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Oh, never mind the fashion. When one has a style of one's own, it is always twenty times better. |
Thursday, September 21, 2000
One year ago: Food Frustration
Two years ago: Lee Press-On
Three years ago: Work Ethic
Reader Arthur Hlavaty (he writes Derogatory Reference) let me know about a fannish connection for the weird hotel Jack's been staying at. The Atlanta worldcon was held there, so the science-fictional appearance was thought to be appropriate.
Tonight was the second night of dance classes in this three-week short session. There's been a good response to Swingout Northwest registration, but a few places remain.
In musicality class we did footwork. A good lesson for me, since I'm not the most apt at picking up footwork variations. I think I already do well at varying footwork to reflect the rhythms of the music, but I had some trouble following the patterns that were being taught tonight. So, it was a useful thing for me to work on. Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-dum Ba-DUM! Listening and reacting to the music is a big part of the fun of lindy hop. I also benefitted from the styling that Loviça put into the variations to make them more effective.
Our second class, Balboa, had a few people not there who were there the week before. We were down to two leads and four follows! So Jonathan rotated in with us, and one woman was sitting out at a time. I'm bound and determined to get Balboa to a danceable state. One lead is a beginning dancer, has some posture problems, and looks at his feet. He's determined, though! He doesn't give up, and takes feedback in good part. I tried, when dancing with him, to get close and give him good frame (vital with balboa when it's fast, and it's meant to be fast). When he did something that felt like a move in the right direction, I let him know. He thanked me after class, which I had mixed feelings about. I don't want to be that student who interferes with the teaching in the class -- that would be bad!
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Jack let me know he was home, but much later than he'd expected. They'd kept the plane sitting on the tarmac for four hours in Atlanta, before finally leaving. So a five-hour trip turned into a nine-hour ordeal! How ghastly!
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