are onto us!

Someone from the Washington, D.C. lawfirm of Patton Boggs, LLP paid me a visit last Thursday, apparently typing in the URL directly. Come 'n get me, scheister!

You've gotta admit . . . it's wayyyyyyy cool.

I also have received visits from Miami, Florida, Melbourne, Australia, and Davenport, Iowa in the last few days. StatCounter.com even creates a google map of all my visitor locations, which currently looks like this:

NYTimes Headlines for tomorrow: Going Global, the Pseudo Latino Represents--Word Up!

Ciao,

---the PL

Posted by earwicker at 12:00 AM

Fire Alarm

Alright friends . . . don't think I don't know what you're up to. This is a concerted effort to deny Your DiveMeister His much-needed beauty sleep, is it not?

Indeed.

A fire alarm was triggered at or about the witching hour at the PseudoLatino WorldHQ this fine evening. Had Your Treasured Tanguero not been pleasantly conversified during the interminable outdoor waiting period by His fantastically beautifully "bronzed" neighborette, the whole experience might have been substantially more irritating than it was.

He WAS conversified, however, whilst waiting for the slower-than-new-england-molasses fire department to arrive and check things out.

And life goes on.

---the PL

ps

There was, apparently, nothing flame-like at all to trigger the alarm. Perhaps it was those god-forsaken gremlins who keep stalking me, or--as I initially indicated--my fanatically loyal Readers, attempting to drive me out into public so they (you!) might obtain but a moment of time in my proximity.

Fear not, Beloved, I understand your needs.

*proffers ring for kissing*

Posted by earwicker at 12:24 AM

...like David Caruso's Career

And . . . just because: proof that David Caruso really IS the worst actor in our quadrant of the universe:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_sarYH0z948\

You've been warned.

---the PL

Posted by earwicker at 01:44 AM

Aural Sex

Although today was in many ways an all-over-the-place kind of day, I finished it off with a trip to a local institution of musical oddities and managed to get wayyyyyy lucky. Just goes to show you that it ain't over until it's over.

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Despite the sub-standardness of the majority of this day, Yours Truly braved the unexpected Texas "cold" this evening in order to snag a few CDs from Good Records. The aforementioned snaggage included, amongst other things which I will mention in due time, the new Sigur Rós double set, Hvart and Heim. I can't overstate how much their music has meant to me in the last 3 and a half years, and they just keep getting better. The new, live, more intimate versions of some of their Ágætis Byrjun-era lieder prove definitively that their songs stand on their own compositional merits--apart from the original, ultra-lush arrangements which could even make Dave Matthews sound as though he had a soul. However, caveat emptor: if one requires that one's music move quickly, this is not the band one should seek out. If, on the other hand, one likes, say, Mahler Adagios--symphonic exercises in emotional patience which take 20 minutes to take you from a barely-uttered point A to a world-enveloping point Z--then these guys should be first, second, third, and last on one's list of must-haves.

And then there's Múm's new go go smear the poison ivy, which just may be the most timbrally inventive album I have heard. Ever. And I've heard a lot of albums. More than you. No, really. I mean it. There are shockingly good moments on this album, which is far more vocal than their previous outings and somehow beautifully odd. Even when things don't quite work the way you'd like, they work. I highly recommend that you give it a listen. Now. RIGHT now. Immediately. Do not pause for reflection or consideration. Just go. Get it.

Do you think they put something special in the Icelandic water supply to create these musical mutants? I'm sometimes forced to wonder . . . .

I also picked up Efterklang's kinda new EP, Under Giant Trees. Although they have an actually and totally new LP called Parades, the Good Guys didn't have it yet. Bastards! But you can trust me on this one: the EP will more than tide you over until you can grab Parades, which, if it is even half as compelling as UGT, ought to knock your socks off.

I'm still trying to find mine.

Also on the list were Explosions in the Sky's those who tell the truth shall die/those who tell the truth shall live forever, Daniel Johnston's sadly hilarious Fun (which I'm finally replacing after it was stolen 7 years ago), Snapcase's disappointing bright flashes, and the enchanting I killed my best friend from Le Volume Courbe--which caught my ears' attention while I was shopping. I'm a sucker for breathy, quirky female vocalists . . . and this girl definitely qualifies. I'll let you know later how it turns out on repeated listenings.

Until then, please keep your mouths shut and your ears open (do as I say, not as I do).

Peace out,

---the PL

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

DFW's Fountain of Youth

With lots of other things on His mind, Yours Truly is gonna keep today's post short and sweet:

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DANCER X!!!

May your next 29 years be as wonderful as the first 29.

