Tricky

Over the last few months Kelly and I have been focused on learning dips and tricks for East and West Coast Swing. It’s an interesting process, learning what you can and can’t do and testing limits involves, by definition, failure. Failure is the limit, it’s the unknown point where your body won’t perform or your ability to adapt to a new move is so taxed that downside overwhelms upside. At times like that I find myself asking if I really want to spend three months trying to learn a drop that I’ll use maybe once in a whole night’s dancing. Often I find that my time would be better spent learning a more basic and versatile step that I can incorporate often or use to get out of sticky situations on the dance floor but the siren call of the trick always remains.

So, what is it about tricks, drops, and dips that makes them so alluring? Why, as a dancer, do we want to potentially smash our partner’s face into the floor or permanently damage our shoulders and backs for a trick? Maybe it’s the flash of specialness, the split second when everyone in the dance hall looks your direction, collectively taking a shocked breath before being brought back from their suppositions that disaster has struck and realizing you meant to do what you did. Someone once said any star who tells you they don’t like being gawked at is a liar and I imagine the same goes for dancers. I mean, admit it, if we didn’t want to be looked at we’d dance in our kitchens, not in a ballroom or club.

I think there’s an element of human DNA at work too, especially when young singles are involved. For millions of years mankind has been engaged in various sorts of mating dance. Sure, it might not sit well to think of strutting your stuff on the dance floor as a way of advertizing what you have to offer to the opposite sex. We’re thinking animals, right? Well, to deny dancing is a way of advertizing ourselves is to deny half of that statement. We do think but we are animals too.

What about me, though? I’m married and middle aged and though I like to think I impress my wife with my ability to dance, I think the desire to learn tricks means more. For me I think this is the little league that I never had growing up. It’s my sport, my chance to get out there and compete – something that’s odd since I’ve got no interest in contests or medaling. Still, when I get a complement it feels like I’ve put one in the “W” column.

I’d be remiss, though, if I didn’t at least gripe a little on the subject of tricks. While the ups of doing a trick are minimum, they’re like toppings on a burger – put too many on and you’ll never be able to pick the sandwich up without making a mess of things. Likewise, if you stuff your dancing with tricks it doesn’t look like a dance anymore. Suddenly what was flowing to the music becomes jerking and posturing while a band plays in the background.

Also, there’s the issue of when to do a trick. The other night we were at a crowded dance when a guy decided to do a breakdance shoulder spin. The move cleared space but I guarantee most of the people who saw the move weren’t impressed – they were irritated. It was a stupid and dangerous decision to pull a trick that wasn’t designed for social dancing in the middle of a social dance. I’ve promised myself never to be *that* guy.

Butt Bounce

No, this blog has not suddenly switched directions. :-)

In a previous life in a large corporation far far away I helped people understand personality traits, explaining they are neither good nor bad, but they are linked. So, for example, if you decide you want to marry a CEO type you must realize that person will most likely never put you first. Choosing a powerful leader isn’t “bad,” but you have to accept what comes with that.

Gary and I have been learning and doing complicated and possibly dangerous dance “tricks” for over a year. We’ve been very careful to select ones that fit our blended physicality and the social arenas where we dance. We are learning them under expert tutelage (Melissa...our beloved instructor at Fred Astaire South Indy).We also try not to do them when either of us feels tired or distracted.

Up until last weekend I’ve never fallen while dancing; I’ve tripped, stumbled, and done a floor spin once where people thought I’d fallen, but never a real spill. I took one last Saturday night. It wasn’t spectacular, but I did bounce once on my butt. What happen was we spun during a lift just a little too hard and so I put my feet down on a floor that was still moving…didn’t work.

A dance fall is a little like being pregnant…you get lots of stares, a giggle or two, sympathy, advice, and expert opinions on keeping it from happening again, all of which is mostly unwanted and wrong.

But that’s the way it is. If you fall you’re going to be in the public eye big time. And if you do tricks someone’s going to fall sooner or later, and if you’re the follower it’s most likely going to be you.

