On the Road Again...

Tonight's going to be interesting. It's a 'smooth honky-tonk' night at Mike's Dance Barn. No Terry Lee tearing the place up - instead it'll be the house band and in a way they'll be playing me off the stage for a three-week hiatus. Business is taking me to the far-flung shores of Fremont, CA and Middletown, VA. In the span of three weeks I'll cross the country with only a brief stint at my Indiana Home between. I like traveling (especially when I can work in a visit to a great dance venue) but the first half of my travels promises to be way more business than trip. Maybe I'll get in a little surveying in Fremont, you never know.

During the second half, though, I'll be visiting a few venues in VA. One interesting fact about the town I'm staying in while in Virginia is that it's the birthplace of Patsy Cline. I guess that's a link between tonight's dance at Mike's Dance Barn and my traveling. Huh, synchronicity?

Moosing About

Moosing Around

Originally I thought I'd write about last weekend's experience with the Heartland Dancers but I found myself torn. As I started to put pixels to virtual paper I kept thinking I either needed to heed the sage motherly advice of 'if you don't have something nice to say don't say anything at all' or I'd need to apply a Dragnet-style disclaimer at the beginning of the post saying "the names of those involved in this story have been changed to protect their identity". While I debated this, my dear Kelly got to the keyboard first and put everything down, naming names and the whole shebang. So there I was with a partially written blog post and all the air let out of my scoop. What's a sharp-tongued fellow to do?

Well, in the absence of a target for my razor wit, I thought I'd pen something about our recent re-visit to the Shadeland Moose Lodge. You'll remember we attended the Indy Dancer's luau at the Moose and it was a bit of a wash in spite of being fun. No good for the knees dancing on concrete regardless of what kind of shoes you're wearing. This week we returned to the scene of the Hawaii 5-0 crime only we saw the inside of the Moose Lodge.

You know, until yesterday I'd never seen the inside of any sort of lodge. I didn't know what to expect - I mean there aren't any really good depictions of lodge life in the media (at least any of the media outlets I frequent), so the whole thing was a big mystery to me. I found myself coming off with visions of Fred Flintstone and Barney Rubble in their Loyal Order of Buffalo hats and I wondered if the dance session would be emceed by some kind of poobah (grand or otherwise). Truth isn't quite as strange as fiction.

The inside of the Moose Lodge looked a lot like the inside of just about any other public building though with more patriotic symbology scattered about. There were flags and mentions of 'our men and women in uniform' on bulletin boards, there were photos of club events, and there were trophies - generally the makings of just about any sort of social organization you can imagine. In the back of the building was a bar and full dining room with a steam table. A few wizened and tired looking fellows lingered over their beers in the bar - maybe contemplating days when lodges like the Moose had memberships in the tens of thousands. Beyond the bar, a glassed off 'smoking area' was crowded with people. I imagine a separate smoking area would be about as alien as a lunar lander would be to the founders of the fraternal order - times have changed even if the Moose hasn't.

Kelly and I passed the bar and smoking area and crossed the lobby to the ballroom. The dance floor was small but still bigger than some of the venues we've danced and in a lot better condition than many of them. Around the darkened room were photos and paintings, depictions of lodge life which probably meant a lot to the initiated. To me they were untranslatable emblems of a dark and dying culture - curiosities that pulled at the part of me that loves old venues, old buildings, and almost forgotten histories. As we found a spot at one of the tables around the floor the usual club music started playing and some of the atmosphere drained away, soon we were sweating and dancing and totally ignoring our surroundings - lost in a song and worrying over whether to try a double spin or an arm bar.

If you get a chance to dance the East Side Moose in Indy, do it. No, Buddy Rich never played their stage and the feet of a dozen generations haven't graced their hardwood floor. There's still something special about the place - something from a time when a fellow could leave work at four o'clock, put on a fez, and take his best girl down to the lodge for drinks and a dance with a few dozen brothers. There's something right about that.

Dance Sport

Dancing is a sport. If I didn’t believe it before I started to dance I surely do now. And so I understand if long time dancers are touchy about this as I was one of the people they directed this touchiness too. I thought dancing was pretty, but not a sport.

Some dancers believe ballroom dancing should be an Olympic sport. It should be! I understand being protective of their sport. Touchy, however, is no excuse to be rude or exclusionary. Curious? Read on.

