(This article is from the StuckOnSalsa website. How do you feel about performances at night clubs?)
OK, today is the day. I've been working hard all week, and my staff and customers are driving me nuts. I need a break! Something to rejuvenate me and put a spring in me step. I know what I'll do - I'll go salsa dancing. So what if it's the middle of the week and I have to work tomorrow? It'll make me feel like a new person. I'm going to leave work early, fight the traffic, go home, grab a quick bite, take a shower, get dressed, pack my dance bag and go out for a night of salsa dancing and fun. So, that's what I do.
When I walk into the club the DJ is hot! (hmmm, must be an out of town DJ), my friends are there, they smile when they see me, they transmit their friendly energy and I feel that I'm in my salsa home. Oh yeah! I 'm going to have fun tonight! So, I sit down and change my shoes, go to the bar to get a rum and coke so that I can sip on it while I survey the scene before I start dancing, and then, right then, a voice on the microphone announces, "Please clear the dance floor so that we can present our performers for tonight." Performers? Oh G-D, not a performance! This can't be happening again. I hustled all the way down here in the middle of the week, paid a cover charge at a so-called dance club on the only night of the week that they play salsa just to watch someone else dance. These performances are cutting into my salsa time, the time I dedicate to dancing. They are eroding the quality of my leisure time. If I wanted to watch a performance, I would've gone to the Kennedy Center, or stayed home and watched music videos. I don't go salsa dancing at a dance club to watch other people dance. Standing on the edge of the dance floor watching someone else have fun dancing salsa is just not fun, it's more like having a root canal.
So, as the crowd dutifully obeys the dictator on the microphone commanding them to stop having fun, and the DJ takes 3 tries to find the right track (I guess he's not from out-of-town after all), and the announcer fills time by talking about all the future salsa nights that are going to be filled with performances ("...and next week we're going to have all the groups performing at the Bosnian Salsa Congress, and then after the Congress we're going to have them all perform again without the mistakes so they can practice for the Galapagos Island Salsa Congress, and the week after that we're going to celebrate aliens from outer space night by having 17 dance groups, so please mark your calendars and get here early!"), I linger around the edges of the crowd hoping it won't be so bad. Then, somehow the announcer finally shuts up, the Cro-Magnon in the DJ booth finds the right track, and the performers enter the dance floor and start their thing. They're good---mostly death-defying tricks that I can't use socially, and the lady could loosen up a little and the guy doesn't have to loosen up so much, but they're good. Then it's over, the crowd applauds politely and they exit the dance floor. Thank G-d that's over. But then comes the time when people try to recapture the spirit. Some people start to chill and decide to make it an early night, some people sit down and start chatting with their friends, and some brave souls (bless their hearts!) try to revive the night by dancing to the folkloric themes that the Cro-Magnon has started to play, but above all, the mood has changed, and for me the night is over.
OK, today is the day. I've been working hard all week, and my staff and customers are driving me nuts. I need a break! Something to rejuvenate me and put a spring in me step. I know what I'll do - I'll go salsa dancing. So what if it's the middle of the week and I have to work tomorrow? It'll make me feel like a new person. I'm going to leave work early, fight the traffic, go home, grab a quick bite, take a shower, get dressed, pack my dance bag and go out for a night of salsa dancing and fun. So, that's what I do.
When I walk into the club the DJ is hot! (hmmm, must be an out of town DJ), my friends are there, they smile when they see me, they transmit their friendly energy and I feel that I'm in my salsa home. Oh yeah! I 'm going to have fun tonight! So, I sit down and change my shoes, go to the bar to get a rum and coke so that I can sip on it while I survey the scene before I start dancing, and then, right then, a voice on the microphone announces, "Please clear the dance floor so that we can present our performers for tonight." Performers? Oh G-D, not a performance! This can't be happening again. I hustled all the way down here in the middle of the week, paid a cover charge at a so-called dance club on the only night of the week that they play salsa just to watch someone else dance. These performances are cutting into my salsa time, the time I dedicate to dancing. They are eroding the quality of my leisure time. If I wanted to watch a performance, I would've gone to the Kennedy Center, or stayed home and watched music videos. I don't go salsa dancing at a dance club to watch other people dance. Standing on the edge of the dance floor watching someone else have fun dancing salsa is just not fun, it's more like having a root canal.
So, as the crowd dutifully obeys the dictator on the microphone commanding them to stop having fun, and the DJ takes 3 tries to find the right track (I guess he's not from out-of-town after all), and the announcer fills time by talking about all the future salsa nights that are going to be filled with performances ("...and next week we're going to have all the groups performing at the Bosnian Salsa Congress, and then after the Congress we're going to have them all perform again without the mistakes so they can practice for the Galapagos Island Salsa Congress, and the week after that we're going to celebrate aliens from outer space night by having 17 dance groups, so please mark your calendars and get here early!"), I linger around the edges of the crowd hoping it won't be so bad. Then, somehow the announcer finally shuts up, the Cro-Magnon in the DJ booth finds the right track, and the performers enter the dance floor and start their thing. They're good---mostly death-defying tricks that I can't use socially, and the lady could loosen up a little and the guy doesn't have to loosen up so much, but they're good. Then it's over, the crowd applauds politely and they exit the dance floor. Thank G-d that's over. But then comes the time when people try to recapture the spirit. Some people start to chill and decide to make it an early night, some people sit down and start chatting with their friends, and some brave souls (bless their hearts!) try to revive the night by dancing to the folkloric themes that the Cro-Magnon has started to play, but above all, the mood has changed, and for me the night is over.