Halloween Party Number One

And exactly when we needed a pick me up, The Indy Dancers hosted their annual Halloween Bash. There's just something about seeing a grown man dressed like Zorro that forbids any sort of sad feeling. :-)

And Halloween is this weekend, woooHOO!

The Passing of the Brickyard Boogie Dancers

Kelly has a favorite bluegrass tune that has an appropriate lyric for how I feel right now:

"There is a time for love and laughter
The days will pass like summer storms
The winter wind will follow after
But there is love and love is warm"

Saturday we went out for the usual. That is to say we made the short trip to the Starlight Ballroom for the Brickyard Boogie Dancers weekly get together. When we pulled into the lot, Kelly commented how she hoped things were going okay with the club. Attendance of the club’s dances has been dwindling lately and there’s been an ongoing effort by the leadership to attract new members and encourage the existing membership to come out to dance. We walked into the ballroom and found our seats, then put on our shoes while we watched the tail end of the group lesson that precedes every Saturday dance.

Things seemed pretty normal as the evening wore on. The tunes were familiar as were the attendees, we danced what we’ve affectionately deemed the ‘traditional first swing’ and then settled into the rhythm of the night. The Boogies always are good for moderate to slow tempo WCS broken up by the occasional Texas Two Step or Nightclub Two Step and a smattering of Cha-Chas and there were no surprises in Ron’s repertoire. We danced ‘till we sweated, then sat down long enough to catch our breath again before hitting the floor again.

At around nine thirty there was the usual break in the dancing and music. For those of you who belong to dance clubs the mid-evening break probably is familiar. It’s time for announcements, maybe a demonstration dance, and if your club is so inclined there might be a drawing for free tickets to the next event. Unfortunately, this evening’s break didn’t go as usual, though.

Ron started his announcements with “It’s been a good run…” and that’s never what you want to hear when you’re interested in seeing the ‘run’ continue indefinitely. He proceeded to give the glum news about the club coffers and the night’s door, including the fact that the club made less on Saturday than they paid out to rent the facility. In short, the Brickyard Boogie Dancers were within $80 of broke and until further notice there would be no further dance events.

It’s probably hyperbole to compare the closure of a club with a lot of the losses people are experiencing in these tough times. I’ll flat out say that it is harder to lose your job or your home or your insurance or about a thousand other things people have on the line right now. A club, after all, is the social equivalent of a toy – a diversion to pass the idle hours. The loss of the Boogies, though, is a loss and the psychological process must be similar if on a smaller scale. My psychologist wife might have to correct me, but I’m fairly certain that the grieving process is the same: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. Maybe they’re ‘mini-stages’, passing in a few days or hours before the next stage begins…I don’t know and it really doesn’t matter (or maybe that just means I’m in stage four).

What I do know is that we’ll miss the Boogies. I’ll miss dancing with a laid back club that’s not ballroom-uptight. I’ll miss having a place where I can get out and dance without worrying about someone putting their elbow in my ear so that they can do their patented ‘double-back-flop-tango’. I’ll miss Ron’s “so…let’s dance…”. I’ll miss seeing our favorite couple looking the way I hope to look someday when I do the WCS. I’ll miss having a club that doesn’t do a ‘mixer’ or ‘snowball’ or any other enforced version of partner changing. I’ll even miss the predictable play-list that we’ve danced to almost since we joined the Boogies.

I guess I’ll just miss the Boogies.If you read this blog you’ll already know of the demise of the Brickyard Boogie Dancers, the club with the funny name that quickly became our favorite place to dance. I hope you’ll pardon my recanting the tale. Some part of healing comes from the retelling of sad stories and over time they become fond memories.

Goodbye to Brickyard Boogie Dancers

It is with much sadness that Gary and I learned last night that our favorite dance club, the Brickyard Boogie Dancers, will be no more. I wasn’t completely surprised; attendance had been dropping over the last year or so, but still. It was very sad.

The reasons why could be as varied as the people who come. We filled out a survey where we listed some suggestions. If I had to sum it up I would say the BBD needs a stronger identity of who they are. Hopefully the club can return stronger than ever. In the meantime, there will be a giant void in our dancing venues.

If Melissa taught us how to dance, the BBD gave us a place to make dancing our own. People were friendly and accepting, and experimentation and individually was celebrated.

