The reason I like learning to salsa dance — even as much as I enjoy smoking cigars and eating Carmel waffle-cone ice cream – is that someone has to lead. And even in America’s uxorious, overly-politically-correct bastion of transgendered males and females, it is usually the man. It is that way in most dancing — not only the sensuous, African-Cuban hybrid of hip waving salsa — as well as in many aspects of life, government, death, taxes and seduction.
For, nothing succeeds without a leader.
Not a country. Not a state. Not a city. Not a business. Not a school. Not a sports team. Not an orchestra. Not a nonprofit. And especially not a family. Even Captain Kirk on the starship Enterprise would take the counsel of the empirical Spock and the emotional Bones and then make his own leadership decision – without lawyers.
Of course, we are all not destined to lead. Perhaps only one in a thousand is a leader of men; the other 999 follow women. That’s suppose to be a ‘funny’ for all y’awl who are sexually convoluted.
In truth, while success demands capable, qualified leaders who don’t let on that they simply don’t know what they’re doing marching in front of the parade, we also require good capable, well-educated followers. Women, in particular, have been known to lead by following, to the point of allowing the man to actually think his engine is running the car.
When Ginger and Fred danced into the starlight of our dreams, we were dazzled by Fred Astaire being the top hat leading man. But we often overlooked that Ginger Rogers was doing everything that Fred was, as is oft repeated, only backwards and in high heels.
Right now folks don’t know what Obama is really doing in Libya or Afghanistan or even, for the most part, in America. But perhaps we should really be asking ourselves what we are suppose to be doing as his dance partner. It’s no time to worry about being politically correct OR incorrect; or the fatuous inanity about his birth certificate. It’s too late to wail about the fact that “Bush” and “Dick” tossed him into a bankrupt hole so deep you can hear W’s posse laughing all the way to China’s Central Bank.
What we should be asking is how can we help kick our ignominious Congressmen so far up their gluteous maximi that we bust out a few of their teeth, over-whitened and filled with our tax dollars. I mean, we’ve been talking about healthcare since Hillary and Bill tried to give it an enema and instead got constipated by everybody getting rich off the sick. We know our public schools are broken; Our infrastructure looks like a mess of intestines strewn across the operating room floor; Our statehouses are filled with nothing but bumper car dilettantes that spend their time inventing new strains of stupidity; Our city councils rather imitate the robbing, raping, stealing felons of past glories; and, of course, there is my least favorite ethnic — lawyers. They are supposed to be legal advisors and counselors, problem solvers and solution providers. Instead, what we’ve got is a bunch of venal, vapid jokes — such as when terrorists hijacked an airplane of lawyers and threatened to release a lawyer every hour until their demands were met.
So, what can we do?
Easy…..What most of us love to do when we get stupid and frustrated: Break something!
For starters, we can all break our political swords, beat them into plowshares and start break-dancing with our President. We can break our overpriced TVs that overcharge us ludicrous fees to watch mind-dumbing reruns. We can break our need to over-text inanities to our friend de jour. We can take a break from the forlorn wailing blaring the same song we’ve heard 7 times that day on radio. We can break our addiction to pornography, as well as to the repetition and redundancy of our pituitary athletes.
Now that takes some serious mirror breaking.
At the same time, we can cease and desist watching or reading or listening to the news we want to hear and start catching up on the news and commentary we need to know. To be uninformed or misinformed is not merely to be ignorant, it is to be stoopid. We can organize voters against our congress-folks and tell them they have a choice: Work out a viable compromise yesterday — and no later than last night — with their fellow political robber, raper and pillager. Otherwise they’ll face our mandatory consequences — over-circumcision, castration or transgendering. With a machete.
No one can do all of what we are asking of President Obama. At least, not alone. And, honestly, I am not as enamored with him as I was when I canvassed and worked for his election over an incompetent, sanctimonious, solipsistic-petulant hypocrite like John McCain. (And I was raised a staunch Republican.)
Admittedly it wasn’t good PR in these difficult times to have those photo ops of our President picking NCAA teams and then going off to play golf. Then again, it pales by comparison to that smarmy, dimwit Bush landing on the aircraft carrier and crowing: “Mission Accomplished!” Not to mention LBJ picking up his beagle by the ears and Reagan riding a horse, bragging that: “I always like having an athlete between my legs.
The truth is we’ve all got to start dancing together so we, at least, don’t resemble a bunch of spastic, pasty, white guys fleeing for our lives from a power plant about to go way too nuclear. We’ve now gotten to the Big Dance, folks. And if you wanna leave with the one that brung ya, someone’s gotta lead, someone’s gotta do it backwards, and someone’s gotta give it up for God and country.
For, as my old bourbon sipping pappy used to say between those omnipotent puffs on that omniscient corn cob pipe: Dancing ain’t nothing but foreplay. So, if y’awl don’t start dancing together now, there ain’t going to be nothing to play around for later. Y’awl catch my smoke’s drift?
And dats yDrewIS on DIS penal colony