;-D

Naturally we'll (which is to say I'll) be seeing you this friday night at Stratos. Thank you for being such a steadfast friend, through thick and thin.

Your ardent Admirer,

---the PseudoLatino

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ps

One of my skydiver friends SWEARS he knows you from somewhere. Who knows? I told him that unless he's been spending lots of time at country dancing, speed-dating, topless bar, leather-fetish clubs he's probably not met you yet. I did assure him, however, that if he had not yet had the pleasure, that it was indeed his loss--and his alone.

XOXO, m'dear.

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Breast Buy

I don't suppose ANYONE out there would be interested in hearing the story of how Yours Truly, on this very evening, escorted the Bearded One--she of the infamous Ass of Death (this having various meanings, depending upon lactose intake and clothing choice)--to an "Adult Cabaret" at her request, watched her slam down a few buttery nipples and receive her very first girl-on-girl lapdance, which--if I recall, and I do--lasted FIVE SONGS?

Anyone?

That'd be one solid Benjamin's worth of uninterrupted lap dancing and the concomitant stories if I've got the math right . . . and I do.

Anyone interested at all?

Let me know.

---the PL

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Swinging Greek Rockstar

So . . . tonight Yours Truly returned for the first time in a couple of months to Dallas' happenin' Friday Night hotspot for Salsa, Stratos Greek Taverna. I arrived shortly after 7:00pm so I could enjoy a hearty repast with DancerX in belated celebration of her annual ascent into antiquity, catch up on some gossip, and giggle at all those poor, delusional zomboids who choose to dance . . . errrr . . . swing in the early, pre-Salsa hours of the evening.

Salsa. As in "Pseudo Latino: the Salsa Pretender."

But NooooOOOOOoooooo . . . .

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In the time since The Protector of All Cultural Worthiness was last in attendance, these swing dweebs have just gotten TOTALLY out of control. They were everywhere! Dozens of them! The little suckers had apparently been reproducing like cockroaches, overwhelming a once respectably pseudolatiny, greekish venue with their vile, subhuman, soda-cracker white kinetic tastelessness. And while some of my best friends are admittedly cockroaches, we're still talking about SWING here. It was as if I had driven out to the dropzone and found the hangar full of idiot GOLFERS, with their tacky fucking golf clothes and their inability to distinguish between a sport and a (totally lame) game.

On a normal evening, all this soulless, triple-stepping silliness drags its leaden ass off MY dancefloor around 9:00pm. Perhaps 9:30 on a day when the Pink Unicorn is pissed at me for some reason or another and wants me to suffer. Tonight was, sadly, no normal evening. There were SO many of these sludge-bots on the dancefloor tonight that they just kept pushing back the Salsic Switchover.

"We'll be spinning Salsa, Merengue, Cha-cha and Bachata for your dancing pleasure starting at 10 o'clock" sez the DJ.

Fine. I can hold out.

"Welcome to Stratos, Ladies and Gentlemen, we'll be spinning the hottest hits in Latin music starting at 10:30," he sez at 10 minutes to 10.

FUCKER!

Alright. For DancerX and a chance to churn out a few salsa moves, I'm willing to wait--despite my early morning skydiving practice session tomorrow. 10:30 it is.

"Hey all you Swingers out there . . . soak up the golden sounds of Marvin Gaye while you can, we'll be switching over to Salsa at 11 o'clock, with a free lesson by RatBastardo shortly thereafter!"

That announcement coming at 10:20pm. BASTARD!!!!

ELEVEN?!?!

Damnfuckshitpiss, as my friend Jackie used to say.

We just can't do that. Your Downtrodden WhippingBoy pays tab, dons jacket, hits road. Arriving home, pours a glass of w(h)ine, sits down, updates Dear Friends.

That'd be you, you big dorks.

Yet, as The Man sez, "Every cloud has a silver lining." (That's a total load of runny horseshit, but The Man sez it, so I'm repeating it, lemming-like--my argument-from-authority qua self justification). Tonight's Silver Lining? Well, aside from the obvious opportunity to engage in social intercourse with DancerX, The Salsa Pretender found out, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is, like, TOTALLY FAMOUS, dood!

Ok. Not famous. But two separate people approached Little Ol' Moi and asked, in their two separate ways, "Pardon me, but aren't you one of the dancers from that Tango show two weeks ago? Evolution Tango?"

"Uhhhhhh . . . yes . . . I was doing something on stage. Not sure that you'd call it dancing per se, but yeah, I was there."

"You guys were, like, REALLY amazing. EVERYONE in that show was beautiful to watch!"

Etc, etc.

