a little secret

First Saturdays at the Brooklyn Art Museum are the fucking jumpoff. They have dance parties and paintings and lectures and brooklyn philharmonic and kris says in the summer there are block parties, too, but I don’t know about that. Tonight was reggaeton night, is what I know. And that 1500 salsaing adults, some fabulously dressed (I was particularly intrigued by the pairing of a glittery sari with a cream satin adidas bomber) and a few mew-faced babies in the third-floor atrium, surrounded by the Basquiat exhibit and watched over by a glinting chandelier, dancing to reggaeton hits (“gasolina,” “culo,” Tego Calderon’s “Lean Back”) plus a whole platter of salsa I didn’t know, to which those babies sung every word–is, nay, beyond the jumpoff. It is the American dream: Much Love, and Free Party. B. said it’s hard for him to dance Latin because his hip-hop gets in the way and I said you know, in the spirit of reggaeton, so we uprocked our cuban motion & spun to dizziness. Dear New York: next month, you totally have to go.