Snowed In

The snow has repeatedly interfered with our dance plans in the month of February. Last Friday a snow storm blew in and cancelled our club dance and today another came before the day was out both our club dance and our weekly dance lesson had gone by the wayside. None the less we resolved to practice a couple new moves - one for the Puerto Rican salsa and another for the Rockabilly Swing. Though the wind is howling and whipping the snow around our windows we still managed to dance through it all.


That's something to remember - dance through it all. I'm on a positive thinking kick lately, a difficult task sometimes, and I'm doing my best to apply it to all phases of my life. That includes dancing. There are a million little things that can get you down and make you want to hang up your dance cleats. Bad bands, bad dance floors, clods crowding the floor, add in all of life's un-dance-related troubles and you've got the makings of some real heartbreak.

Dance is like life, you get through it by practicing the right steps and by having a good partner. Good doesn't mean skilled - you don't need Fred Astaire or Ginger Rodgers to make it. Good means someone who knows, loves, and supports you through all those rough spots. I can't tell you how many times I sat and banged my head when Kelly and I first took up the Lindy Hop and the Rockabilly Swing. They're tough dances and neither of them came naturally to me. I had to screw up a hundred times before I got the basic right in either dance and there still are days when I'm an absolute menace on the floor. But I can't give up. I won't give up. To quote a corny song from White Christmas, "the best things happen while you're dancing…" Why give up the best things for the mediocre things - I'm not shooting for mediocrity!

Close and Move On

Ever have a dentist appointment that you dreaded? Maybe you had a cavity that needed to be filled and you knew the drilling would hurt like - well, a lot? So, for hours before the appointment you tried to figure out if - just maybe - the pain was imaginary and you could just go on like nothing was wrong. In the end though, painful or not, you got the tooth drilled and filled and eventually felt a lot better for it.

This week's been that way. The dust on our doomed routine has settled, the initial shock and disappointment (though still present) has faded into clarity, and it's time to move on. Well, it's time for us to move on.

It's not surprising that a ballroom studio teaches ballroom style and values ballroom priorities. When Kelly and I first started dancing we had no idea that there'd be any difference between a place teaching ballroom and a swing-oriented club. I mean its all dance, right? The short answer is yes and no. Yes, swing is a dance just like any of the ballroom dances. No, the core philosophy of swing and ballroom aren't the same.

In my heart I'm a club dancer. I love swing in all its variations from South Carolina Shag to Arkansas Street Swing and from Rockabilly to Bop. That doesn't mean I've given up on learning and dancing the Fox Trot. My heart beats in a certain ardent way when I think about listening to a romantic Goodman tune while I circulate around the dance floor. In the final analysis, though, I don't need medals, trophies, or ballroom strictures to tell me I'm a good (or bad) dancer. I feel it.

2010 will start with more exploration and more fodder for our blog. We're going to take on Latin dances from Afro-Cuban instructors, we're going to plumb the depths of Swing instructors, and we're going to try to capture the elusive Fox Trot. Raise a glass to the new year and strap on a fresh pair of dance shoes. The band's warming up and it's almost time for the ball to drop in Times Square.

Skids

It's been awhile since the old curmudgeon had a few words with you folks out there in dance land. Sorry for the delay - I've been busy chasing kids off my lawn with a cane when I'm not down at the corner grocery complaining about the price of onions these days. It's the latter that has me sitting down to type a missive tonight - kids, youngsters, rapscallions.

Yesterday evening I had a perfectly respectable evening planned. I toddled down to the local ballroom to join up with my fellow club members for their 7th anniversary dinner and dance. In my heart I was looking forward to a dandy evening - mangling some potatoes and a slice of passable roast before settling in for a couple of hours on the dance floor. It's the predictable things in life that keep me sane - they are the anchor that moors me in the safe harbor of my life (to get poetic about it).

Things were swell and I was about to head to the buffet for a slice of cake when the club DJ announced that we had 'visitors' attending the function that evening. Don't get me wrong - I don't have anything against out-of-towners coming to any dance, club or otherwise. It's fine for a few relatives in from Cleveland to occupy a table and watch the goings on…maybe even join in for a Foxtrot or Shag. Really, it's great…but isn't an anniversary supposed to be for the people anniversarizing not for spectators? I mean, what if your significant other asked to invite a cousin to come along to your anniversary dinner? Or maybe share your birthday for the sake of expedience? Doesn't seem right, does it? So maybe that's why I got a feeling of foreboding when I heard that announcement. I wouldn't say I wanted to yell 'throw the bums out' but I have to admit somewhere deep in the rusty workings of my soul I kinda thought it.

Still the evening went forward and the DJ struck up the usual first swing tune - like I said these dances are almost rituals, there are club members who've been attending far longer than I have and I suspect they could name the tunes that will be played any night in order. Any deviation from the pre-arranged order must be submitted in writing weeks in advance and put before a secret committee - I hear there are funny hats and secret handshakes but I'm not sure and if I were I wouldn't be allowed to say. I sit back and I look across the floor and the first sight I encounter is that of the visitors…dancing.

Okay, dancing is a broad category and maybe in east armpit wherever these people hale from they don't require things like…being on the beat…but I still assume that they'd have some basic manners. It all goes back to the fact that people don't seem to know the difference between social dancing and antisocial dancing. So let me lay it down for you.