I have to admit that though I think they were both drunk, slightly retarded, and clearly must have missed MY performance, it was a pretty nice feeling to get such glowing, unsolicited compliments from random strangers. One of whom was, well, the word "hot" springs to mind (of course, it turns out she's a friend of that SexGod guy Fray . . . lucky bastard).

It helped take away some of the sting of the swingroaches if nothing else.

Gotta hit the hay friends, Skydiving is gonna come bright and early in the A.M.

Your Devoted,

---Pseudo "Joe Hollywood" Latino

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

Dive and Dance

On this most spring-like of Winter days, Your Plummeting Purveyor of Pith basked mightily in the glow of his two fav-o-rite pastimes. Beginning early in the Ayy Emm, I made the customary trek out to Skydive Dallas for the onset of my weekend festivities: eight jumps in all. This is a significant amount during the winter months, when days are short and sunset comes so ridiculously early. The purpose of today's jumps was to start practicing some of the dive pool (note: block moves from this page do not display correctly on Firefox/Mozilla) with some of the members of my as-yet-incomplete 2008 USPA Nationals 4-way Intermediate team.

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To that end, we completed 5 jumps as a 4-way: H,E,N,K,C--O,12,Q,L--O,12,Q,L--18,E,1--18,E,1. The repetitions were to focus on correcting problems we had the first time through the harder dives. Lest anyone doubt me when I mention "problems," take a look at the first segment of the video of our first time through 18,E,1. In my/our defense, I should point out that this was NOT representative of most of our jumps, and the rest of the video should bear that out (aside from at least one funny brainlock, which fortunately was not--on this occasion--my own). The group was actually quite good, and we added a couple of other divers and did three 6-ways at the end of the day. The end of that same video has footage from the Sunset Dive on it, and I think you'll agree that it can be stunningly beautiful to be in the air at that time of day.

While most mere mortals would consider 8 challenging skydives a complete and rewarding day, Yours Truly was just getting started. As soon as I got my hot little buns back on terra firma, I packed up and headed to DFW for the monthly Sabor a Tango milonga at the new Tango and Cha-cha's. This required a brief stop at the PseudoLatino World HQ in order to freshen up (read "wash odor of jet-fuel from body and hair") and down a glass of liquid courage (currently in the form of one of my favorite Sauvignon Blancs, Nobilo Icon. The JIBE is also a great bottle . . . in case you were curious). Then off to the milonga, where I met with The Bearded One (currently sans Pole) and a number of other local Tangueros. The Bullwinkles were in attendance, as was the Iron Chef and his Dancing Dish, Don Vito e Mama Carmella Corleone, and numerous other luminaries. Notably absent were Fred and Ginger, who are off somewhere becoming ever more renowned.

Such is life.

Meanwhile, back at the farm, the Valerina and I enjoyed any number of tandas which--I explained to her repeatedly--did not require contact with poles, pillars or posts. She seemed at first confused, next disappointed, finally angry. Sorry Val . . . sometimes dances require that one's partner be alive and breathing. Just a weird cultural artifact of bygone days. I'm sure evolution will take care of it eventually, but until then, m'dear, you'll have to learn to cope. I'm sure you'll be fine. Truly. I promise.

Despite her ongoing annoyance, we fared moderately well for our first post-Evolution Tango dance event. I believe that there were even a few songs to which we danced inventively and with solid technique. Of course, I also believe that god is an Invisible Pink Unicorn in orbit around Saturn (so sue me; can you prove that god isn't a Pink Unicorn in orbit around Saturn?). So take it for what it's worth. I will say that during one particularly fun set of mid-tempo milongas, the Bullwinkles dusted the floor with us. One positive thing I can always say about them: they can dance the fuck out of a milonga.

Oh well. Ours didn't suck, either . . . it just wasn't at the Bullwinkle level. But give us time. We're still learning!

Come to think of it, all of my dances for the evening were a pleasure, and I managed to challenge myself at some level no matter who the partner. It could fairly be considered yet another successful outing for the day. Which is how, by me, considered it was. And all this despite being quite near the verge of exhaustion after some two and a half hours on the dancefloor, sweaty, sleepy, and physically drained.

So please . . . feel free to once again live vicariously through me, My Friends. For on the 'morrow I must again rise, shine, and jump out of substandard-yet-utterly-typical airplanes.

As Ever,

I remain,

Your Resurrection and Your Life (and your favorite iconoclast, natch),

---the PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

More Dive. Less Dance.

