la fille danse

It's been a very long time since I've given a camera a genuine smile. There are at least a few in that video.

Tango = happiness, no matter how dark things seem. I strongly recommend finding a local Argentine tango class and learning.

(If you're super curious, more videos of me dancing are here and here - though keep in mind, as far as tango goes, I'm still very much a baby.)

things I like this week, vol. 27

. . .

Tell the truth through whichever veil comes to hand – but tell it. Resign yourself to the lifelong sadness that comes from never ­being satisfied.

. . .

I wish I could give you an infallible rule for success in writing. I know but one. If you feel the urge, write and keep on writing. There is no short cut.

. . .

. . .

You should also resolve to expose your children to all sorts of opinions and information, in order that they will be better equipped to make decisions and to survive.

. . .

Her last photo shoot. She crossed out the negatives of the photos she didn't like. An odd sort of memento mori.

. . .

unless it comes out of
your soul like a rocket,
unless being still would
drive you to madness or
suicide or murder,
don't do it.

. . .

I understood that passion and art could be more important than money.

on learning a social dance

There are several different ways you can go about learning a social dance, and since many people I know either are learning or are thinking about learning, I figured I'd throw out my tips.

(Social dance refers to, in this case, structured partner dancing in an informal or non-competition format - salsa, swing, and tango are good examples. Learning to dance competitively is an entirely different thing.)


Know that the awkward stage passes.

Almost everyone is awkward or awful at it at first. That's fine. You have to keep working at it. And even the most horrible, awkward dancer can become a beautiful dancer with enough practice and determination.

Eventually - and this is when things get really fun - you stop having to think about it. Your body just does what it's supposed to. Things happen that are awesome, and you didn't consciously think about doing them. That sort of dance nirvana is the reason why dancers keep coming back, but it doesn't happen your first time out. Or your second. Or maybe not for the first year(!). But all of the time investment is totally worth it when it does. I promise. You just have to get there.


Do it regularly, and make an effort to keep improving what you know.

This is often not a problem for people who have truly been bitten by the dance bug. But lots of people, for whatever reason, only attend a dance class or event every so often, and then wonder why they don't improve. You have to make a certain amount of commitment to it, and you can't simply be satisfied with what you've already learned. The best dancers (the best anything, really) are the ones who are continually striving to be more than what they already are. Don't quit going to classes once you think you're "good enough." There's no such thing.


Ask people to dance. Specifically ask people who are better than you.

Most newbies are terrified to do this. It's understandable - you don't want to embarrass yourself too badly, so you dance with another newbie or with no one at all. Or you're afraid of getting turned down, or of the pity dance.

However, the way I learned (and the way most people learn) is by dancing with someone better than you are. Especially if you dance with them on a regular basis, you'll probably start closing the gap pretty quickly.

Also, just because you're inexperienced doesn't mean people can't have fun dancing with you. All of us remember learning, and probably have some more experienced dancers that we owe our ability to. Most people are willing to pay it forward.


Alternately, don't *just* dance with people better than you.

One of the best things I've heard in a lesson is to be grateful for a difficult partner. Anyone can learn a move with someone who's good - but not everyone's good, and not everyone's going to do it perfectly the first time. Learning how to do something well even with a difficult partner means you've really learned it.


Stay for the actual dance.

Many new people stay for the lesson and then book it after the real dancing actually starts. I feel like you learn at least as much, if not more, on a real floor in a real situation. You'll never be able to perfect your dance moves while in the sterile and structured environment of a class, and the longer you stay away from the "social" part of social dance, the harder a time you'll have feeling comfortable there. And the less comfortable you are, the less likely you are to dance well.


It's a social dance.

That means you dance with several different partners. If you try to stick just to your significant other, you're missing most of the point of the activity. You get yourself into a rut, and it limits your abilities and your confidence significantly - if you can only dance with one other person effectively, you're not really a dancer. Besides, learning how to interact with all different kinds of people will make you even better when you *do* dance with your significant other.

Additionally, the social part doesn't apply just to the dancing - talk to people when you're sitting on the sidelines. People you've talked to are more likely to want to dance with you.


Social dance is not a dating service.

If you're looking for a dating service, try a dating service. I hear match.com and eharmony.com work pretty well. However, the point of dancing is dancing. Lots of people end up dating people in the dancing community (although I'm not one of them, and am glad of it), but it's incidental, not the objective.


Don't be prejudiced based on appearances.

You can have a very enjoyable dance with all sorts of people. Remember - it's a dance, not a date. Physical attraction to the other person is not a necessary part of the equation, even though you're doing a physical activity.


