Tango, American style

               I found a tango blog that I like. It is written by an American woman in Buenos Aires who fell in love with Argentina and went down there to live. You can read it here: http://tangospam.typepad.com/tangospam_la_vida_con_deb/

               I have been feeling kind of lost lately, now that my book is finished and I’m marketing it full time, writing my blog and working to get links back to my webpage. After reading a few of her posts on foreigners acting like sluts at milongas in Buenos Aires, and all the promiscuity going on down there, I had a renewed sense of self-worth. To read how much of a tourist trap the tango scene in Argentina has become, I felt better about my situation and all the times I have forced myself to act in a manner my children would not be ashamed of.

               I probably feel ‘lost’ because I’m single and I’m poor. I should be happy because I’ve got two healthy daughters in great colleges and I’m healthy as well, but it is difficult not to wish I was rich and in a relationship with a great woman. C’est la vie! Life is always greener on the other side.

               Which brings me back to the writer of the tango-spam blog. I think she is not happy and sounds kind of lost. She’s healthy and living in her dream city, hoping to meet Mr. Right. One thing I got on her is, I know how good we’ve got it here. She is just now finding out that she lives in a society where she will always be just an object of sexual desire and the dance she loves so much has become so commercial it is hard for her to find it in its true form.

               It has not been easy for American men to adjust to the liberation of women. At times it feels like I have been castrated, especially if I listen to Fox News or Rush Limbaugh. I don’t mean to get political, I say this because I am trying to explain how hard it is to be an American and lead like an Argentine when we come from two different societies.

               One night, at Calle Ocho, in San Antonio, I was explaining to two women why I don’t dance with instructors. Using words and sign language, I inferred that dancing with an instructor causes the equivalent of performance anxiety in bed. Dropping my voice down low, inflating my chest and straightening my back I said, in the most manly tone I could muster, “Women want us to dance with them like this!” I held out my arms, pretending to embrace a woman.

               Both girls shot straight up and said, “Yes! Like that! Just like that! Do that all the time!”

               My brother and I were watching a football game today when the cheerleaders were shown cheering on their team. I made a remark about how little time the camera spent on the most interesting part of the game. My brother went off on a rant about how frustrating it was that women can’t act like cheerleaders all of the time. I realized then, that any woman would have a hard time believing us guys can actually think this way.

               America is a hard place to live because we are trying to do things right. It’s a tough job but I think we’ve done pretty good so far. Sometimes, however, I think we tend to lose touch with that which makes us either male or female. With these thoughts in mind, I took me and my melancholy attitude to the milonga in Collegeville. I tried my best to be more masculine in my leads and I did my best to lead women into all the moves I like to see them doing and enjoyed every microsecond of it.

               Being ‘manly’ leads women to behave more ‘womanly’ which, in turn, leaves me feeling befuddled. Befuddled is not the word I want; infatuated is the right word. Leaving the milonga with the feeling of infatuation is the second best outcome a guy can hope for. The other outcome never happens but we can still hope for it. Infatuation makes the long ride home not so long.

               Tonight I had several wonderful dances. I danced with a woman who always knocks my socks off and leaves me speechless. She is very reserved, very beautiful and a skilled tanguera. She is so skilled, so pretty and so reserved, I fear I will suffer some sort of performance anxiety and fall apart during our encounter…but I don’t. I’m 51, I sailed across 1500 miles of the roughest seas the North Atlantic can throw at a 40’ sailboat, I can keep it together, even in the face of extreme beauty and grace.

               I love dancing tango in the good ole USA. Tango here is real. It is a place to go where men and women can enjoy the sensuality of the opposite sex and get out and have a good time. It is nice when we can leave the rules of a liberated society behind and adopt a different code, if just for a few hours, and live vicariously through the dance of the Argentines.

               I had a good time tonight at Collegeville. I guess I feel better now because I realize I’m a nice guy. I’m not out to score, I’m just out for a good time. Sure, I’d like to go to a milonga and get lucky. After reading the ‘tango-spam’ blog, it sounds like that’ll probably happen if I go to Buenos Aires. I was young once and I’ve gotten lucky, twice(maybe more) and I found out a long time ago there are other pleasures in life. Exercising a little self-control often enhances the enjoyment. There is a saying that there are some things better than sex but nothing quite like it, that is true, but, also, the same can be said about tango, even here in the good ole US of A:-)