In social dancing you're aware of where you are on the floor most, if not all, of the time. You're also aware of what's going on around you…you know where the slow people are, where the fast people are, and in general you try to make it pleasant for everyone and, thereby, yourself. While in antisocial dancing you just worry about showing off - hey, everyone else can look out for themselves 'cause it's all about you - right?

In social dancing you know that the floor is divided into roughly three sections: outer orbit for those who conflate traveling dances with track events, inner orbit for everyone else, and middle for beginners and people who aren't doing traveling dances. In antisocial dancing the whole floor is nothing but the fast lane and if you're in the fast lane well, you might as well be playing on the freeway.

In social dancing you make sure you don't dance into the way of other dancers if you can help it. If you make a mistake an cross someone up, you excuse yourself politely and get out of their way as best you can. In antisocial dancing, hey this is Mad Max land and if you can't defend your slice of hardwood then it ought to be taken from you by force.

In social dancing you excuse yourself when you bump into someone - even a simple 'sorry' will suffice, after all we all goof once in awhile. In antisocial dancing the other buffoons on the floor are luck you don't knock them out cold when you run into them…after all, dance is a contact sport.

So you probably got my gist - I didn't so much like these folks. I will say they spurred me on to add to the Blue Suede Souls lexicon, though. The new definition is as follows (and will be posted appropriately):

Skids (n): Teen aged dancers who, either engrossed in the opposite sex or in their perceived ability to dance, blatantly take up more than their share of the floor, present a hazard to other dancers, and generally detract from the enjoyability of an evening dancing. We'll stay on the far end of the dance floor, as far away from the skids as possible.

It Ain't All Spice...

I've been sitting here in my half-dark office listening to the remnants of Ike roar through Indiana and considering our dance habits of late. It seems to me that a certain routine has settled in on us. We go to the Starlight Ballroom most weekends - at least once, depending on if one of our clubs is having a dance. During the week we have our dance lesson and - again, depending on the clubs we belong to - we go to the 8 Seconds Saloon for a quiet couple of hours spent honing what we've learned. On occasion we go to the Indiana Roof Ballroom and some weekends we go t the Riolo - but that's catch as catch can. That's our usual - our comfortable routine.

I started off thinking maybe the whole routine was preparation for the long, Midwestern winter ahead - kind of ant-like buckling down and getting things in order. Then again, I thought it could just be what happens in your second year of dancing - with experience comes and understanding of the things you do and don't like. In the end I wasn't able to come up with any definitive answers - all I can say is it's comfortable routine and I'm okay with that.

Somebody once said that variety is the spice of life implying we all should get out and have new experiences - and there's some truth in the assertion. The thing is you can't live on spice alone. Think of it in food terms - how about a big dish of tarragon? Maybe toss in a bit of black pepper and some cloves for texture? Doesn't that sound yummy? How about indigestible? Every spice in the world is meant to accomplish one thing - to be an accent.

I love checking out a new venue and trying a new step. One of the reasons I wanted to learn to dance was because I wanted to see the great dancehalls and ballrooms of years gone by. The thing is to dance and dance well - you have to embrace the routine as much as the 'spicy bits' or you'll wind up witnessing all those great dance floors as a wallflower.

Routine is practice. It's getting out there and doing the basic rumba step over and over until you can incorporate Cuban hips and make it smooth. I'm in to swing - and I mean really in to it. Every time we go anywhere we hit every swing tune we've got the stamina to dance and we throw all the moves we know at those dances. But it's the routine that makes it look good. I can't say how many 'ballroom swingers' I've run into on the dance floor - you know the type? They're stiff as a starched shirt and look like they're more worried about only touching their dates with two fingers and keeping a fake smirk plastered on their inexpressive faces than actually FEELING the music. The thing is, swing isn't routine for them so it looks stilted and frankly, pretty silly - it's all spice.

So that's what I'm thinking on this less than routine day and I figured I'd murder a few syllables to express it. Now, back to daydreaming…

Dance of Life

You only go around once in life. Never put off to tomorrow what you can do today. Dance like no one is watching.

I realize these three quotes are a mixture of a beer commercial, a part of some famous utterance by I believe Benjamin Franklin, and the last part of some cheesy plaque I saw in a gift store, but these three bits are what came to me after a pretty hard last couple of weeks.

Here's why. A favorite relative of mine died, and then Tim Russert from Meet the Press passed away. These two events hit me hard. My aunt because I loved her, and Mr. Russert because he was 58. 58! A heart attack. Dead.

These two events caused me to contemplate that life really is short, and whatever one's belief in the afterlife, I think it is safe to say it won't be exactly like THIS life. Perhaps I will dance somewhere or somewhen, but again, it will be different.

So I want to dance now. Dance, dance, dance. Swing dance, rockabilly dance, ballroom dance, salsa dance. I want to kick up my heels before my heels kick me. I want to twirl, swirl, and wear my pretty clothes, rejoice in the arms of a man who loves me and that I love with all my heart. Giggle with my sister seated next to me who also loves to dance.

To those of you who don't feel "ready" to hit the floor: Don't wait. Don't listen to the voices in your head saying you are not good enough, not pretty enough to dance, not whatever enough. Don't worry about what others might think. Who cares? Life is precious, a gorgeous, easily torn butterfly wing. What you have today may not be there tomorrow.

Get out there now.

The music won't wait.