There are various dance clubs that work towards ballroom dancing as an officially recognize sport, the most well-known is probably USA dance, the local chapter in Indy is located here:

http://www.indyusadance.org/

They promote dancing as a sport and are working very hard to get ballroom dancing into the Olympics. They are very serious about this goal; they sponsor various competitions, workshops, and dances. They promote official ballroom technique, both international and American style.

I get all if that. But…they ALSO promote their dances as social dances. Everyone is welcome, they say. All levels. All dancers. So last Friday evening Gary and I decided to attend one of their dances because it was at our beloved Starlite ballroom, and because we like to try new venues. Since we knew this group was serious with a capitol S, we dressed up. We arrived excited, dance shoes in hand, expecting to have a wonderful time and observe fabulous dancers.

Hello, we said to the man and woman taking the entrance fee. The woman stared at me; her eyes widened. She didn’t say anything. Gary repeated again. Hello? We’re here for the dance. The woman cleared her throat. You’re…guests. Yes, we said cheerily. Guests. You’re not students here, she said, brows raised. No, we answered, we’re guests. Guests are allowed? I asked, now feeling decidedly unwelcome. The man butted in with a yes, that’s 15 a piece. So we paid and went in. The price was high…most dances, even if you are not a member of the club, are ten at the most.

We settled in. A man came over and chatted. He said the dancers here were GOOD, and that if he were a beginner he would feel BAD. I looked at Gary. Was that a warning? Weird. Then a couple sat down. The woman stared at my dance sneakers, gathered her stuff back up, and took off. The husband did shrug his shoulders but that was strange. My poor shoes got lots of disdainful looks during the course of the evening.

So the music started. It was all different kinds of ballroom, which we expected. We danced a lot. Of course, to some latin tunes we did our WCS plus cha cha, which Gary has dubbed the West Coast Cha. At our club dances people have asked us what dance was that in an admiring way. Here we got disdainful looks and many frowns. I do understand that being purists, they might not like it. That’s cool. But to look at us with obvious distain, well, that was rude.

The other odd thing they did was a forced mixer called a snowball. I have no problem with mixers…fine for anyone who wants to do them. Gary and I don’t. So the snowball snowballed us right out the door. As we left the presumed dude in charge ran after us. Thanks for coming, he said, please come back, and quickly returned to his spot on the floor. We had danced all evening. It was oh-so-obvious they knew we were there. We left suddenly in the middle of a dance. Hello?

So. A couple of things. First, why do women have to be mean to other women? Do we not have enough trouble in this world with equality as far as men are concerned? I’m sorry to say most of the “looks” were from women. At first I thought it was in my head, but Gary noticed too.

Second, social dancing means just that…all levels, all ages, and dare I say, all kinds of dancing. Gary and I are club dancers; we mix styles, we make up steps, we modify combinations. Saying that, we are also polite, aka, we don’t run into anyone (and oh yes, Gary and I got whacked several times with ballroom flourishes), we don’t do crazy jumps, we don’t make fun of any particular styles, even if we don’t like it. We were respectful of the venue by dressing up, clapping for their exhibitions, etc. Bottom line; We were respectful of them. If this club did not want our kind there they should have made that plain on the website.

Three. Do ballroom dancers not think club dancers can’t be serious? The reason Gary and I dance is first and foremost to be together. BUT, we also are very serious about getting better. “Better”, in my opinion, does not have to be ballroom standard. For example, I know the rockabilly swing will never be an Olympic sport, but it is a hard dance and Gary and I are pushing ourselves to get better and better at it.

Four. There are other ballroom clubs/venues that ARE welcoming; the Continentals here in Indy treat you like an honored guest no matter how or what you dance, The Indianapolis Roof scene is a wonderful blended crowd, and the owners of the Starlite ballroom are happily indifferent on their Friday night practice sessions. The Starlite owners also allow other clubs, including the ones Gary and I are joined to, to rent their space.

I watched an exhibition last Friday of an international foxtrot. The couple was fabulous. Made me sad that the stars of club dancing would probably not be appreciated as “real” dancers at this venue. Too bad. Also too bad that of all the places Gary and I have tried in our three years of dancing, the Heartland dance has been the only one where we felt unwelcome, and will most likely never return.

