Rize Above Saturdays With Antonio Banderas

Yesterday I had a most excellent day with my BFF Mandy in Santa Monica. I told my husband that Mandy and I talked for seven hours straight, non stop except for three times:

1. When momentarily -- because of an optical illusion created by the angle of which I was looking -- I thought the head of the iconic St. Monica statue situated at Ocean and Wilshire had been knocked clean off. I don't think until that exact moment did I realize how much I loved my hometown.

2. When Mandy and I witnessed Bum Fight; Third Street Promenade Edition. Actually it was a scuffle between a bum (or just an old guy that looked and acted like a bum) and a street vendor. Said bum was belligerent; said street vendor tackled bum, in a nice way, and pinned him under his 250lb body until four cops on bikes skidded up simultaneously (I envisioned hours of practice on this). At this point Mandy and I broke our temporary silence and I yelled out, "Bungee cord him to the rack, boys and haul him in!" This outburst caused us to be chosen to make statements on what happened. One by one and separately, Mandy and I retold the same exact story; even with the same pantomimed actions. Mandy said, "They're gonna think we collaborated this."

3. When at the crescendo of our most excellent day we saw the movie
Rize was an emotionally charged movie. It transcended the Thank-God-Someone-Is-Doing-Something-Positive-In-The-Ghetto vibe the critics are raving about. It, to me, was about anyone genius enough to tap into themselves and create something uniquely and fascinatingly brand new. In many ways, the stand outs of this movie are more brilliant than more affluent innovators because the sole tool to craft this new dance movement was the rawness of these kids. Krumping is not just an outlet and an expression, it's more honest than that. It is down right spiritual; they are channeling God.

On a very minute level, it reminded me of when I was young and angry and I danced more; salsa and jazz classes about five times a week. I was NEVER as technical as other dancers because I didn't take a "real" dance class until age 20. But I always put my back into it, so to speak. I always danced with a lot of emotion because movement and music loosens the dirt that needed to be shaken out.

And after Rize, I was inspired. Now that I'm taking dance-like classes again, I recommitted to let all inhibitions go, make it therapeutic. Make it all meaningful again because what's the point if I don't? Though, if you were to watch one of my dance classes you wouldn't point me out as the Timid One or the Uptight One.

So, I went to Salsa Cardio today knowing that Terri was not teaching, but Antonio Banderas. It was ok, I just really needed a dance class, and to me Antonio is comedic fodder. He was in rare idiotic form today. He started way late because he was still working on his corny chorography and because he was so late, he bypassed the stretching portion of the program (increasingly important to me as I get older) and he begins to choreograph "mini" dances which we performed non stop until we are breathless and he decides to start on the next one. So far so good even if he pauses too often to figure his shit out. After the second mini-whatever he puts his hands on his hips and says with a straight face, "Wha chud we do ness?" It's times like these that I don't hide what I'm thinking well. My head flopped back and I stared at the ceiling. Just before I could suggest, "Krump Battle Off?” a soccer mom from the middle of the pack claps her hands together and yells out, "River Dance!" I laughed, but I was the only one that did. I looked at my girl Cory whom I've come to know from the classes. She rolled her eyes. And I wish I was kidding when I report that Antonio made us do a stiff, awkward mini River Dance. Shifting gears this dramatically was like stabbing a stick in the spokes of a racing motorcycle. I was livid. I thought, “This is Ssaallsa y Tango Cardio!, not McSalsa Cardio, asshole.” When he announced, "Let's add on to the Rrriva Danz,” I picked up my towel and rized up outta there, vowing to never take the class again.

Salsa y Cardio Part Dos

With much anticipation I went to my Saalllssa y Tango . . .Cardio! Class this morning but to my surprise my girl Wiggy Terri was not teaching. Apparently she shares teaching responsibility with another teacher named . . . Antonio Banderas; at least that's what he probably calls himself in the mirror. This guy was so hilariously a Lateen Luber stereotype that I was chuckling when he walked in. But not the other girls. Oh no. I then realized that the crowd was a tad different than when Terri teaches; more women in their 40's with full make up on. I was like, OH COME ON!

Antonio was wearing tight-ass black dance pants -- very similar to my own, but 2 sizes smaller. When he took off his fleece pullover, his yellow undershirt was an XS and reveled his chiseled manly physique, plus hair on his shoulders, but that made him more likeable somehow. When I say manly, I mean in a small-man way. He could not've been taller than 5'3". But he was flashing the pearly caps and working the set curls and raising his eyebrows -- at least one anyway -- and twirling his hands and hips in mad flamenco style. I nearly yelled OLE! many times, but these ladies would not have tolerated me outwardly bagging on Mr. Banderas. It might've been a mob scene and I'm not trying to get a reputation as The Hater in my new class.

