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Writing is a question of finding a certain rhythm. I compare it to the rhythms of jazz. Much of the time life is a sort of rhythmic progression of three characters. If one tells oneself that life is like that, one feels it less arbitrary. |
Friday, June 19, 1998
Commuting seems to be a perennial topic for journalers; I know I see it mentioned often, perhaps because we experience it most days.
Today I had one of the slowest drives home I've ever had: a drive that normally takes a half hour, at the time I usually leave work, took two whole hours! I was glad that I had my water pump replaced earlier this week, or I'd have been one of those cars that always seem to pick the floating bridge to stall on, causing city-wide gridlock. As it was, I just listened to All Things Considered on the radio, and thought about life. I should have looked at the traffic webpage before leaving the office!
I didn't have definite plans for the evening, so I decided to walk the few blocks to the Friday Night Practice (FNP to those in the know). I was just in time for the lesson that various people give as part of the practice. Tonight the content of the lesson was the Madison, a line dance from the early sixties. If you've seen John Water's movie Hairspray, you've seen them doing it. The song about the dance tells you the steps to do. It was fun, and a real exercise in nostalgia; there were steps memorializing "The Rifleman" on TV, Wilt Chamberlin, and Jackie Gleason! Maybe an updated version for the year 2000 would be a good idea.
I know my following skills must be improving, because at practice I was able to dance successfully with a few leads that I've had trouble with before. One in particular I teased, because he asked me as we went onto the floor if I had anything I wanted to work on. "Oh, no," I said, "But I know you have your agenda!" He laughed, and admitted that I was right. This isn't an inappropriate thing at a practice, but I've had the same feeling with this man in a strictly social dance setting. He went on to try several versions of a particular combination of steps, and asked me which was better for me. I joked that this was like going to the eye doctor: "Is this better? or this?"
I urged Zola and another dance buddy -- I'm going to start wearing a name tag all the time, and try to set a trend. I really have trouble remembering everyone's name. There are so many! -- Er, as I was saying, I urged Zola and another woman to come to the Century Ballroom after the practice. Zola wasn't sure, but she did show up later. She dances with such elegance and style!
I left a few minutes before practice ended. I'd danced at least once with everyone who was likely to ask me. My only complaint about the FNP and Savoy club generally, is that the leads often tend to dance only with people they know. A natural tendency, to be sure! But it doesn't make it easy for us newcomers to feel like part of the club. I do ask folks to dance with me, but if they never return the compliment, well... But I try to think about this in a non-pissy way. I swear, I normally don't whine about it! It just takes persistence, and you know I've got that. But moments of self-doubt can creep in for the best of us.
In fact, getting to know those leads, so they will ask me to dance, is one of the reasons I joined the club!
* * * * * * * *
I was walking towards the Ballroom, when I saw my buddy Antonio waiting at the bus stop. I decided to take the bus, too! Group solidarity, you know! And the few blocks added distance made it seem worthwhile, and the bus was due to arrive soon. I didn't know that he lives in the neighborhood. He goes dancing almost as much as I do!
Tonight was a DJ'd dance at the Century, which I actually like. When there is a popular band, things can really get crowded, and lots of people are there who really can't dance. But tonight that wasn't the case, and it wasn't too hot, and the music was the right tempo, and I had a blast! I'm making up for the dance deficiency I incurred during the Film Festival.
I asked one man to dance, who had been sitting at a table by himself. He said he didn't know how to dance, but had just come to listen to the music. But a dance or two later, he asked me if I would teach him! Since I'm doing a dance workshop next week and need to practice what I'll be teaching, I said yes, and took him out into the hall. He was a middle-aged man named Corin, which he said is an Irish name, though he was English, and was just in town for a few days. I was able to clue him into the basic step of East Coast Swing, and he said he'd be back Saturday night.
I felt hungry while walking home, and I realized this was because I hadn't eaten dinner earlier in the evening. So I stopped at 7-11 and got some of my favorite treats from there. I'm not ashamed to admit to liking some junk food items! There's a reason these things are popular: Haagen Dazs "Dulce de Leche" ice cream tastes wonderful!
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