Luaus and Belly Dancing

A little known fact concerning the Hawaiian Islands; many people visited the lovely arpeggio before the United States made their claim to the famous vacation spot. In the early 1500s, an intrepid group of royals from India set sail one day, laden with jewels, silken canopies, and their respective harems. Then disaster struck; like the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald saga, a terrible storm engulfed four of the five ships. Only one was washed to the golden beach of what is now the Big Island. As the crew and passengers stumbled to shore their hearts were uplifted by the sheer beauty of the place, and the women began to sway to the sensual dance of their homeland. And so belly dancing arrived to the land of Hawaii, complete with silken skirts, jiggling coin belts, and finger cymbals.

Kidding.

But you’d never know by the intermission entertainment at the Indy Dancer’s luau at the eastside Moose club in Indianapolis last Saturday. I smothered a giggle as twenty or so ethnically garbed women shimmed to the driving beat; belly dancing…at al luau? But as they progressed I became entranced. I love this style of dancing; the sinuousness, the rippling torsos, and the absolutely gorgeous way the dancers hold their arms and hands. I’ve been learning some belly dancing moves via some CDs and you tube; I think it adds much to my dancing, especially WCS and the Latin dances. And so I was able to pick up some more tips watching these dancers.

On the way home I wondered if there was a connection to belly dancing and the hula. Check out these two videos:







I am no expert in either of these styles of dancing, but here are my observations nonetheless. There are differences; overall it seems to me the hula is softer…more delicate. I do, however, see many similarities, especially in the arm and hand positions and movements. I know in hula dancing the hands are telling a story, and I can see that in both styles. The communications may be about different things, but both are absolutely riveting, and quite beautiful.

Once again the universality of dance has made itself known. So perhaps having belly dancing at a luau isn’t so weird after all. I have a jingly belt. Maybe I will purchase a grass skirt.

Messin' at the Moose

Yesterday evening took us to an Indy Dancer’s event at the East Side Moose Lodge. That event was a ‘luau’. Yup, Hawaiian luau right here in Indy…well, only with hot dogs instead of roast pork…and baked beans instead of poi…and coleslaw instead of, well, you get the picture.

When we got to the Shadeland Avenue exit I was reminded of just how hard the economy has been on blue-collar America. I remember in my youth that Shadeland Avenue was home to two things: the Chrysler plant and the Ford plant. My parents had friends who worked at Chrysler – they were genuine auto worker stock: union to the bone, church-goers by rote, and just about as middle class as you can get. I vaguely remember my mother or father (can’t remember which one anymore) commenting on how this particular couple could afford things like a houseboat because of how much their jobs paid while we couldn’t afford to spend our money on such luxuries. I also remember my dad’s revulsion at anything unionized – odd considering he came from coalminer stock.

Anyway, since those golden days the U.S. auto industry has pretty much headed into the ground with all the speed and grace of the Hindenburg and pretty much to the same ends. The remains of that particular aircraft reminds me of what Shadeland Avenue has become: a smoldering husk of its former, glorious self.

The Moose is a relic of the time when autoworkers came off the line and banded together in leisure fraternities outside their union affiliations. It kind of makes you wonder, couldn’t these guys do anything without making a club out of it? The lodge is a nondescript building save for the silhouette of a moose that adorns the drive-under awning. Wouldn’t want the wife’s fancy bouffant to get ruined by the rain and, besides, gen’lmen drop the girls at the door. The luau was out back in a shelter house surrounded by horse shoe pits and playground equipment. I wondered how many autoworkers spent their Labor Day holidays on this lot, drinking beer and playing euchre with the fellows from the fabrication line. The country used to be a different kind of place, I think.

The floor was rotten for dancing: concrete, uneven, and uniquely slick and sticky at the same time. Once a few handfuls of crushed potato chips got strewn about it was practically treacherous. We got in a few EC and WC swings and a rumba but by nine o'clock we were calling it quits. Not an event I think I'll repeat but still we had a good time. The heart was in the gathering but the venue, not so much. We're hoping to attend an indoor dance at the Shadeland Avenue Moose sometime in the future, though.

The Bubble Girl

This post is not about some kind of bubble dance, although I did see a man dressed all in bubbles last Halloween. (Check out the Casa Loma website for the 2008 Halloween party). No, this frothy interlude is about how I survive as a private person in the very public world of dance.

Dancing is mostly public. Duh. I guess I never thought too much about that when Gary and I first started; our lessons were private, our practice was also. But as we progressed we wanted to dance out for a number of reasons; we out grew our small dance floor, we do enjoy the energy of a crowd, and we like to watch other dances.

