SOAR: The Scene of the Crime

My Facebook status reads “Anthony Guy is teaching salsa tomorrow at SOAR. FFS, no restraining orders this time…” It turns out I’m getting old, because I didn’t know that “for fuck’s sake” could be abbreviated into a handy-dandy acronym. Well, before I get onto why I would post such an ominous message, the gang and I went foraging for a new abode this fall. I’m not going to say that Jordan and I will have the most awesome pad to have ever existed, but at the very least, it will raise eyebrows. Rave Green paint can do that. Also, there are some movies that your friends should not tag you with, particularly those that force you to say “no homo” afterwards. I love the Boondocks. I loathe Tyler Perry’s formulaic system for creating blockbusters.

Last year at SOAR was the beginning of the roller coaster ride that was The Improbable Salsa Juggernaut. One Anthony Guy rose to power, restored salsa to prominence with his guerrilla warfare approach to marketing, fun, shenanigans, and there were others involved…probably. It was also where I first met Blondie. I’d be lying if I didn’t chuckle to myself noting the irony of it all. A year later, kids will be calling me “doctor”, I champion my initials, and a restraining order mars my reputation. Funny things happen over time, when you blend love, power, will, destiny, and hope together, then watch it manifest into something malignant and scary. I’m not sure what the healing process entails for me, but one would reckon that I’m only allowed absolution through traveling the same road to see if I’ve learned from my mistakes. I can guarantee I am up to see what’s next, but the pain’s still there. I went into my sack to find standard operating gear that’s served me well each time: Salsa Club shirt, navy track pants, navy athletic socks. I’ll go to my Shaman of Sexy Christmas stocking to find my pair of green sleeves, which will go in the CSULB bag that contains my first pair of dance shoes. I’ll drive back to Long Beach after work, tired, yet resigned to my duties as the Last Emperor of Salsa. My unwashed Malibu will find a parking spot somewhere free off campus. I’ll march to PE-93, commiserate with colleagues before I enter, then begin my routine of suiting up and stretching. I’ll hear a few curious giggles from a packed room, think of Pippa for a moment, then announce to the crowd the following words:

Hello students. My name is A.T. Guy and I’m a professor in Communication Studies. I’ll be teaching the lesson this evening on behalf of Salsa Club. Please, hit my music and no restraining orders. Skibbedebebop. Much later.

Current Track – 12 Stones “We Are One”

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