On Dancing

Possibly high on ether, these young 19th century men and women are practically fucking on the dance floor. Morals, where have ye goneth?

When I was young my mother used to take me to these “balls” [chuckle]. I guess they were balls. OK, they were functions where people would rent out dance halls in fancy hotels and have dances. My mother and I attended the balls held by Los Omegas. I think they all hailed from San Miguel, a department of El Salvador.

Being from La Libertad, I wondered why my mom associated with this riff-raff. They were so close to Honduras (just kidding, I don’t want any people from San Miguel/Honduras coming after me).

Anyways, most of these people were work associates.

Also, most of the families attending these shindigs had kids that I played soccer with. I made the nearly All-Salvadorian team around the age of 10. It was the best team in our U-12 league. If you wanted to see the best 10 year old Left Mid in the league you’d probably have to watch some other team, but then you could come watch me.

These functions were fun for the most part, except when I had to dance with my mom. My mom ALWAYS wanted to dance with her boy. None of the other moms needed their kids to dance with them. They had husbands. If anything, my mom should have kept my dad around exclusively for these proms, just to save me the trouble. Needless to say, I was a tiger on the dance floor. If there were an award for Best Under-12 Merengue Dancer in Houston, Texas 1996, I would have won it.  I might be exaggerating, but I was good. I would get a couple of songs in, and then hand my mother off to the nearest male in order to run off with my friends.

Since those days, I haven’t really danced much. In middle school and high school, I always thought that dances were lame. Every time I went, it just ended up being a bunch of kids dry-humping each other on the floor. I don’t care if there’s enough space between two people for the Holy Spirit or not, but it’s just lame. Save dry-humping for the home or the back of a church.

Also, in middle school I started listening to bands like Nirvana and the Smashing Pumpkins. They’re not exactly baby-making music or music to Bump ‘n’ Grind to. Pretty much, if you slam to Nirvana’s Bleach you don’t deserve to be slammin’.  I can recall the few times I danced in high school. They were always with Sarah because she liked that sort of thing. The things you do for young love.

In college, my danciness in my music selection fell drastically. You really can’t dance to anything categorized under a “blank”-core as its genre. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to hardcore dance, but only as a joke. I could never honestly go out and do that. I almost envy those kids. ALMOST.

People I do envy are ballroom dancers and swing dancers. Those guys are so fucking baller. I go see Monster Big Band at Ruta Maya, the first Sunday of every month. There is the old guy and young girl duo that will dance to nearly every song they play. They’re so graceful. I know they’re not the best, but they make it seem like so much fun. I always ask the person next to me if they want to dance in a joking tone, still hoping that they say, “Yes.”

Part of me thinks that dancing is awesome, but I could never do it.

I suppose my timidity over dancing is a lot like my fear of swimming and large bodies of water. I know I could do it, but I don’t want to get owned. Fear of failure, anyone?

I guess for the time being I’m going to just stick with the Three 6 Mafia School of Dancing and Advanced Physics. Although I don’t own a fitted cap, I will continue to fold my arms, scope out haters and move side 2 side.

Ya heard,


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