shifting

Last night the boyfriend and I did something we'd never done in our 4-1/2 years in the islands. We went to a concert--a concert that didn't involve him performing. In our years together, it's always been hard for us to catch shows together because he's either been on the road (when we lived in the States) or playing a gig himself. I went to countless concerts by myself in Portland. Just because he wasn't available didn't mean I was going to miss them!

In our years here, we've seen exactly three shows with mainland artists that I've enjoyed: David Sanborn (we watched that one from the wings because boyfriend had been in the opening band), Joe Louis Walker and Pinetop Perkins. (The last two are blues artists if you're not familiar with them.) And I watched the shows performed by the last two separate from the boyfriend because he was backing both of them. So it's a rare treat for us to go out on a Saturday night to see a concert together.

We went to see El Gran Combo, grandaddies of Puerto Rican salsa. The group's been in existence for over 40 years. Obviously they've seen a lot of personnel changes in that time, but the founders of the group are still going at it. It was at the amphitheater on the University campus. It's a lovely venue and it was a warm, still night. The show was great. There were three vocalists who switched off and they had highly-choreographed moves. Imagine three adorable middle-aged Puerto Rican men moving like the salsa version of the Temptations.

Boyfriend adores salsa and one of the real treats of living here has been the ability to hop in the car and hear salsa on the radio (broadcast from Puerto Rico) 24/7. (It's harder to pick up inside our concrete condo.) He said after the show that percussion-wise he learned a lot. When we lived in Portland, he sometimes played in his Puerto Rican friend's Latin jazz band. (The man's son is also a drummer and it's typically his gig.) I always enjoyed hearing him play with that band, but they do play Latin jazz rather than straight-up salsa.

The salsa last night was kickin'! There were three percussionists, but no drum kit. They had timbales, congas and bongos and the guy playing bongos doubled on cowbell. The bongos player took a solo with drumsticks late in the show that was fabulous. The timbales guy got his solo during the encore.

I find it nearly impossible to listen to good salsa and not want to move. It's such upbeat music. Many couples last night got up and danced in front of the stage and in the aisles. I'd like to say that we were one of them, but I still don't know how to do salsa dancing (although I'd love to learn.) For me, there is no sexier dance. BET can have all the in-your-face booty shakin' they want--give me salsa dancing any day. That is some sexy shit.

So we had a great time at the show...until we got in the car to leave...

...and discovered that our sometimes funky clutch wasn't working. The same thing had happened to the boyfriend after a big band rehearsal last Monday night (ironically, also at the University). He's had three experiences where the clutch won't work at all and he's unable to get the car into any gear. But oddly it's never happened to me. (My theory is that it's the way he uses the clutch, because I think his driving style exacerbates the existing problem. But try telling him that.) When I drive, the clutch occasionally sticks a bit, but after driving for awhile it tends to loosen up.

I love my man, but here's the part where I have to say: WHY ARE MEN SO FUCKING STUBBORN?!?! First of all, we were leaving a concert, where the traffic was backed up and moving at a snail's pace. It was about 15 minutes before he was able to get the car into any gear, which turned out to be third. (Fortunately he had backed into the parking space, so we didn't have to try to get it in reverse.) Personally, I would have waited until all the traffic had emptied out so I'd have smooth sailing. But he chose to try to snake out with the last batch of traffic...driving in third. When I tried to offer a suggestion, he snapped at me to leave him alone and told me to not talk to him right now. I felt like saying, "Hey, pal, I was driving a stick shift for eight years before you ever got behind the wheel of a car." But men and cars? My experience has been that they think a woman can't tell them shit. I kept pleading with him to please just leave it in second gear (once he got it in second gear), because anyone with a lick of common sense would know that (although it's less than desirable) one can at least start up again from a dead stop in second, whereas it's very hard to do that in third. And we have to go up some steep hills between the University and our place. Driving in second might mean we'd have to go slower on the downhill portions, but at least we could make it up the hills. But no, once he got it in second he had to try to shift it into third (to go faster, of course). But he couldn't get it into third and then couldn't get it back into second, which resulted in us stalling with traffic backed up in front of and behind us. He finally got it into second gear, drove maybe ten yards and then TRIED TO SHIFT IT BACK INTO THIRD!! What was WRONG with him?! Why would you try to shift into third gear when there's a stoplight about 50 yards ahead of you? What is it with men's impatience to just go fast? We had no reason to rush home. When we reached the stoplight, I looked over and could see he was torn as to which route to take home. It didn't seem like rocket science to conclude that the longer, no traffic way would be a better choice than the backed up, countless stoplights way. I quietly pointed to the left and said, "Go this way." He muttered, "Yeah, that's what I was thinking." Then as we began to climb the hill, I pleaded once again, "just leave it in second" and he snapped at me to please not talk to him because what he was doing was difficult enough. (See how nice I am? Another woman might have punched him at that point.) We crested the hill and were winding our way along the northside, encountering very little traffic...and then he PUT IT BACK INTO THIRD. And he seemed to be pumping the brakes really hard as he rounded some of the curves. I asked (quietly...although now he was worrying me), "Are the brakes not working either?" (He was slamming the brake pedal hard enough that I was being thrown forward--thankfully I was wearing my seat belt.) He said that the brakes were fine, but since he was in THIRD he was trying to prevent the car from stalling when he slowed...and then told me that driving in third (under these circumstances) wasn't easy. I couldn't help myself. I muttered, "That's why I asked you to leave it in second."

But we made it home and he was eventually able to downshift to second (once we were on our property). When he parked the car, I leaned over and kissed him on the cheek (because he looked pretty stressed out at that point) and said, "Good job." And thought to myself, "But I could have done better." :)