Embarrassing? Yeah. But I noticed the comments were from people who I’ve never seen do a dance trick. I’m not saying Gary and I are better dancers, but we aren’t afraid to take risks.

So…I dusted myself off with as much dignity as I could and listened and nodded to all who stopped by. In a way it was a relief. I’m sure it will happen again. Now the ice has been broken. By my butt. :-)

Doom, Gloom and a Silver Lining

Please tell me I’m not the only one. It seems if I like something…whether that be a food, a beverage, lipstick, shampoo, jeans, shoes…they quit making it. Examples: Gee Your Hair Smells Terrific shampoo and I know you can get it on eBay but it costs a fortune, or the style of Sketcher shoes I like it’s a good thing I have multiple pairs, and on and on. I’ve dealt with these little annoyances over the years and have come to understand if I like something it’s doomed.

But now the gloves are off; my beloved Argentina tango shoes are no more. At least, they are no longer available at the place I used to get them. I don’t know what happened, but the shoes they now say are “tango sneakers” are not the kind I have loved and worn for three years. I’ve had such a struggle with my dance shoes and now that I’ve found ones that work for me they are gone??? I wrote to the company…where are my shoes???? No reply. Maybe my hysterical email scared them. Crazy American shoe lady. But this is bad. Very bad. I dance a lot and wear out my shoes, and last year’s are about worn through. I get two pairs a year. Hey…you replace running shoes every 6 months.

So. I am researcher by training and nature, especially when I’m motivated. Especially when we’re talking about dance shoes. First discovery: I found that the place I bought my sneakers actually got them from somewhere else. The name brand of these shoes is Fabio. (Perfect name.) They have a store. In Argentina. They have a website. In Spanish.

Discovery two: I found some other Argentina sites that do sell Fabio shoes and have an English option. And I now have a greater appreciation for the original place I purchased my sneakers. The old place could be, um, quirky, ”these shoes will make your fingers grip the floor” or the occasional “we are out of blue you may have silver”, but overall I was very happy with the service. And the shoes. The new sites give quirky a whole new definition: “we can't guarantee the color OR the fit.” Heh? Color is one thing, but you can’t guarantee the FIT? And of course, sending them back to Argentina is about 35 bucks, and who knows how many times you’d have to mail back and forth if they can’t guarantee the size? Seesh.

Discovery three: there are no dealers in the US that sell Fabio, except for some dance schools and they mark them up. I understand. Dance schools have to make money. But I need to keep mine.

Discovery four: I found a store in Canada called Guaranteed Fit Tango Shoes. They had my beloved Fabio sneakers, and do indeed guarantee the fit as long as you return them clean, although I knew I wouldn’t need to. They ended up being cheaper than the old Argentina place because the shipping was only around 15 bucks. And they arrive in about two weeks as opposed to over a month. You can also earn 5 bucks off your next pair if you review them. They were not exactly like my original ones…the heel is one centimeter higher…but close enough.

The only bad thing? They come in black and… black. SIGH. Don’t get me wrong, black is my color of choice, but dang, a girl needs some bling. Lucky for me I’m handy with the fabric paint. I ordered two pairs and decorated one with silver and the other with a golden copper. On the Argentina Fabio site the sneakers come in a blinding array of colors, prints, and levels of sparkle. Drool.

Whew. At least I have my shoes. Although now I’m worried. I like this company…

http://www.guaranteedfittangoshoes.com/

My Moosey Valentine

No, not Gary. :-) We visited the Moose again for Valentine’s; Gary has just started a new job and we didn’t have time to do much. Since my parents are Moose members we went back into the smoke, which isn’t nearly as bad on a weeknight, something we will remember.

Anyway, a friend of theirs was playing, Tom Young. He started off the set with slow-ish love songs, nice for the occasion, not so good for dancing, but then, he doesn’t claim to be a dance band. He was very good. Then his friend, Arnie Ray, joined him and picked up the tempo a bit. They were good together too. We ended up dancing quite a bit.

