the case of the salsa nazis.

i spent the past few days in south beach, miami, florida. i didn't send anyone any postcards.

i went to dance salsa at a place on lincoln road called yuca, which cost me $40 for 2 rigorous hours of lessons and some dancing at the end. there were 6 levels of classes happening at the same time, and i somehow ended up in the highest level with oscar, a slim venezuelan guy with the collar of his uniform shirt popped. he proceeded to teach us a series of moves that involved spanish names that i didn't understand, and i was pretty confused most of the time, having not really had that much experience with uber-complicated twists and turns.

everyone has a different idea of who i am as a dancer, and what i figured out that night is that i don't like cuban (casino) style. it's too smooth, too contrived, too thought about somehow. the circles are weird too. this guy steve who goes to law school in michigan was also mistakenly placed in the highest class and as we watched these people twirl around he said they looked like "salsa nazis." and that would be about right. they stick to their own, everyone learns these formulas. it does provide a certain reassuring base for dancing, but somehow i'm more drawn to the puerto rican (or is it new york?) style, simple, no-frills style. nothing fancy, just hot.

the sun did us good, i think. i read eat pray love, which was hilarious and sad and beautiful, and then jed rubenfeld's interpretation of murder mostly between yesterday and the plane. i went caroling at lynn's house, a yearly event, minus alexis (new york string orchestra seminar, lucky ducky) and nathan (working lights at a rep stage show) and lorraine's viola. apparently she's doing well in the astrophysics doctoral program at harvard. i think she studies stars. i'm just a musician - what do i know?

christmas is fast approaching and i don't have an apartment to move into yet. doris and i didn't work out. tara offered up her studio for me to crash in for a few weeks in january (but o, where would i shower?), and the percussionists mentioned that i could crash on their couch. they would be sick of me after like two days. kind of them to offer though.

also, lee braun pointed out (though as till now i haven't seen it) that on the brandenburg poster in the elevator of the music building someone had circled my name and penciled in "i have dibs." who are you and what makes you think you have dibs? ah, well. if it's cesare, maybe it's ok.