So my back is almost healed. It’s probably at 70%, a passing grade to most, but I feel 100 times better than I felt just a few weeks ago. One of the things I could not do, besides sit or stand for long periods of time, was go dancing. During that time I went to see Calle 13
in concert and I had to stay perfectly in place or experience more pain than I already had. It was a hard task. Calle 13’s band is amazing! They had three percussionists and a horn section. Residente
of Calle 13 are step-brothers and they had their kid sister (P-13
) as a their back-up singer. She looks like a b-girl but sounds like Toto La Momposina,
the Afro-Colombian singer. The Calle 13 album, Residente o Visitante
, is still one of my favorites of this year. I wanted to dance, even with the pain in my back, but when I tried to dance it looked odd. Imagine Frankenstein dancing to Cumbia and that is what I looked like. (My girl probably still thinks I dance like that, even when I don’t have a bad back.) I appreciated that no one laughed at me. The people at the show had class. Not what I’d expect from a Reggaeton show, but then again, this is Calle 13, one of the more intelligent groups out there.
Class is something that some people severely lack. I hate to generalize but some of the most awful displays of low class that I’ve seen have come from affluent people. People with money and success can act the most “ghetto,” as they like to call it. The funny thing is that you can’t get away with that kind of an attitude in most barrios, otherwise someone would put you in check. Last week after I finished my DJ set at Zanzibar (insert shameless self-promotion here) in Santa Monica, I sat with my lady to have a drink. There was an older gentleman that was way into the music we were playing that night. He looked like he could have been someone’s Anthropology professor. He had a little bit of an Australian outback look to him. Anyhow, he was dancing by himself, a little strangely, but harmless. A group of drunken West Side peeps came into the club during Mexican Dubweiser’s set. One Paris Hilton knock-off noticed the guy and immediately started taunting him by dancing just like him. The guy stopped dancing, perhaps conscious of the fact that she was making fun of him. I quietly fumed as I continued to watch the bitchy Paris Hilton knock-off prance around the club.