imkittymyers at hotmail dot com
Friday, November 17, 2006
DANCING WITH ANDY GARCIA
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Every evening after I’ve cleaned and cooked and shopped,
after a day when I might have picked up Little H from school and kept him company while watching Square Bob Sponge Pants for the umpteenth time,
when I want to shut out the insanity --
like OJ telling how he could have slaughtered the mother of his children,
and the reality of terrorists threatening to bomb the White House --
I slip on a t-shirt and sweat pants and my grass-stained tread-less Keds,
and I go dancing with Andy Garcia.
I climb on the treadmill -- I start with an incline of 3% and a speed of 2mph – and I begin warming up to Tito Nieves singing I Like It Like That. After a good 20 minutes of Tito, I switch to Carlos Santana. By this time I’m pushing 3mph on a 4.7% incline.
I close my eyes and I’m dancing. Amazingly, I look and dance like Maria Conchita Alonso in Moscow on the Hudson. With whom I’m dancing I don’t know. It’s just a faceless partner – male, definitely male, and definitely not Robin Williams – who tires by the time Santana begins playing “Smooth.” And that’s when Andy Garcia steps in.
“Will your wife mind?”
“No, she has a cast on her leg. How about your husband, will he mind?"
"He's not here."
We dance for a good 25 minutes, never tiring, never getting bored with each other or the music. We don’t talk; we just dance.
I figure if you’ve got to firm up your glutes and strengthen your heart, there’s no more enjoyable way than dancing with Andy Garcia.