Yesterday's marathon of activity left me a bit exhausted, so I admit--openly and for all to hear--that I did not rise and shine early this morning. No Early Bird Special for me (the Early Bird is a low-price jump for those souls who have manifested before 8am for their first jump of the day). Nope. Instead I awakened, saw nasty overcast skies, and went back to bed for another 2 hours. Then I got up, washed my Greek God's six-pack abs until the skin shone like the vibrant twenty-something that I am, combed and applied product to my chest hairs, and told the beautiful young woman lying in my bed that it was time to leave, for I had many things to do and none of her pleading for yet another round of sexual intercourse was likely to succeed. I mean, like, rilly. What nerve!

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And then the godforsaken alarm went off for the second time.

So I got up, washed my fat little wine-belly until the skin quit looking quite so aged and leathery, tried to find a few chest hairs that I could examine for signs of grayness, and decided there was simply not enough time and energy for any self-pleasuring before I had to leave. After a fairly quick shower I made it to the DZ by noon, with a quad espresso and several en route errands behind me. Despite the late start I still snagged 6 jumps, including another gorgeous sunset load. That's 14 for the weekend and 558 total. I can live with that.

A shout out to CocoDick and PittsTits for their 600th and 100th jumps, respectively. They hit those marks on the same dive (the aforementioned Sunset Load). Thanks for letting me share that one with you, but remember: that's lots and lots of fucking BEER, guys!

No cans, please.

---the PL

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

The Truth is (Getting) Out There

Sometimes writing is just something you have to do, even when you have no desire to do so and nothing to say. In some cases it's an exercise with no possibility of a positive outcome, yet the act staves off a nondescript, ill-formed negative. Perhaps writing merely stops one from downloading an episode of CSI:Miami from iTunes. Nothing more.

Still . . . if that is all it accomplishes, it has served its purpose.

A truly Noble purpose, as a matter of fact. The state of the Universe has been perceptibly altered in the direction The Good.

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For my own sake, I'll keep tonight's exercise simple. We're gonna take a quick look-see at what my super-secret website statistic tracking software has to say about the current goings-on at pseudoLatino.com. I enabled My Holy eWrit to spy on My Dear Readers some two weeks ago. At the time we had a Londoner who found me by googling for "groping grannies," an Indian who found me by googling for "chimpanzee-mating" and folks from the Dallas and Los Angeles areas (hey Hartmut!). Since then, we've moved the PseudoLatino Party into mainland Europe and southward, scoring a couple Latin American hits.

From Europe, we've added two separate visits from France (my only visitor browsing with Konqueror on a Linux system). Oddly enough, these page views were direct loads to pages that are kinda hidden. So I really have NO idea how this person decided to visit, for example, Love Stinks or Giving Thanks, Day #3.

From Latin America, the PseudoLatino was paid a visit from The Holy of Holies, Buenos Aires, Argentina, by someone searching for "been to Buenos Aires" +surprised. Supressing laughter, I note that they ended up at the infamous Rocky and the Bullwinkles, although I note that my site has moved wayyyy off the first page since the Argentine googled it on the 8th of November.

It's about time the Porteños started listening to ME for advice on the future of Tango (well, the music, anyway)!

Oddly enough, my Brazilian visit (city unknown, ISP is Comite Gestor Da Internet No Brasil) ended up at the same Rocky/Bullwinkle post, though their search was more direct: zijderveld tango. The PseudoLatino's opinion of at least two Zijdervelds who dance tango was (and remains) the third result in that search. It appears my visitor spent quite some time reading, and goodness knows they got quite an eye-full.

Domestic visits have also risen dramatically, with large portions of the East Coast disappearing under those gorgeous red Push-Pins.

The Map of PseudoLatino World Domination, as it appears today:

Coming soon to a neighborhood near you.

---the PL

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Happy Thanksgiving, You Gullible SUCKERS!

Your Eternal Embodiment of Hope, Wisdom, Charm, Charisma, and Talent would like to wish you a most festive and rewarding of Thanksgivings, the famous American holiday started on September 8, 1565 in St. Augustine, Florida.

Yep. That's right. Florida. World Capital of expatriot-New Yorker, Depends-wearing Jewish retirees. The true home of Thanksgiving. Fuck those Indian-exploiting Protestant Pilgrims and their Turkey. Thanksgiving is the holiday of Spanish Imperialism and Bean Soup.

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In case you haven't already cooked your ahistorical and faux-patriotic Turkey, here's the CORRECT main course for tomorrow's din-din: Cocido.

Drain beans, rinse and put in large kettle. Add water, spices and garlic. In skillet, fry salt pork and onions until brown. Drain and add to kettle. Simmer for 2 hours. Add remaining ingredients and simmer 45 minutes.

You heard it here first, folks. Or close enough to first.

Have a safe and happy holiday.

And with that, Yours Truly is off to dance some Tango at Austin's annual Fandango de Tango Festival. Just one night, though. The BigVee is refusing to put out any of the other nights.

