Skip to main content

The Perils of Salsa

A few months back, I agreed to go to salsa classes (there was alcohol involved). I didn't just agree to it, though, my friend made me pinky swear to this plan (I repeat, there was alcohol involved). After that, there was no way I could back out. I was pretty much locked in. So, I've been going to salsa classes with a group of friends after work, since others wanted in on the fun.

Now, the way these classes work is that you're constantly changing partners. They do that so that you get as much experience as possible. Everyone does the same move slightly differently, and figuring out what works (and what doesn't) makes you a better dancer. Particularly for someone who has to lead, working with different people is helpful to figure out the details.

However, changing partners all the time also meant that for the first few weeks, I was dealing with total strangers. That led to all sorts of fun. For starters, where should I look when dancing with this new-found partner? The most natural thing to do was to look my partner in the eye/face, but this meant I was now in close quarters with a stranger, looking her in the eye, and trying to not make a fool of yourself. That unnerved my partner a couple of times, at least until people realized that I wasn't trying to gawk.

What's more, the first instructor I had used to constantly remind us to smile while dancing, since you're more likely to have fun that way. Do you have any idea how many women assume that if you smile you're trying to hit on them? You don't even have to smile at her, any kind of goofy grin on your face can do the trick. And if the woman was even remotely close to my age, it was over. Again, that got better over time as my I'm-not-a-horn-dog-swear-to-God vibe stayed consistent, but I didn't have that luxury at first.

Okay, so new plan: look at my feet to make sure I had the footwork down. That's generally considered a sign that you don't know what you're doing, though, so instructors always discourage that. Also, your partner can take this as a sign of timidity, and suddenly think less of you. I've actually had someone grumble about me muttering a quick "oops, sorry" when I screwed up a step. It turns out that the new plan wasn't all that great, either.

The last option was to stare off into space. Given the last two paragraphs, this might seem like a decent compromise. I wasn't the incompetent guy who stared at his feet, but I wasn't the creep gawking at my partner, either. Unfortunately, that's probably the most awkward of the three options in practice. Have you ever tried facing someone and standing within arm's reach of someone for minutes at a time without looking at them? Yeah, it's uncomfortable.

Of course, there was also the little matter of not making a fool of myself on the dance floor. The way this class was being taught, even guys have to learn how to do turns all over the place. Turning meant potentially disrupting my balance, especially since the (pencil) turn that we learned was a quick turn. As an added bonus, practicing that motion was likely to make me dizzy. And since you turn faster when you do it correctly, getting better at the turn can make you dizzier if you don't do it completely right.

So, for the first few weeks, my thought process went a little like this:
  • Don't look your partner in the eye for too long, she'll think you're gawking
  • Don't smile too much, or she might take that the wrong way
  • Don't look down at your feet, or you're the poor sap who's intimidated by his partner
  • Definitely don't look at her torso (this one should be obvious)
  • Don't look away, you're just going to make things uncomfortable
  • Don't turn incorrectly, you're going to fall over if you do
  • Don't turn correctly too many times in a row, you'll get dizzy (and then fall over)
Boy am I glad that's over (though I still worry about the last two a little bit).

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

All Good Things ...

August 8, 2009. Over twelve years ago, I started blogging with this simple post . I didn't really have a great reason for starting the blog, other than I wanted to try it out. I wanted to try writing and putting it where others could read it. I don't know, it just seemed like a new adventure to try. Along the way, there have been all sorts of posts and all sorts of life events, but through it all, I kept writing. It just became a part of what I do at some point. It wasn't a matter of whether I was going to write a blog post, it was a matter of when. The Mild Wife has described it as a "writing practice," and it was one of the reasons why I kept writing. Honestly, it's good practice, and it gives me an opportunity to hone my craft. I'm no professional author, but we all have to write stuff in our everyday lives. Why not give yourself reps to get better at it? However, I think it's time for that practice to change. My weekly anecdotes sure kept me amused...

Dreams

Normally, I don't eat very many sweets. I tend to eat pretty generous portions, but I generally prefer savory food over sweet. In fact, I usually prefer things half as sweet when possible. My preference doesn't have anything to do with health reasons, it's just one of those things that I've always liked better. That said, I do inevitably eat dessert, particularly if I'm out with other people. My stance towards dessert is roughly equivalent to those who are social drinkers . If other people want to munch on something for dessert, I'm not about to cross my arms and refuse. That'd be just a tad gauche. So, I do eat some dessert. I even have a few standby favorites that I'll usually order when presented with them (brownies, creme brulee, and apple pie). But left to my own devices, I'm not about to go hunting for dessert. Apparently, this means that the sugar can really mess with my system under the right circumstances. As I've discovered, ...

New York City Trip (Day 1)

After my crappy flight , I was now in Newark, New Jersey at 7AM on a Friday morning. I had done a little bit of reading up, so I knew which bus I needed to take and where I was going to get off. All in all, getting into the city was surprisingly easy. I suppose speaking the language does make things simpler. Through no real planning of mine (a theme of the trip, at least on my part), I picked one of the later bus stops at which to get off, Grand Central. I actually just figured that getting off at Grand Central would give me options, and heck, it's called Grand Central. That just screamed "decent place to disembark that might be close to some stuff" to me, so that's where I got off. However, it also meant that we drove down 42 nd St to get to my bus stop. That just happens to be a big street, and it gave me a glimpse of Times Square as we drove by. My bus stop choice had accidentally given me a rough layout of the city. Go me. I had about 6 hours to kill...