And then it hit me; if I watched other dancers perhaps they were, gasp, watching me. About that same time I noted people around me assessing and critiquing others, what they had on, what dances they did and don’t do, and how well they executed moves.

You may ask yourself at this point, don’t I do this myself? Well, yes and no. I enjoy watching the crowd through slitted eyes and imagining I’m in some kind of fairy grove. (I’m a writer, OK?) When I’m not doing this my eyes travel to couples who have a particular style I like, or are doing moves I want to learn. I don’t assess or critique, unless someone crashes into me.

But I know others do, and for awhile that totally freaked me out. But then I came up with a couple of strategies. The first was, hey, who or what are they comparing me too? Themselves? I don’t care. The Official Ballroom Technique? I don’t care. The normal dance dress code? I really don’t care.

That helped. But I still felt weird when I perceived someone’s eyes on me, or Gary whispering people are watching. So I then imagined that I was in a bubble, rather like Sarah’s in the movie Labyrinth. And that was the final strategy that enabled me to dance freely, not caring if I mess up, or if someone thinks what I’m wearing or doing is strange, wrong, or silly.

My sister just finished reading Carrol Spinney's Big Bird & Oscar the Grouch book. Carrol Spinney was Big Bird. He enjoyed playing the character, except when he was expected to dance. Apparently, even without the costume he believed he couldn’t dance. He carried on for a number of years, hating it. One day the Rockettes asked for him. He panicked. Then one of his fellow Muppet wielders asked, how old is Big Bird supposed to be? Carrol replied, about five. Well, said his friend, wouldn’t any five year old think he was a fabulous dancer? And so Carrol approached the Rockette number with that sort of attitude… and had a wonderful time.

I don’t think it matters what your strategy is; a bubble, a five year old giant bird, a fairy princess, or perhaps an appearance on Dancing With The Stars. People can be thoughtless. But don’t let their comments, real or imagined, keep you from dancing.

And hey, if you allow yourself to interpret the music freely maybe you’ll be the couple people want to emulate.

Published!

Just a short note this morning to let all of you know that one of my pictures has been published! I'm no photographer - a fact that I'm sure you're aware of if you've seen some of the snaps of venues I've posted. Well, yesterday I got notice that a picture of the Casa Loma Ballroom that I took last October had been selected for use in the Schmap, St. Louis City Guide! Not a paying gig but the honor is enough. I've attached the widget to our blog and when you hover over the Casa Loma just think, Kelly and I are standing in the parking lot opposite the façade with me hanging out the door of my beat-up old car to take a quick picture before we headed back to the hotel to change for that night's dance!

It's Hot!

Welcome to July. One of the hottest months in the calendar year here in Indy, second only to August's stagnant swelter. Not the time when you think about dancing. It's too dang hot! If you're like me you sweat to the point that it's disconcerting and if you don't sweat when you dance you'll spontaneously combust in the middle of the dance floor. Let me tell you, there isn't much more embarrassing than bursting into flames in the middle of a cha cha!

The way things worked out we're not dancing over the July 4th holiday. Last year we went to Riolo to see the fireworks but this year we're going to blow up a chunk of Shelby County instead. It's tradition. We pack up the car, head out to some good friends' house, eat too much, and at dusk the men-folk try to set fire to one another. Quaint. It gives some grounding to my listening to rockabilly.

Speaking of rockabilly I have some pointers to offer (if I haven't already). For the fellow who's interested in learning rockabilly understand that after the basic everything is hard. I've never danced anything where every freaking move was as hard or harder than the one that preceded it. In EC swing you'll run into one or two moves that are tough but they're interspaced with moves that aren't so bad. Rockabilly's like being in a fist fight - ever punch hurts. There are some things that can make it less painful, though.

1. Small steps. And I mean SMALL STEPS. Move your feet just enough to clear whatever obstacles you need to clear. It'll help a hell of a lot when you start dancing up to speed.
2. Bounce. Yeah, it's more effort but rockabilly requires a lot of effort so get used to it. If you bounce you'll be able to move faster and you're going to need to move faster.
   
   

Unfortunately that's all the help I have to offer. I wish I could make the dance simple but if I couldn't I wouldn't whine so much about it being hard. Where would the fun be in that?