:(

Oh well.

We takes what we gets.

Your,

---PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 05:17 PM

Giving Thanks, The Sequel, Day #1

In 2005, Yours Truly attended His first Fandango de Tango Festival with the then not-yet-Nurse Ratched. He had been dancing Argentine Tango nearly a year at that point, and had come a long way. You could even go so far as to say He was quite pleased with Himself, all things considered. His personal life may have been in a bit of a shambles, but His ability to listen to music and respond to it viscerally was helping Him along nicely in this newfound world of dance. The Festival was great fun, and a personal success at several levels.

The tri-partite harmonies by Rattus norvegicus didn't hurt, either.

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One year later, at His second Fandango, He was so angry about the shitty, variety-free music they played at the Milongas, so frustrated with the (unrelated) renewed attempt in DFW to silence The PseudoLatino, and so generally disgusted by the widespread epidemic of passionless lameness that is the Argentine Tango scene in the U.S. of A, that after only one evening He told Nurse Ratched and the whole Festival to Fuck Off and spent the rest of the weekend Skydiving (a scene that most emphatically does not suck).

Good for Him.

Of course, His annoyance was justified. The majority of our self-congratulatory Argentine Tango scene remains in reality naught but a cultural limp dick, and when His friends (or even His Bearded Partner) give their tacit consent to that flaccidity by playing nice, He has (and you have) just cause to be a mite pissed, or at least disappointed.

And He was. And He is.

But that's not what we're here to talk about today. We're here to talk about Fandango de Tango #3, which nearly didn't happen for me at all. The Bearded One, oft given to radical vascillations of intent and mood, had decided--after an unexpected automotive setback--to forego her attendance altogether. Forget that she had promised me that we would have this opportunity. Forget that I had spent the entire week looking forward to an escape from the tedious and unglamorous conversion of custom LDAP schema into boooooooring LDIF files. Forget that this is our way of taking annual stock of our progress, or lack thereof. Forget ALLLLL of that because [insert loud whining noises here] the Veester was overwrought with timing belt-induced emotions and just could NOT bring herself to attend.

Whaaaaaaaa . . . my va-jay-jay hurts, TOO, Val!

She tried to rationalize her way out of the dance in any number of ways: relatives, automobile, manners, the ongoing unrest in Pakistan, O.J. Simpson's new trial, Martha Stewart's unpublicized yeast infection, a new episode of Pole Dancing in the Bars. You name it, she tried to wield it as an excuse, and although I countered her every volley of illogic, she stood firmly by her "no."

Fine. Be that way.

So I didn't pack, did not prepare in any way, changed my travel plans and told the PseudoLatino Matriarch that I'd be home sooner rather than later. I went to bed resigned to the reality of another danceless day in paradise.

But when I awakened there was a text message waiting: "Ok Whumpus [sic], you win, I'll go 2 Austin."

Fuckin' A! I'm not sure if it was my irresistable charm, exceptional good looks, or my compelling, logically taut arguments which did the trick. Perhaps all three in combination? No matter. By hook or by crook I was given the Valerina's blessing to attend--with her--the event which will most likely be my only experience of this year's Fandango: tonight's opening Milonga. Not surprisingly, the gods didn't just hand things to me on a silver platter. No. First there was the early afternoon pre-Thanksgiving traffic to fight on my way to PseudoLatino World HQ, followed by all the packing I had avoided the night before. Then there was the mind-numbing three-hour drive through the first true coldfront of the season (brutal winds, hard nipples, et al). Then there was the misinformation I had received (advertised hours for the milonga? 9pm - 3am; actual hours 10pm - 2am) and Nurse Ratched's advanced case of NA/DS (Navigatory Alzheimers/Disorientation Syndrome).

Turns out the latter two problems weren't a hindrance at all. When I arrived at 9:30 pm, I had just enough time to find and purchase a nice new pair of dance shoes before my partner, a raging, self-absorbed and self-avowed Shoe Slut, arrived and refocused my attentions on HER feet and THEIR needs.

Oy Vey. There but for the Grace of Yours Truly goes Yours Truly.

New shoes on feet, I/we waited until the meeting rooms had been reconfigured by the Omni Hotel staff into a Ballroom and then we slowly wandered in and found a seat.

