Salsa night & old leftovers

back in the day when i was a kid and i joked about making a sentence that started with back in the day when i was a kid because of that stupid song i dreamed of writing of thinking of that thought. and my random thoughts of tonight included not that and another, but a different from someone else.

my dream last night was great. the show last night was great. our next show is May 11th.

after our show, we went to a club in Raleigh called tiffany’s. it was salsa night, Nilda said. so we went and it was surprisingly fun. salsa night, hence the mexican population was there. we couldn’t read Spanish so it was pointless to try. but the dj’s had the mexicano music pumping. and i just love how front page is giving me a suggestion of Mexican or Mexicans as a replacement spelling for mexicano. so politically (in)correct.

i’ve always like a good Mexican song because the beats are so lively and lots of different instruments and such a different style than our own music. and the dance floor was packed full of couples doing their salsa dances. we sat down near the dance floor and watched the people twirl around each other like a egg yolk as you shake it.

Mercy was just begging to dance and she went out onto the floor and twirled around and touted her stuff. she was the only person on the entire floor of around 30 to 40 people who was dancing all alone. and of course all the guys were watching and looking at her and they would all seem to glance back to me and smile i suppose because we were sitting close enough that people thought she was my date.

eventually she recruited some people who would dance with her and i watched her twirl around and do the step stop block stuff with people she couldn’t understand a word they were saying. actually that’s probably not true, but lets pretend that it is so that i can continue my thought.

the language of dance didn’t matter and as long as you had a body to hold on to and move about and between and around it was alright. and the one young guy who realized her dancing style, beat her to it and was dancing at least 5 feet away from her at all times bouncing each way and that way and facing the opposite direction and they would cross paths only every so often and it was funny to watch two people dance together so independently.

then there was the gentleman who seemed to await my nodding approval before taking her up on the offer to dance. and i watched him stand perfectly upright and hold his arms and her just so. his hands never clenched hers, always they were open while her hand rested inside of the palm. and he danced a perfect plan on the floor without ever looking down or up or away.

the ladies were beautiful and the more i looked at them and the dance and studied the moves, i had the serious thought that i could perform such a feat and thought of taking someone up on the offer to dance. i noticed no rhythm to it, it was a matter of moving each other back and forth. away and around and upside down. the forced placement of a hand brought upon the twirling motion of the couple and each would twirl the other over and otherwise around in various fashions the head, arms and body of the other.

i could twirl around. i could make someone else twirl around too. i just dont know if i’d keep my balance or get too dizzy or too distracted. i dont like to dance because i know i look like a fool. and even though i can take my shoes off and twirl endlessly around my kitchen floor that doesn’t mean i still don’t look like a fool.

I rarely create separate paragraphs in my news posts. tonight i contemplated cooking year old cookie mix. i still find things in my house that reminds me of a previous. sometimes it’s like going to the grocery store and seeing a new item on the shelf i never noticed before. or it’s like finding a box of things that i swear someone must have snuck in and placed there just to invoke emotions.

flipping through the phone book and finding doodles and circles and underlines, going through old notebooks and finding grocery lists and to do notes. finding a new cd in my bookshelf. an old document on my computer. things behind the washer machine. hairs embedded in my clothing. a poem was written in july of 2001 about these things and even now it still happens.

i will trash the two boxes i found tonight of expired food. perform a ceremoniously ritual of destroying old memories. its just that it never ends. and sometimes i wonder if it should. but its too late now.

anyway, i think i’ll give that james bond movie another try, you know, from russia with love. was that james bond? anyway, maybe the ending will be different this time.

well maybe i’ve entertained you enough tonight. my fingers are getting tired and my interest grows short with this now. i think i will go play a game now, or just cruise the net or just play some guitar or just go to sleep. someone write me