Dancing to life

A while ago, there was a benefit for a rape crisis center in my town--an art exhibition, with tango.

The gallery occupies two floors. Downstairs, I am sitting alone, reading the accounts of rape survivors, while upstairs, they are dancing, a violin wailing.

At first I think the music is too loud; the dancing overhead while these women's stories wait silently below, too macabre. A bit "Masque of the Red Death." Then I begin to think that there may be something else going on. 

I start to think of the dancing not as careless of the women's stories but as celebratory of their survival. Perhaps we dance because they are living, despite what was done to them. 

The violin sings defiance to the night.

Echoes

The other day I was sitting in a local cafe, when a particular blues song (that I'd first heard as part of an alternative tanda) started playing, immediately followed by electrotango. I looked around to see whether DJ Oblivious was working behind the counter.

If there was any question

Here is a hint, ladies of tango: When you kick over the vase of flowers on a table at the edge of the floor, your boleo is too damn high.

(Or, possibly equally, the leader is a pretty poor navigator.)

And a tip for everyone: When it happens twice in one evening, you're not at a very good milonga. But we also knew that from the hopping (!) couples, the floating tango à trois going on at various times throughout the evening, and the music that shifted nonsensically between alternative and traditional within the same tanda. (Even the DJ started to get the message when couples cleared the floor, thinking that his next song was actually a cortina. Looking embarrassed, he faded the music out and went into the next tanda.)

How I wish I were making any of this up.

Let's do the Time Warp again!

The last time I went to the Tango Bar, I danced a lot, by comparison to other nights there recently. There were no sublime dances, but there were several fun ones. Although at times the wild dancing on a crowded floor prevented me from fully enjoying my dances, I laughed a lot that night.

At the last proper milonga in town, I happily danced even more--although only later in the evening. There were some glimpses of the sublime. A long tanda and "La Cumparsita" with one of my favorite local leaders--that was especially nice.

My friend's brand-new tango shoes are fantastic, and she reports that her feet don't hurt at all at the end of the night when she dances in them. "Who knew?" she asked. I smiled: "A lot of wiser tangueras than me."

At a friend's wedding this weekend, I fairly itched for a tango partner, but it was not possible. However, thanks to a combination of good friends, good music, and a leettle bit of champagne (eheh), I did dance a lot more than I usually do, to non-tango music.

Now, you must understand, that is really saying something; normally I might sit nearly the entire evening at a wedding reception, much too self-conscious to join in the dancing. I've always thought I was born with a congenital defect: I believed I was entirely without a groove thing. This girl's hips, they do not shake--or so I always thought. (Maybe I would get up for the Chicken Dance or the YMCA or something.) In fact, it is no secret that I think that part of my success at tango stems from the fact that I don't have to figure out to do with my hips or my arms--those troublesome but crucial elements of the way the kids dance these days.

Oh, but you may say, "Aha, she admits that the wine was flowing! Everyone thinks they can dance at such a time!" But I tell you, there were mirrors around the hall. And I had only the smallest bit of wine with dinner--I was, in fact, the designated driver for a friend that night. So I do not think that my self-perception was drastically altered. If anything, I am usually more apt to underestimate my abilities than to overestimate them--doubly so if there are mirrors around. And I tell you, my hips, they could move! With some rhythm, even! And my feet, they did as I asked them!

And most of all, I had a really good time with my friends! If I was giddy, it was because of them; I laughed with them until my sides hurt. And I decided afresh that I'd like to broaden my repertoire with salsa and swing, so that next time I'm wherever there might be music, I can dance even more.

(Another friend once taught me how to fake salsa--"falsa," I called it. It seems so accessible when you only have to fake it!)

So, I've managed to convince myself that I really could probably learn them; now to find lessons that fit my schedule. Don't worry, tango, you will always be my first love!

PS--VERY BEST MOMENT of another recent wedding: The groom's 90-year-old grandfather dancing to "Single Ladies," with moves from the video! I nearly died!