But in the shorter term, we're entering that lovely part of the year where the days *don't* keep getting shorter. And as the Christmas frenzy pitches into full throttle, it was nice to have one last weekend (the only one this month) in Seattle, particularly at a time when I was free enough to enjoy it.
Andrew finished his tests - and I called it set on the mediation I was setting up - on Thursday and we celebrated that and I suppose our year and a half anniversary by drinking a whole (miniature) bottle of champagne. Friday, neither one of us had homework to fill our entire afternoon (!!!) so we continued the Bacchanal by visiting Woodland Park Zoo. They do not have a Slow Loris either (the quest continues), but they do have red pandas, apes, chimps, and a tree kangaroo, which looks like some sort of rodent about the size of a dog! We walked around for hours until I got faint from hunger and then had a nice dinner in before going out and dance dance dancing! We made it out! Go us!
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| Giraffe, Tree Kangaroo, and Gila Monsters OH MY!! |
Andrew had to work Saturday afternoon, so I met up with my buddy Dan at the Center House and watched the ice-sculpture exhibition. The dude was trying to make a reindeer, but the reindeer had some gender identity issues and we finally all accepted that it was a female underneath and didn't need those antlers.
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| Actually, it's Rudolpha |
There's something really fascinating about watching somebody sculpt water. There is also something fascinating about watching adorable ice reindeer subjected to what appears to be a minor exercise in War movie interrogation tactics. I'm sure a few children had some nightmares about the fate of Blitzen the following evening.
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| You WILL tell me the combination to Santa's vault!! |
We also sauntered around the enormous model train set in the middle of the house. Did not actually stand in line for our chance to drive the train.
But mostly, this weekend and what I want to ramble on about was dancing!!! Blues Underground on Friday with Andrew and Tango Underground on Saturday
One of the best aspects of blues for me (aside from the music, the physical and emotional intimacy of sharing a bar of music with every inch of your body and imagination, the shockingly satisfying elasticity of motion and...ok there are a lot of great aspects of blues dancing) is the incredibly amount of trust that it requires. If that game where you fall backwards and people catch you had a dance, well duh I'm pretty sure that is a blues move already. If not, it virtually is.
Between surgically prescise tandem twitches, a follow finds herself with legs flying above her head, or her torso free falling (momentarily - knock on wood) into her partner's arms with head inches above the floor. And then there are the counter-weights, the perpetual motion of a spin or direction only to be interrupted by a new surge of energy from the lead. I don't agree that "surrender" is the cornerstone of following, but this is one of those times where the essence of that concept is fully articulate. Stopping a second to question the building momentum or comprehend the move wrecks it and ends in a stumble or fall. Simply unquestionably letting your body be moved... well "wheeeee." Que Sera Sera.
I love tangoing after a night of blues. I feel like the blues jiggles every muscle into a state of strong looseness and primes my core and calves for full hydraulics. Also, that trust thing naturally works with tango albeit with a slightly different flavor. When I'm tangoing in the zone, I find myself holding a certain texture in deeply detailed nuance in my mind - last night it was falling satin, buttermilk, and suede depending on my partner - or "visualizing" scent - mint chocolate, spiced vanilla, and cloves. It just stays in my head and I guess absorbs the analytical part of my mind that might start out-thinking the dancing or breaking connection by getting too distracted by worries about my leg lines and foot wear. My most frequent image is an infinite chocolaty satin falling slowly into itself.
Apparently I have not been out tangoing much. I can tell this from three phenomena:
1. when I first ran into an old partner at the Century he said "oh so either school's out or you just broke up with your boyfriend!" in a slightly hopeful chipper voice
2. I no longer have the finely calloused feet that made four hours of straight dancing in stilettos feasible without long term future consequences once the endorphins wear off and
3. some of the tango group who had kind of looked past me when I was dancing more regularly, suddenly noticed a "new" dancer and watched me dance closely enough to want to take me for a spin and bring me into the tango fold. This is a group I was *warned* about by one of the odder teachers in Bellingham back when I first started. By this story, the "leader" - a local teacher who may have pioneered the advent of Seattle interest in nuevo (which is, of course, the devil's tango) had a tango harem and lived in a house of sin... there were more details at the time, but apparently it would be unseemly to be seen in this man's arms and a sign of a sure Faustian fall to the dark side. I can't say I quite see this, although I am pretty sure he does live in a house with other tango dancers.. At any rate, it was fun to be discovered or rediscovered, once I got over this lingering intimidation that comes with being asked to sit at the lunch table with the popular kids.
I'm perpetually boggled by my popularity at the milongas. No, that was neither a back-door brag (although my perfect pitch does make it hard for me to watch American Idol), nor a proclamation of insecurity. I think I'm a good dancer. It's just I suspect most people do think they're pretty good dancers and a lot of them are a touch mistaken. Last night was particularly surprising (especially after the pre-milonga camp jitters I'd brought to TUG). I think once you find a good partner, you know that the dialogue and connection are there, so I wasn't totally surprised to have a bit of a line up from partners who'd remembered me, but the dancers I'd never tangoed with before also lining up and courting a tanda was... ok, kind of cool!
Of course one of the other parts of dancing that I inevitably enjoy goes beyond the transformation *on the floor* (as I step into the music and let my id seep out into the blues ether), is the excuse to get dressed up and unslobbed. I remember feeling a bit like Clark Kent when, as a 1L, I'd eschew my glasses and slouchy jeans, locate the nearest vat of glitter and get a little bit fabulous. I once had a rather spectacular array of dance clothes - subcategorized by type of dance, of course. Sadly these have mostly passed on to various goodwills around the state as lawschool chiseled off a little curve here and there, so the pickin's are slim. Most of my investments in "fashion" have been in professional clothing for my future as Sharky the Alternative Dispute Makao. But doing as well as I can, I think I embraced the dauntlessly shameless and perhaps embarrassed my boyfriend by embracing the holiday theme of the BUG party:
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| My socks say "ho ho ho" They are soooo judgmental |
Sadly the photo doesn't capture the fact that my "brown" tights were actually glittery gold tights, which I think really complemented the gobs of glitter on my face and hands. Also this was taken after most of the makeup had melted off my face in the sauna that is blues underground.
The next evening, I went a little less terrifying for tango. By the grace of the tango gods, harem pants fit a wide variety of size and go well with drapey black tops. Add some dark eye makeup and tango shoes and voila! I did wear my special beaded hand... uh thing (a beaded bracelet that attaches to a finger through a web of intricate beading) that I have to admit comes from Hot Topic.
At any rate, of course as I always do, I'm resolving to try to work out some way of getting out more often. My first trick is re-setting my sleep schedule. Break is a good time to sleep later, right?
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