Tango taxis.
It's prostitution! Nina yells.
Is not!
Is too!
Is not!
Who cares?
Is not!
Is too!
Obvious jokes.
Is not!
Is too!
That's pretty much the gist of the TC listserv for the week following a new board member's brainstorm to provide experienced dancers (mostly male) with free admission to a practica if they would agree to dance with the (mostly female) wallflowers so they won't get discouraged and quit.
In the end, the taxis won out. Now every Tuesday at the Turn, you will find several women and a few men adorned with ENORMOUS fake flower corsages, a little smashed. (The flowers, that is. From the close embrace.) Originally, the board member proposed that the taxis wear armbands, so people know who they are. This was deemed too embarrassing for the wallflowers. Hence the Rocky Horror Picture Show corsages.
This is how we do things in Tango Colorado; kind of goofy, but it mostly works out well in the end.
Deb and Brian Sclar, Dance of the Heart, take a different tack. Their taxis are intermediate dancers who are teaching assistants. At the two classes and milonga I visited, assistants offered little instruction or coaching, rather danced with the glut of women. It was nice to have them: It was nice to see no one stuck on the sidelines during class, and during the milonga was nice to have the competition siphoned off to the assistants--leaving the leads I like free to dance with me!
All of this to say, Tango Cherie has an article on this topic at her blog.
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3 comments:
Thanks for addressing this topic, and for the link.
Taxi dancing is becoming more and more prevalent here in BsAs, so obviously the service is filling a need.
Sure would like to see a picture of those corsages from hell; maybe that custom can get started down here! :)
I have been a Taxi Dancer and did not even know what one was. I don't need a stinking corsage. If we all looked into each other eyes, no words would be necessary. I see you, and you sitting there and long to hear your heart beat, and sense a smile somewhere waiting there.
Often It is too much for a person and we may avoid glances. We may be distant. We may hide. The more sensitive to the nonverbal the more intense and overwhelming it becomes. I try and every contact is important for me. My eyes plead, listen to me. My feet bleed, as the tears recede.
Jaguarte
in another world it might be called a service to humanity...
I miss you One Heart!
Amanda
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