Fandango de Tango Day 5: Texas Chain Saw Tanda

One of the nice things about festivals is that you meet people. Like so:

You work with a guy in class. Maybe he is a beginner and not so accomplished as the other guys. So what? He has a nice presence. Gentle.

You see him at the milonga. Ricardo, the festival organizer, has announced that ladies are free to ask the gentlemen to dance. You ask. He looks alarmed, but he is a good sport.

Next day ... turns out, he's that. I am not speaking metaphorically. Check out his website: leatherface2.com.

Fandango de Tango Only in Texas

Pablo Pugliese is explaining how to do boleo, and he is drawing on the whip analogy. A man in the class, a big man, slowly draws a bandana out of his pocket, begins smoothing it in a ring he makes of thumb and forefinger.

When Pablo is done, the big man, shy, raises his hand.

Pablo raises his eyebrows.

I did the bullwhip, he says. It works like this. He snaps the bandana. It is nothing like a whip, it is too floatiy to snap. Never mind. He gives it a few tries, and people nod. This class is full of Texans.

Pablo nods. Apparently he has had experience with whips, or the snap of a wet towel. Later, he uses the analogy of the bandana to make a point. I like Pablo.

* * *

THERE IS NO CHOCOLATE! Apparently, in this state, the term "black gold" means something else.

* * *

Fandango de Tango: Day 5

Last morning blues. Everyone is dragging butt. We are all determinedly upbeat, but we are drragging butt. Last night the milonga lasted until 5 a.m, and classes today start at 1.

This morning when I walked into the restaurant for breakfast, I asked the waitress to seat me in a corner somewhere. I didn't care iif it was a corner of the kitchen, as long as there weren't any tango folks in sight.

She gave me a knowing look. She is fed up with us too.

We are all in endurance mode. the goal today is to just get through it. Over the days we have become famliar with certain partners, and we look at them with relief. It is good to be in the same boat.

Last day. We are in endurance mode,

We are already looking forward to next year.

Grin.

Fandango de Tango: Day 5

Festivals are great for meeting new people: This weekend, I met Carmen and Lisa, members of Tango Colorado.

Fandango de Tango, Day 4 Postscript

I would just like to say this: If you come to this festival, bring a lot of chocolate. There is NO FOOD available after 11 p.m. Not even a vending machine.

From where I am sitting , I can see through the glass doors of Morsels, the little food store in the hotel lobby. It is locked up tight. I am seriously thinking about becoming a burgler.

Fandango de Tango: Day 4

This is brutal. Classes all day and milongas at night, with little break between. There is not enough time to eat or sleep. What are these organizers thinking? This is a tango-maniac’s festival.

Grin.

This Is Not About Punctuality

I arrive at the Merc at 11 p.m. Stan points to his watch. He’s been there since the music started at 9.

We agree to meet tomorrow at the Turn to warm-up. “Music starts at 7:30,” he says. I usually arrive about 8:45.

Saturday night I arrived at Patricia’s party shortly after 11. “You’ve been here since she opened the door, haven’t you?” I ask. He nods happily.

The hardest thing about tango, Stan says, is waiting for it to begin.

Good Grief 3x

I don’t do parties. Nevertheless, I am here.

I am not enamored of the idea of practice partners. Nevertheless, I say to Glenlivet, “I would like to practice with you.”

He hands me his card.

The Problem with Partners, Part 4

First, he will want to exchange contact information. Your real name—first AND last—so he can put it into his interlocking phonePDAbuddylistemailtextmessagingFacebookMac system. “Just in case.”

In case of what? In case he can’t make it to class? What difference does it make? Who skips class because their partner can’t make it? Not me. I go to class. I can handle odd-woman-out status. Not to brag, but I’m pretty good at it. Show or no show…I’m happy.

He will insist on giving you his business card. Do not let it flutter from your fingers--that is littering. Also, he’s watching. Watch him. When you slip it into your wallet, he smiles.

If he is running late or must miss a class, he will call you. He expects you to do the same for him. Now you do not have a class partner, now you have an obligation.

Courtesy won’t kill you, my mother used to say when she was still the boss of me.
But what function does it serve? If I am going to the class anyway, do I need to know who else is going to be there? The information does not influence my actions.

It won’t kill you, she says.

It’s a mystery. What makes people need and want and behave as they do? Don’t ask. This is why we have rules of social behavior, so we don’t have to answer such questions on the fly. Take the phone call. It’s easier. And polite.

But it does sort of kill you. To the extent it impinges on your privacy, it does.