Thanks, Ron. We’ll miss you.

This Moment

When I mention the foxtrot, you’ll probably think of a certain version of that dance. You’ll think about reverse poise, the man’s arms extended out and the woman draped over them like a garment with her face turned away from her partner. You’ll probably think of ballroom style foxtrot because that’s what most dance studios teach and it’s what the major brands (Fred Astaire and Arthur Murray would have you believe is the only way to dance the foxtrot. After Kelly and I made our Saturday trip to Cincinnati, I can tell you not only isn’t it the only way to foxtrot, it’s not even the original way of doing the dance.


We spent an afternoon with Rosie Lemkin of the Flying Cloud Academy. Flying Cloud is what’s referred to as a ‘vintage’ dance club, meaning they generally focus on the dances of the 1700’s, 1800’s, and early to mid 1900’s. This focus covers ragtime dances like The Grizzly Bear and the Turkey Trot as well as older styles like the Quadrille. Guess where the foxtrot falls into that mix? Well, the ‘fox’ part probably gives it away – the theory (at least Rosie’s) is that the foxtrot is a member of the family of animal dances that came about during the early 1900’s as a rebellion against the stiffness of Victorian social norms. In these dances not only did the dancers act out the aspects of the animals the names of which the dances bore, but they also (gasp) touched one another with more than extended fingers.

Thinking along these lines – that is to say, recognizing the animal dance roots of the foxtrot – it’s possible to start thinking about the dancer’s movements in a different way. In the vintage (20’s) version of the dance the footwork goes slow, quick-quick, slow, slow (as opposed to the ballroom slow, slow, quick-quick) and the motion includes a slight bounce with each quick. This bounce is meant to emulate a…trotting fox. If you’re not privileged enough to have witnessed a fox, think of a cat moving happily along. The bounce is subtle, not a hop or a jump just a slight bob with each step.

Personally, I love this version of the foxtrot. I think there are two reasons, really. Firstly it’s a dance of the twenties – that Wooster and Jeeves era that I love so much. When I tried the first steps of this dance I immediately felt transported to the twenties. I felt like a member of Wodehouse’s infamous Drones Club dressed up in waistcoat and cutaway and out for a night of jazz and champagne in the fashionable part of London. Secondly, there’s the fact that without reverse poise you’re left to look into the eyes of your partner. Yes, you came to dance with someone – there they are, right in front of you, so why not look at them? As Rosie said, “look into the eyes of your partner and get lost in the moment”.

To me that’s what dancing is all about, getting lost in the moment. It’s not about being the best on the floor, it’s not about showing off for the audience, it’s not even about knowing the steps to the dance. It is about enjoying the company of your partner and being totally present. Dance is a kind of Zen. The past is gone, the future not here yet, all you have is this dance – this stanza – this bar – this one note in this one moment. Look into the eyes of the partner you’re sharing the note with and get lost.

The ‘Billy and the Fox

It was a very interesting dance weekend. Interesting…good.

We started off our dancing at Mike’s Dance Barn in Nashville, In., to the fabulous piano playing of Terry Lee and the Rockaboogie band. I know we sound like a broken record, but that band simply does NOT put on a bad show. Every time we’ve seen them they’ve been fab…and that’s not just Terry, but every band member. Rockabilly legend Art Adams was there too; we were sorry to miss him but we had to get up early for the last half of our dancing weekend.

Saturday morning we drove to Cincinnati, Ohio, to be instructed by Rosie Lemkin, a member of the Flying Cloud Vintage Academy of Dance to learn 1920s style Foxtrot. She was a wonderful, patient, and knowledgeable teacher. She packed an unbelievable amount into two hours. We learned a number of moves in two different rhythms.

1920s Foxtrot is very different from ballroom; no reverse poise, and it is much more bouncy. Gary and I both fell in love. Rosie also showed us a vintage style of waltz which we also really liked. But first we want to master the Foxtrot.

Check out the clip below. I posted a 1920s Foxtrot a few weeks back, this one is called The Baltimore, closely related. In fact, we learned a move today that is much like some of the swaying moves in this dance. The cool thing about these dances is that you can mix and match, create, and improvise. And doesn’t it look fun?