While waiting for this spacial transmogrification, I had noticed a familiar fellow wandering about the foyer. It took me a moment to recognize him as "Lil' Chicho," a very good dancer and generally nice guy whom we (the Dallas Contingent) had met in Sacramento at the now-defunct Tango Renaissance Festival (don't get me started on the BUTTFUCKINGLY IGNORANT reason that this Festival bought the proverbial farm). I invited Lil' Chicho to sit with us at the Cool Kidz table, and we chatted for a while about the BUTTFUCKINGLY IGNORANT reason that the Sacramento Festival had come to an end while Val wandered about the room hug-hugging and kiss-kissing all the people she was pretending to like (and even some folks she did, in point of fact, actually like).

Then the waltzes started, and from that point forward the evening was an unqualified success.

Lil' Chicho and The Bearded Lady knocked back a couple tandas and I could see that she was holding her own very nicely, not surprising when one considers that all of us have a thorough grounding in the "Sacramento Style" (which has nothing to do with what you'll find on an average weekend in Sacramento and everything to do with the folks who were teaching at Tango Renaissance). But still . . . props to the Big Vee.

While Valerie was out enjoying a musical and technically advanced partner, Yours Truly went to the bar to grab some drinks. When He returned, there were only two women left seated. Carefully He weighed the options, and decided to ask a mid-40ish woman with a vaguely european look. He should have weighed his options longer or--at the very least--gotten close enough to smell her before asking her to dance. I've got to tell you guys something, though I know it should be pretty obvious: we're in America. Austin is a city in the United States of America, and as such American customs are in effect. In Austin, which is a city in America (didn't I just say that?), there is one of those custom thingies in effect called "bathing." Put another way: in America, we bathe. We aren't generally excited by someone, no matter how externally attractive, whose body odor triggers an involuntary gag reflex at 50 paces. And this woman was to olfactory experience as White Chicks is to cinematic art (if you don't understand this exercise in reasoning by analogy, simply register yourself for an advanced course in "The Symbolism and Practice of Ritual Hara-Kiri," making sure that your final act in the course is ritual Seppuku--that's SEPPUKU, not Sudoku). To this woman, with whom I suffered two entire retch-inducing songs, I offer a small piece of friendly advice:

TAKE A FUCKING SHOWER ALREADY!

Radical, I know, but maybe you could consider it? Just for fun?

Fortunately, my partner-selection radar improved dramatically after this one vomitous episode. I danced with talented and charming and non-malodorous beauties from New York, California, Austin, and Baton Rouge, as well as some nice interludes with the Valerina (though she, annoyingly, kept saying things like "well, Lil' CHICHO did this BETTER!" and "Why can't you do that move that Lil' CHICHO was doing?!?" and "why can't you be more graceful, like Lil' CHICHO." And so on, and so on, and so on.

*sigh*

After several hours of passable, non-offensive, predictably unimaginative and middle-of-the-road music by the evening's DJ (more on this issue in a later post . . . I promise), we called it quits for the night and allowed local Tango fixture and soundman extraordinaire Ollie to take us out for an early morning snack at the colorful Austin dive known as the Magnolia Cafe where the portions were large, the food was scrumptious, and the people-watching was first class. Seems that Ollie knew everyone, and everyone knew Ollie. Nothing like have a local guide to the natives.

All-in-all a good day for PseudoLatinic Tangocism. Good enough, even, to see if we can't add a Friday and/or a Saturday night Milonga to the list.

I'll keep you posted.

Your Intrepid Field Reporter,

---the PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Giving Thanks, the Sequel, Day #2

Today was a slow, easy, relaxing day spent with MamaLatino down near H-town.

No dancing. None.

Since the weather is clearly not going to be conducive to skydiving at any point on this holiday weekend, plans have been reformulated to involve a return to Austin for much more dancing. This involves strong-arming the Bearded One into calling in sick for work on Saturday . . . doable, but difficult: clearly a job for The PseudoLatino.

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Aside from the drive down from Austin, Yours Truly spent the day relaxing, loading up on tryptophan, and saving His energies for the taxing job of dragging Nurse Ratched's verklemmtheit--kicking and screaming--back to Fandango de Tango for at least one more milonga. As this is going to involve LOTS and LOTS and LOTS of smooth-talking, I'll need you all, each and every one, to wish me well.

I'll letcha know how it goes.

Your,

---PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

The PseudoLatino Steps it Up

For those of you who have wandered into this site from Fandango de Tango in Austin. Welcome. Your Hero has decided that He is gonna promote this website after all.

Enjoy yourselves. There will be more updates coming after I return home to DFW tomorrow afternoon.

Ciao,
---the PL

ps

Please check out The PseudoLatino's Tango Odyssey for an thorough introduction to the history of the Tango Terrorist.

Since we had a very uneven experience in this regard at this year's Fandango, you can expect a lengthy Truth-laden post on why mediocre, visionless DJs are the Bane of Tango Culture's continued survival . . . just as soon as I return to PseudoLatino World HQ and have a chance to carve said Truth onto the Stone Tablets some folks keep requiring of me.