We really like the Moose. And the cool thing is if you join (here in Indy 60 bucks a person a year and if you are a couple only one has to join the other can be a guest), you are members all over the US, so wherever we were we could always have a place to dance. For free, or as my brother-in-law would say, "included." Something to consider.

Terry Lee and The Moose

Terry Lee and the Rockaboogie Band play at Moose Clubs and American Legion establishments in other parts of the state. Last Friday night they played on our turf, the Indy Eastside Moose. We know that venue well, as the Indy Dancers hold their dances there often.

We love the Moose. It has that old fashioned vibe we love, and everyone is friendly. We’ve never danced in the bar area before, but the floor was more than adequate. Terry Lee, of course, was fab. New lineup, which added a new sparkle. Not that the old sparkle was bad; we enjoy both configurations. And, according to Terry and the new guitarist’s father, they hadn’t been playing that long together. Couldn’t tell it by me.

So anyway, we are very glad they are playing more in Indy. Gary and I would join the Moose in a minute and attend bar events more often were it not for one thing: the smoke. When we dance with Indy Dancers there is no smoking, but Moose events have no such policy.

As I’ve said before I don’t want to make this blog a soapbox, but I have to say, especially when you are doing something that requires a lot of breath, smoke is bad. Gary and I both left with sore throats and itchy eyes, not to mention my hair reeked. It’s our choice to be there so I’d never say anything, and we will be back to see Terry. We figure we can do smoky once in awhile. Who I feel sorry for are the folks who don’t have a choice, like the wait staff and of course, the band.

Maybe smoking in public places is one of those old fashioned things that isn't so good.

A Very Fancy Weekend

And it was. Living in Indianapolis gives us many dancing options, including events at, as Gary would say, some grand old dames. Unlike many larger cities, Indy has preserved some lovely ballrooms. This weekend we danced at The Scottish Rite Cathedral and our beloved Roof, two such venues that escaped the wrecking ball.

The Roof was fabulous as always; going often does not diminish the overwhelming sense of grandeur with a whiff of do I really belong here feeling when I step through the ornate doors. It’s that gorgeous, from its Spanish/Moroccan décor to the giant disco ball hanging from a ceiling full of stars.

The Scottish Rite Cathedral doesn’t have many public dances, saving most events for their members. So it is a wonderful occurrence when we can dance on probably the best dance floor around. It’s a floating floor, which means it’s constructed with so much give your feet never ache at the end of the dance. Combine that with a décor that is right out of the Middle Ages, complete with the biggest chandelier I’ve ever seen. If Merlin walked out during intermission I wouldn’t be surprised.

It’d be so cool to see Merlin do a cha cha, don’t you think?

These dances are more expensive than our club dances at around 15 bucks a piece, but when you don’t have to stay all night they’re affordable. People travel great distances to dance at both these venues. To have them almost at our doorstep makes us feel very lucky indeed.

A Very Old-Fashioned New Year

I’ve experienced many New Year’s Eve celebrations, from the sublime to the, um, Party-ROCK. I’ve enjoyed every one of them. If you believe whatever you do on the eve is what you will be doing the next year, then that is what Gary and I want to be doing when the countdown begins.

A New Year’s dance can be very expensive, and this year we are watching our budget. Another factor in our choice is that we like spending that holiday with my parents, who also dance They are members of a community center in Raleigh, Indiana, who have been having a dance every Saturday night for 50 years. I’ve mentioned them before. We like it there.

But what would Raleigh be like on New Year’s? Gary and both like glitz and glamour, especially on that night. We arrived around 8:30; admission was 15 bucks a piece and a covered dish. Doesn’t get much better than that. The decorations were wonderful; glittery stuff hung from the ceiling and a fat holiday tree to the side. Very retro. The people, as always, were warm and welcoming.

Gary and I danced and danced. Many of the people there were older, like really older…over 90. They told us they used to dance like we do but now they couldn’t. As we drove home under a three quarter moon I was reminded that life is NOW. And as our favorite DJ Ron Fentz says, “Let’s dance.”

Happy New Year to all. If you dance, I hope you do it more often. If you don’t and have always wanted to, I wish for you the courage to try this year.