The choreography was corny cliche latin, and Antonio was not the best of teachers. We did shimmies (I like) and then the Pony . . . yes, that Pony; the hopping around Pony which seems like an oximoron in the middle of a latin dance, but Antonio loved the move. I nearly crazy glued my eyeballs still for fear of uncontrollable rolling.

Usually a crowd gathers around these dance classes to check out the hot shaking action, but today when I looked over at the windows of the class, I could see the some of the boxing class mimicking our moves. I was like, Fuck, it does look how I think it looks. I think I heard one of them yell OLE!

But I sweated and moved and got to listen to Shakira for an hour. And I was highly entertained by Mr. Dance Pantalones Banderas.

Salsa Cardio!

In an effort to keep working out consistently, I tried a new class on Saturday. I had intentionally not taken this class in the past. The name of it stood out off my gym's schedule, and I dismissed it as too gimmicky and quite frankly, maybe beneath me. (Good for me.) The class is called Tango Salsa Cardio. Not kidding. In my head, the class is pronounced in an exaggeratedly Antonio Banderas accent: "Tan-go y Saall-sa . . .Cardio!" I amuse myself every time I think of it. But I went on Saturday because, what the fuck already with me. The class is at a perfect time slot for me and judging by the name should play my most favorite music ever. So, Qual es mi problema already . . . ?

I arrived a little late to the class and much to my surprise (not sure why I was surprised), the class was PACKED. I had to find a tiny spot in the back corner. The instructor's name is Terri, a tall black woman that has the body of a track star (where she can reach over shoulder and pull her wallet from her back pocket), and I've actually taken a step class from her before. From what I remember, she teaches a really tough class; loud and bossy, but pushes you to aggravatingly new physical limits. She seems a tad crazy and pretty self absorbed - not in a look at me I'm perfect way -- but I'm kinda caught up in my own world and you better try to keep up with my routine. And the sister was wearing a wig. A medium-auburn with subtle highlights wig that was fastened in place by the madonnaesque microphone headset that instructors wear now. I was like, This lady is out of her gourd, and I really, really like that about her. I spot the favorite regulars immediately, front and center. A girl wearing a bandana and braids and a half top (there's always one of those), a former ballerina (you can tell by how she stands and rolls her pants down and her shirt up in a Fame kinda way) and the resident hot Latina that has almost Orange-Countied all the latina right out of herself. She's got the ass and the gorgeous face naturally, but the light blonde highlights and the bolt-on titties were disturbing. She was pretty in a way that she'd claw your eyes out if you even THINK you are finer than her.

I thought to myself, I so got this. Terri asked, "Anyone new to this class?" And through the forest of about 30-35 women, I shot my hand up from the back. She said, "Ok, well welcome," she looked around the class. "I am a very calm and demure teacher." The class roared with laughter. I chuckled and thought, Bring It On, Wiggy.

Basically the class is a standard dance class with latin flavor and if you have no dance background you are lost in the first nanoseconds. She taught a routine with ass-shaking, shimmying, hip-thrusting, sexy walking, . . . we all but ripped off our tops and threw them to the ground. And I could not have been more thrilled. I was like, THIS is my kind of class. I am not a technical dancer. I can't kick my leg near ear or do the splits on command, but I am gritty and sweaty and if anything, I can shake and shimmy and thrust and sexy walk some front-row bitches to blush. They ignored me, but when Terri told the class to check out the Ballerina for the ass-shaking portion of the program (apparently she's the best Ass Shaker) Terri said, "Wait, check her out (me). I like that!" I said, "MmHmm," and embarrassingly I may have smacked my own ass, but hey, I was in the moment. I have to say, I was completely winded after the many repetitions of the routine. As I gasped for air, I'd hear Terri yell again, "5! 6! 7! 8! . . ." I even sat out one of the many repetitions which for me is unheard of because there is not much I love more than to show off all my above-stated skills.

I was sorry after class. I was sorry that I ever doubted the class just because of the ridiculous name. I was sorry the class was over though I was drenched and in need of an oxygen mask. And I was sorry for the front-row favorites because once I have enough stamina, I'll be taking their spot.