Posted by earwicker at 06:28 PM

Austin Festival Passes Muster

Ack! Work and sensory overload have rendered me incapable of creating my full summary of Fandango de Tango 2007 in a timely manner. Nonetheless, allow me to express a few passing thoughts about the quality of this year's event, which I rate at about a B- overall.

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The festival was well-organized and well-attended. The facilities, as usual, were top notch and from what I know first-hand and have heard second-hand, the level of instruction was once again outstanding. Unfortunately, there is no mechanism in place to make sure that students belong in the classes for which they register. Participation at the advanced level should require a recommendation from someone the instructors trust or, preferably, that the dancer/couple seeking admittance dance for the instructor/s. As it stands, it is a waste of my money to be in some of these classes unless I bring my own partner and, in violation of the wishes of our organizers, refuse to rotate. That is, of course, what I do, because I am not going to spend my hard-earned money to work with followers in an advanced class who can't execute beginner or intermediate mechanics. Ditto for followers with insufficiently experienced leaders. It's a rare pleasure to work with instructors of this calibre and no one should feel bad about telling the organizer to kiss their backsides if he tries to force the issue of partner rotation.

The milongas were great fun, despite the mediocrity of musical presentation on Wednesday and Saturday (I was not in attendance Thursday or Sunday, so I have no idea). Friday night's DJ, whose name I've sadly forgotten, was substantially better than the others, playing a wide variety of music and using (*gasp!*) a little imagination in his programming. I will naturally have a great deal more to say about what it means to be a DJ (Tango or otherwise) in the upcoming days. You'll not be surprised to learn that the job requires no knowledge whatsoever of Buenos Aires SOPs and bears virtually no resemblance to the stated intentions of most of the usual suspects (and yes, in case you're wondering, DJ PseudoLatino can do a much better job . . . than all of them).

And another note to the organizers: Saturday Night's performances need to be structured differently. Sitting through 7 couples at a stretch, at what is first and foremost a social dancing event, to watch very mixed-level routines (not all of your instructors are known for their performance abilities, friend, and for good reason) is what those of us whose wardrobe doesn't smell like mothballs would call a "buzz kill." Particularly when you do it twice in a row, separated by only 30 minutes of social dancing. BOOOOOOOORING! Between 11pm and 12:40am, I got to dance for only 30 minutes. The overall level of these performances was not high enough to warrant that. We didn't come to watch a dance CONCERT, we came to DANCE, and see a couple of inspirational routines scattered throughout the evening. To put this in perspective, we could have performed the ENTIRE Evolution Tango show in the amount of time we were forced to sit down during the prime hours of the evening!!

That's ridiculous, folks.

Quite honestly, most of the people with whom I was sitting (dancers of all ability levels) simply left the room during the second presentation. Again: this was first and foremost a social dancing event. One routine by each of the instructors would have been sufficient. If you must have two, they should have done one routine on FRIDAY night, and one on saturday. If people want to see all the performances, they can drag their asses to Austin for more than one night!

Anyway, that's the birdseye view. In summary:

Organization: A
Facilities: A+
Instruction: A
Class Organization: D
Milongas - Dancing: A-
Milongas - Music: C+
Instructor Performances: B-

OVERALL SCORE: B-

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

Put $$ → Mouth

In the Grand Tradition of putting one's money where one's mouth is, the Valerina and I taught our first two Tango classes ever at the University of North Texas. We received a gracious invitation to teach from Don Vito e Mama Carmella, of the Tango Corleone Clan and when one receives an invite from Familia Corleone--gracious or otherwise--one accepts. Don't wanna wake up with a horse head at the foot of my bed, if you know what I mean.

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We taught the intermediate class from 6 - 7pm and the beginners' class from 7 - 8pm. Although it's rather hard to know, objectively, how well we did without having the class on video, I believe we did a pretty decent job. The entire focus of the evening was simply on getting folks to do things they already knew how to do, but to do it with the music. The PseudoLatino knows that one can dance musically and keep one's partner interested and engaged without doing a single fancy trick. One can hit the dancefloor and have a Grand Olde Time using nothing but the so-called Basic Eight . . . and this eternal wisdom is something He wanted to convey to all these fresh, impressionable collegiate minds. As described in a post from my earliest days of Tango, dancing to the beat is THE SINGLE MOST IMPORTANT THING ANY DANCER MUST ACCOMPLISH.