Experiment with different instructors.

People often seem to stick to a single dance teacher, usually the one they started out with. Different instructors have different things to offer, and one might teach something in a way that works better for you. There are so many different styles and approaches to the same move or the same dance, and taking what you like from different teachers is a good way to broaden your perspective.

That said, working consistently with one instructor, once you've found one you like and who understands you, is incredibly beneficial. Just don't settle for the first teacher you come across, get frustrated, and give up.


Don't learn a bit and start thinking you're a hot shot.

Hubris is a downfall. If you've only been dancing for a short amount of time, you're probably too ignorant to know how bad you really are. There's very little, for me, that's more off-putting than someone who lectures other dancers, who scoffs at other people, who generally thinks they're way better than they are. Socrates said it quite well: "The only true wisdom is in knowing you know nothing."

the dream

Sam: There's no collisions out there, Hally. Nobody trips or stumbles or bumps into anybody else. That's what that moment is all about. To be one of those finalists on that dance floor is like ... like being in a dream about a world in which accidents don't happen.

Hally: (genuinely moved by Sam's image) Jesus, Sam! That's beautiful!
. . .
Sam: Of course it is. That's what I've been trying to say to you all afternoon. And it's beautiful because that is what we want life to be like. But instead, like you said, Hally, we're bumping into each other all the time. Look at the three of us this afternoon: I've bumped into Willie, the two of us have bumped into you, you've bumped into your mother, she bumping into your Dad.... None of us knows the steps and there's no music playing. And it doesn't stop with us. The whole world is doing it all the time. Open a newspaper and what do you read? America has bumped into Russia, England is bumping into India, rich man bumps into poor man. Those are big collisions, Hally. They make for a lot of bruises. People get hurt in all that bumping, and we're sick and tired of it now. It's been going on for too long. Are we never going to get it right? ... learn to dance life like champions instead of always being just a bunch of beginners at it?

- Athol Fugard, "MASTER HAROLD" . . . and the boys

blues house party

wee hours of the morning.

the song that kept the dancing going into the wee hours of the morning.

harvest moon

for pondering.

A Tale of Two Dances

I went out dancing the other evening.

This is not rare for me, anymore; what was rare was the shift from one kind of dancing, at one type of place, to another.

We went to El Parador first; by day, it is a Mexican restaurant, but on weekend evenings it turns, partly, into a club. There is a permanent wood dance floor, and something about the dusk in corners and the abundance of tropical plants makes it feel like some sort of secret, cave-like hideway. A very large hideaway. There are a few lights, but they mostly only light the dance floor.

The band there is decent; they play salsa and merengue, and when they go on break the DJ plays cumbia and bachata as well. I danced and talked and hung out with people from all over the world: Sweden, the Netherlands, Puerto Rico, Russia, Mexico, India . . . and there's something I love very much about that, of people who may not even speak the same language, but who can communicate through movement and enjoy themselves.

Halfway through the evening, my friend decided she wanted to go to the Maverick. Her friend picked her up, and I followed about an hour later.

The Maverick is a country bar on the eastern side of town. It's more brightly lit, with bars that line a full two sides of the large room, the decor being mostly red and wood-toned. I was given a rather fake-tasting margarita and dragged onto the floor to dance with a tall boy with a wide-eyed grin and a repertoire of two dance steps. He seemed very certain that if he smiled at me enough, I just might decide to go home with him.

The music being played was, without exception, country: a three chord progression of twang and lyrics that sound so similar they could be interchanged with anything from the last twenty years and one would hardly notice. There was something almost comforting about that observation, about the repetition of the two step and the simplicity of jeans and boots and button down shirts.

I realized suddenly, too, that there was not a single person in the room that wasn't Caucasian and very clearly American. I was the most exotic of everyone, in my pale skin and near-black hair and character shoes. I imagined the hostile stares a Mexican or Puerto Rican might have gotten had they chosen to enter, recalled the near-fight I witnessed when the boy I was dancing with thought it was funny to slap his male friend on the ass as he passed (and the paranoia in his voice when people seriously questioned his sexuality afterward).

I wonder about people who self-select into a homogeneous group, who distrust anything outside the boundaries of that group. I relish feeling international, of talking to people with experiences vastly different than my own. This sort of open-mindedness is the very foundation of my classroom teaching.

And yet, part of me still enjoyed the Mavrick, liked the simplicity, the homogeny--despite the ignorance and prejudice that I knew lurk in the corners of that wood-lined room.

por el amor del tango

(all taken by me except this, which diana took. those are my feet.)