Are You Somebody Famous?

I had plans to meet Zibi and Gil last night at Green Dolphin Street for Salsa Night. Gil is a close friend of Zibi's who recently moved to California. He's of Mexican origin, middle-aged, with a middle aged man's body, and he has incredible luck with the ladies.

What's his secret? Dancing. He is an expert salsa dancer who knows exactly how to move a woman around the dance floor. I envy him for his dancing ability (I just jump around aimlessly in clubs---to call my dancing competent by white guy standards is accurate, if only barely) and for the fact that he comes from a culture which values and teaches dancing. I have been in several Latin nightclubs with both him and Urban Melissa (who is half-Mexican, half-Puerto Rican) and the dancing is so graceful and so hot that I have no place stepping on the dance floor. It's one of those activities, like playing pick-up soccer with European immigrants, at which I will suffer so badly by comparison that it is best not attempted. In Iowa there was a plethora of square dancing clubs (my father always called it entertainment for ministers) but square dancing is not hot and never can be under any circumstances.

Anyway, I arrived first, followed by Zibi. Behind me was a tall brunette who looked as if she would have nothing to do with me. When Gil walked in, I shook his hand effusively and told him how much I loved his work.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you---I loved your last film. Can I have your autograph? Do you have a pen? Wow. Here's a cocktail napkin."

Immediately, the brunette was at our side.

"Are you somebody famous?" she asked with a big smile, "I never get to meet anybody famous!"

I told her that Gil was famous, but in independent film circles.

"Oh, that's cool. I'm more of a Hollywood person, but that's so cool."

Gil was talking to Zibi behind us. The girl whispered to me, "What's he done?"

"His last project was a mockumentary of a Christian rap group. It was called Tha Last Suppa."

The brunette's friend showed up, and she introduced me to her, calling her "the love of my life." The were holding hands and looking at eachother the way that lovers do, and I said,

"You two make a cute couple."

"Oh, no!" the brunette laughed, "we're just friends!"

Whatever. I know it's common for girls to get touchy and make out with eachother in clubs for the benefit of the guys, but it's getting so that you can't tell the lipstick lesbians from the straight girls anymore. I am drawn to lipstick lesbians, indeed a disproportionate number of the women I date are bisexual, and I think I know the reason why: they don't usually display the supplicating, needy insecurity in their dealings with men that so many straight women do. And confidence is always sexy.

Anyway, I left them to themselves and turned back to Zibi and Gilbert. After a few minutes the music started. The dancing was incredible. I had another martini and after half an hour decided to head home. The snow was falling and it was a beautiful Chicago night.