OMG, another vein of dance we’ve opened…

Rockabilly Options

Ah, the fifties. I love the music of the fifties – Richie Valens, The Big Bopper, Buddy Holley, Chuck Berry, Little Richard, Jerry Lee Lewis, and dozens more all tearing it up with music that’s made for dancing. Kelly and I love rockabilly for its energy and spirit, it’s a part of the fifties that’s stayed alive and pure in its own little corner of the dance world. There are no ‘school figures’, there are no bronze, sliver, and aluminum levels, there’s just the music and the feeling you get when you’re out on the floor with the one you love.


So, if you’re in the market for a bit of old-school rock-n-roll this Friday there are a couple of options. Mike’s Dance Barn in Nashville, IN has the glorious, piano-pounding antics of Mr. Terry Lee and his Rockaboogie Band – geniuses in the style of one (face Louisiana and salute) Mr. Jerry Lee Lewis. Terry Lee and his band are a guaranteed good time and a guaranteed workout. There also is the Retro Rock at the Soda Shop held at Zaharakos Ice Cream Shop in Columbus, IN. Zaharakos is a place you really should visit if you have a chance. The ice cream parlor opened in 1900 and has an attached soda shop museum which is really cool. Unfortunately, I haven’t attended the Retro Rock event before so I can’t say what it will be like. We had to make the choice between the two and stuck with what we knew, Terry Lee…though it’s too bad we’ll miss the soda shop I know we won’t be sorry for seeing Terry Lee.

Time and Tide

Memorial Day, 1893 and there's a buzz around the south shore of the Great Salt Lake. Imagine the thousands of Victorians, buttoned to their chins and sweating in the Utah summer swelter while they wait through speeches and ceremonial technicalities. Investors and LDS officials gather under the grand arch that marks the entrance to the great hotel and, though you can't see it, the ribbon is cut. A cheer goes up and the Coney Island of the West, the Great Saltair Pavilion has opened its doors.

The building is an architectural wonder - boardwalks and pavilions cantilevered out over the briny waters of the Great Salt Lake. The undertaking required the support of Mormon Church, the Las Angeles Railway Company, as well as numerous rich investors from Salt Lake City and the result of their investment was a marvelous gem sparkling on the shore of the Salt Lake. Workers drove over 2000 pylons into the salty mud and upon these pillars rose a house of music, amusement, and relaxation.

Thousands flocked to Salt Lake to see the Saltair to enjoy the novelty of the 25% salt water that lapped its beaches as well as a lineup of top-rated talent manning its bandstand. Summer nights brought ragtime serenades and the days brought soaks in the salt water and hotdogs on the boardwalk. The LDS church intended to be 'wholesome' and 'family oriented' however the Saltair soon ran afoul of its Mormon backers for selling coffee and tea and the establishment's being open on Sundays, all of which violated church doctrine. Regardless, the hotel and pavilion remained a success as America sought fun and music in the early twentieth century.

In its heyday, the Saltair advertized itself as having the biggest dance floor in the world. The vast wooden oval that accommodated hundreds of dancing couples would look like a football field to modern eyes. Overhead a forest of timbers supported the arabesque dome and wallflowers could enjoy a panoramic view of thousands of bathers enjoying the water which contained about twenty-five percent salt in solution. The salinity of the Great Salt Lake prompted the claims of 'You Can't Sink if you Try' that were painted on the Saltair's buoys, it probably was a great thrill for well-healed easterners to try that claim. After a day's swimming and strolling the boardwalk, guests would change into their dinner-wear to dine in the hotel's restaurant before spending the evening on the dance floor or taking a starlight stroll on the boardwalk. America's amusement park craze was underway and the Saltair stood at its forefront.

In 1925 a fire broke out in Ali Baba's Cave and, fanned by a stiff wind, quickly spread to other buildings in the hotel complex. The flames burned into the night, doing a half-million dollars of damage before being extinguished. An infusion of money from Mormon investors revived the Saltair , bringing it back 'bigger and better than before' but the '25 fire marked the beginning of the end for the Coney Island of the West. The world had changed in the thirty years that the Saltair had been in existence. Movies and radio dominated the American entertainment landscape and the population of the Tooele Valley (where the hotel was located) dwindled. Fewer people made the trek to the shores of the Great Salt Lake, choosing to spend their time and money on more convenient or more modern entertainments.