Of course, it's a nice thing to know some complicated and showy moves: colgadas, volcadas, boleos, snazzy ganchos, barridas, and back secadas for leader and follower are all great fun, to name but a few examples. But I guarantee you that every single dancer you watch and appreciate, whether they are using all or none of these techniques, is doing whatever they're doing to the beat of the music, no matter their exact style or level of accomplishment. Folks like Fred and Ginger, Rocky and the Bullwinkles, Don Vito e Mama Carmella, Judge Judy, and sometimes even Yours Truly and the Valerina . . . all these people dance completely differently, but all of them are fun to watch because they are listening to the music and reacting to it.

In fact, I contend that there is only one real "rule" that is (a) incontrovertible and (b) applies to both Leaders and Followers:

Golden Rule of Tango: Dance to the beat of the music or do the world a favor and drag your sorry ass off the dancefloor!

As Ratbastardo told me at the very beginning of my Odyssey of Dance: if you can do 4 or 5 basic things, do them musically, and lead them confidently and well, you will be far more prized as a dance partner than the man who does a thousand fancy moves with a sloppy or overpowering lead and doesn't play with the music.

As usual, when the Ratbastardo speaks about dance, one should listen.

This is what the Bearded One and I wanted to get across this evening. I'm not sure if we succeeded or not, but I think everyone had a pretty decent time and there were several people in the classes who have a lot of potential. Particularly followers. There were at least 5 women who could become very solid dancers, if tonight was any indication. And speaking of followers, one of the only other rules of tango applies to them, and I have found that if I can instill this in a newbie follower, we can share enjoyable, non-frustrating dances almost from day one:

Follower's Rule: Don't guess. EVER.

What this means is that the follower should never, EVER change weight unless it is led. Don't try to figure out what foot you should be on and then change to that foot. Every single thing a leader does in Tango involves manipulating his weight and yours. Everything. If you are changing weight based on your ideas of where you think you are, or think you are supposed to be, we can't know what we're doing right or what we're doing wrong. If you don't guess, then it's always our fault. If you do guess, it's yours!

Anyhoot . . . we took our first steps as Instructors tonight, and the corruption of Denton's Tango Youth is now underway. First Denton, then the World. Ok. Maybe not the world. Maybe just Denton. But hey . . . we've all gotta start somewhere. Right?

Right.

There was one sign that our class may have been a success. The classes were held in a dormitory on the UNT campus, in a very very nice room for dancing: huge, nice wooden floors, and tres comfy. However, since it was in a dormitory we were immediately beneath student residences. And I'll take it as a sign of our excellent choice of music and our high energy level that shortly after the second of our two classes, as we were sitting and conversing with Vito e Carmella, the sounds of energetic, enthusiastic FUCKING drifted down to us from a dorm room above (the foregoing link is from the movie Delicatessen, and truly is the greatest sex scene ever filmed - do yourself a favor and watch it). And it truly was every bit as rhythmic as the sex in the YouTube clip. Cool! That's more excitement that we generally get at 6 months' worth of Milongas back in DFW. Yeah? We had a "fucking great" class. Literally.

I know you're jealous.

C'mon. Admit it. We had'em fucking like the little bunnies they are!

At least that's my story. And I'm sticking to it, goddammit.

So . . . have a "fucking great" night, and don't let the bed springs bite.

Your Eternally Beloved,
---PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 11:59 PM

Tunnel Redux

Along with 9 other folks from Skydive Dallas (well, and one quasi-skydiving dood known as The "Duke of the Death Spiral" from Skydive Spaceland), Your Plummeting Pillar of Pulchritude is heading to Denver, Colorado for the weekend. This will be the third time this year the PseudoLatino has braved the elements and the jubilant taunts and peer-jeers that are part and parcel of honing one's flying skills in a wind tunnel.

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Thus far, my tunnel of choice has been Skyventure Colorado . . . where I've accumulated about 3.5 hours of flight time. I'll be adding another 2 hours on this trip, which is the same amount of freefall time as 120 skydives.

That's a lot, but it is also very misleading.

Despite the simple numerical equivalence, one gets a great deal MORE experience than the numbers would suggest. Because of the 2-minute tunnelflight times (as opposed to 60-70" on a typical skydive), the coach giving real-time feedback, the video debriefs, and the tunnel walls (which give an inflexible and inarguable point of reference to help correct problems with fall-rate and horizontal drift), the amount of learning per minute is far greater than it is in the sky.

Not as fun, of course (although it IS great fun), but profoundly more conducive to rapid improvement. And that's the main reason why we keep going back for more.

I'll see you all again on Monday, so please . . . PLEASE . . . try not to cry yourselves to sleep over the weekend.

Your Bon Vivant,
---the PseudoLatino

Posted by earwicker at 12:00 PM