The Saltair struggled along until 1931 when an arsonist set it ablaze, doing $100,000 worth of damage. As if in collusion with the arsonist, that same year the waters of the Great Salt Lake receded, literally leaving its boardwalks and bathing beaches high and dry. The hotel's owners responded by constructing a railway line to ferry bathers from the hotel to the shores of the Salt Lake but even this measure couldn't forestall the tide of change brought the coming decade would unleash.

In 1941 the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor and the US entered World War II. The draft took the men and boys who'd once worked at the Saltair and rationing curtailed the vital supplies needed to run a grand hotel. At the opening of WWII, the Saltair closed its grand doors for the last time. The hotel wouldn't reopen for forty years. During this time the hotel played host to a few special events including the 1962 cult film "Carnival of Souls" but having a hotel selected as the set for a horror film does not speak to the marvels of its preservation. The pavilions and grand halls had fallen into neglect and disuse and the once great Saltair had become a ghost of its former self.

In 1981 the growing population of the Tooele Valley and the proximity of Interstate 80 brought new interest to the aged Saltair. A new group of investors began construction on what would be called "Saltair III", bringing in parts of what had been an aircraft hangar for the construction process. Nature wasn't quite ready for a simulacrum of what she'd claimed and the new construction was promptly flooded by the waters of the Great Salt Lake which had receded from the site of the original hotel over forty years prior. Construction continued after the setback and today Saltair III is open and hosting events and concerts but it is a sad husk of the hotel whose name it bears. Perhaps it’s the old adage about silk purses and sows ears being paraphrased - maybe you can't make a grand attraction from an abandoned aircraft hangar. Whatever the case, I'm planning on making the trip to the site of Saltair I during one of my Utah trips. I plan to stand by the remnants of the boardwalk pilings.

When I'm there I'll cup a hand to one ear and listen for strands of Joplin and Goodman on the salty breeze and I'll look for spectral couples in tuxedo and evening dress, heading for the dancehall hand-in-hand. I'll smile and I'll think, time and tide wait for no one.

Flamenco!

Gary and I attended a benefit event Friday evening for Joy's House in Indianapolis (alas, no viable public dancing), but we did get to see some fabulous flamenco dancers. I was absolutely enthralled.

The steps are very cool too, but I could not take my eyes off the women's hands...graceful swirls, passionate gestures, belly dancing-like wrist flips, salsa "holding the egg", all woven together into a style that is unique. I plan on working a few of the hand motions into my own dancing.

What I liked just as much as the dancing itself was the powerful feeling evoked by the women; female flamenco dancers seem to be saying I am strong, sexy, and elegant. And do not mess with me.

Check out the below video. The music is not traditional flamenco, but I chose this because the shadow style shows off the hands and body.

The Final Ball

Its autumn and nostalgia has settled over the land - well, at least over me. Something about the smell of burning leaves and the approach of Thanksgiving sets me to thinking about the past. Not necessarily my past - that's both checkered and pretty pathetic - I'm talking about the past in an esoteric sense and all together Norman Rockwell sense. Anyway, when I get in that mood I peruse the web for history's spindrift: old photos of dancing, old ads with dancers, and everything dance related that sets me back in the middle of an era before I was born. The item that washed up on the digital shoreline today is this - a dance card from the 1940 'Final Ball'.

Something about that title strikes me. 1940, in one year the US would enter Word War II. The Nazis and their allies already held sway over much of Europe and the steady drumbeat of falling shells could be heard behind every aspect of American life. Many people had to know that it was only a matter of time before America entered the war, though few probably could have guessed at the carnage that would propel us into the conflict. Still, on the eve of war, life went on with all its frivolities. From New York to Las Angeles balls were held, music played, and young lovers danced the night away. In some circles it was proper etiquette to have a dance card, a printed list of the tunes that would be played through the evening which the ladies could use to reserve dances for gentlemen. It was the 'polite' thing to do and the origin of the phrase 'save the last dance for me'.

So, the Final Ball was held one night in '40 and on that night a lady donned her tea-length skirt, her cape-back coat, and her best hat before grabbing her clutch and heading out the door. Somehow, in the course of the evening the little dance card got forgotten, left lying on the nightstand or somewhere. She came home and put the dance card away and it got forgotten in all the joy and pain of the coming years surviving to this day as a token of an evening's expectations. An unspoken promise waiting for its moment without knowing that moment has long passed.

Maybe it's my age or my not being single but, unlike many things that I lament passing, the dance card seems like a thing whose time has come and gone. Now all of my dances are saved for someone. Maybe, when I was awkward and single, it would have been nice to be able to reserve three minutes to dance with a girl I liked. Maybe that would have been three minutes of bliss before the end of the Final Ball. Maybe, back in 1940, some dough-faced fellow reserved the second waltz of the night with our mystery girl. Maybe he toured around the floor, smelling her perfume and imagining that this dance could be the beginning of something, the kindling of a great fire that would burn through the decades until time made it mellow to embers. Maybe he carried that feeling home, buttoned up inside his coat. When the world fell apart, maybe he secretly carried it out of the landing craft and onto Sword or Utah beach where the cold water of the Atlantic and the misfortunes of time and place snuffed out the ember. Maybe eternity is a waltz, forever holding the one you love, forever living in that moment when your eyes meet and your heart skips - heaven is a thousand first dates, all of them better than you ever could have hoped. Heaven is walking home after the Final Ball with the smell of her perfume clinging to your coat, the harvest moon lighting your way, and the cool evening breeze stirring the rustling autumn leaves.

Casa Loma!

Gary and I are headed back to the Casa Loma Ballroom for their annual Halloween bash. We're going as Major Nelson and Jeannie from the TV show, I Dream Of Jeannie. Gary is Major Nelson. :-) This year my parents are going with us. Not sure how they are dressing, but it will be fun having them with us.

WooHOO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Vintage Halloween Dance

I love Halloween. My husband and I were married on this magical day. Halloween, in my opinion, has gotten a bad rap recently in some quarters as being evil. Sad. This day, or should I say night, is enchanted, but evil? Never.

Folks from yesteryear understood that ghosts and goblins should be given a healthy respect, but if well treated they could be interesting party guests. Much like living humans. :-)

Here is an old invite caption:

"At Hallowe'en a dance I'm giving, Come mingle with the dead and living; For I'm inviting spooks as well, Who will impart a magic spell."

And the accompanying graphic:



Now that doesn't look scary, does it?

Flutter and Blink

Warning: Girl Post.

I’ve always wanted to wear false lashes; there’s something so glamorous about them. And, unlike others in my family, I was NOT born with a luscious fringe. Sadly, my lashes are thin, short, and sparse, even with several coats of mascara.

I’ve tried false lashes before. I didn’t have much luck. Patience is not one of my virtues. I either didn’t get them on correctly and half way through the evening I’d have a spider on my cheek, or else the glue was so strong I ripped out what few pitiful lashes I had at the end of the evening.

Well. Ether the glue and lashes have been improved or I’ve gotten more patient. I tried them again…and I LOVE them! I have a plain pair in brown, a couple with glitter, and a pair that looks like Cleopatra. You don’t have to spend big bucks; drug store ones at two dollars or so work fine, or there’s always ebay. Having tried them now, I have some pros and cons.

Cons

1) They do not work with glasses. If you wear glasses you will probably have to trim them, or else get used to the feeling of them brushing the lenses.

2) Most don’t look natural. I have a pair that is supposed to be realistic, but my husband, who isn’t best noticer (which BTW, I don’t mind…he thinks I look good in sweatpants), spotted them without me asking, as in, do you have fake lashes on?? If you want natural do those individual ones, half lashes, or wear mascara.

3) The glue dries fast. It says on the package wait until tacky, but I’ve found the time it takes my fumble fingers to get them on my lash line is plenty of time for tackiness to develop.

4) You can feel them. Well, yeah…something is stuck to your lids. You have to get used to that sensation.

Pros

1) Your eyes look huge and dramatic. For those of us who have never had long lashes, it’s awesome. And they come in a myriad of shapes, colors, some even have decorations. It would be very hard to glue rhinestones on your real lashes.

2) They now make eyelash glue that dries black; it looks like eye liner! Perfect. NOTE: I ruined a pair using what was called “remover”, some kind of nasty oil. You don’t need it. The glue just peels off like rubber cement

3) You don’t have to use any other eye make up unless you want to. And since you don’t need mascara when wearing false lashes, it actually takes less time to remove makeup.

4) You feel flirty. Pretty. Long lashes just do that. Wink.