* * *

My wallet is adorable! It is red and just a little bit bigger than a dollar bill folded in half. Inside there are a few dollar bills, a credit card, two library cards, a gift card to the Tattered Cover, auto registration and insurance card, driver’s license.

On the outside of the wallet is a pocket just the size of a driver’s license. It is clear plastic, so you can easily prove your identity to merchants and police and agents of Homeland Security. Referencing the previous paragraph, you note that my driver’s license is inside the wallet. So what’s in the pocket?

Business cards: The Mathematician. Stan.

The Mathematician’s is on top; I see it each time I use the wallet.

Stan’s has dancing shoes on it. It is not really a business card. Tango is not his business, it is his …. what? It would be easy to say it is his life, but that’s overstating it. Hobby is too milquetoast a word, obsession and addiction too full of portent. What then? Tango is Stan’s habitat.

The Problem with Partners, Part 3

At practicas and milongas you can practice your technique on many different partners. This is useful. You learn to read lots of different leads and adapt to each one.

If you like to dance with many different leads, don’t commit to any one. Take classes from all the teachers, learn their various styles, then go home and work through them alone. Soon you will discover what works for your body. That’s your technique. Soon you will discover what suits you. That’s your style.

When you have trained broadly and have developed a solid base of technique, then you can dance with a milonguero-style or salon-style or nuevo-style or rank-beginner-style of lead, with grace.

If you like to dance with many different leads, you can’t be wedded to any one style. A practice partner will wed you to his style. How can it be otherwise? You spend all that time practicing together—and every mile you run on that track is a mile you’re not running on another.

* * *

If you want to try out having a regular partner, start with a workshop. You’ll soon discover whether you and this lead approach learning in the same way, whether you work well together when frustrated and struggling, whether you can get along when you are not at your best.

After the workshop, take stock: Did you help one another learn? Do you still like one another? If the answer is no, you’re in luck. The workshop is over, and you’re free!

If the answer is yes … you’re in more-better luck.

You would think that, with a record of being the odd woman out of rotation for hours on end, I might find a class partner useful. With a class partner, you never need worry about being the odd woman out. It is nice to have a skirt to hide behind, even if the skirt is a pair of pants.

Bah, humbug!

The first time someone hinted that I might consider partnering up for a class, I came down on the idea like a Sledge-o-matic. We took the class as free agents. In that class I met Andrey, one of The Five. If I’d had a partner for that class, would I have met Andrey? Would I have taken note?

No. When you hide behind something, it blocks your view.

I like a clear view, and the way courage feels.

The Problem with Partners, Part 2

Of course you must practice.

Nina tells her beginners this over and over: With daily practice you can learn to tango in just a few years; without practice, you’re on the 30-year plan.

The first-time beginners always laugh at that. Those of us who are repeating beginners for the third-fifth-twelfth time let them have their moment. We were laughing once, too.

You must practice. Of course.

* * *

When you are a rank beginner, it does not take two to tango. Rather, it does not take two people. When you are still trying to figure out how to stand up in your shoes, your best practice partner is a broom or a stick or a mirror or hope.

Or the face of a happy man drawn on the wall.

* * *

Eleven Perfect Steps

Here’s a practice you can do by yourself, adapted from Tom Stermitz’s walking exercise:

Walk backward the length of your practice space, then turn around and walk backward the way you came.

I don't like exercises; I like to play games. So I invented a game with only one rule: Every time I faltered, I would return to the starting line. No making it to the other end of the room until every step was perfect. My practice space is 11 steps long. Hence the name of the game.

Tango, how do I love thee? Let me count the

.
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.

hours

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days

.
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.
weeks
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.
.

months
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.

years.

…for heaven’s sake!

For days I could not get out of arm’s reach of The Man on the Wall. One step, two thrrrr… bonk! All that scampering back to the starting line disrupted my concentration, I couldn’t get my groove on. It was discouraging, and threatened to become self-fulfilling; one step, two, thrrrr …bonk! could easily become the fixed pattern in my mind and muscles’memories.

So, I changed the game. Got rid of the rule. Now there is only an ideal, to take Eleven Perfect Steps.

Without the imperative to scamper back, the focus of the game changed. The rule had riveted my attention on each immediate step, each looming, imminent failure. Every step was prolonged torture--anticipating it, dreading it, recognizing it, and imposing the penalty for it. Pass or utter failure.

With the shift from rule to ideal, single steps lost their weighty import; succeed or fail, they are always in passing. An ideal is otherworldly; the measure of success is not attainment but attentive effort. Now I do not intend to achieve every step but to love each one, to be attentive, to be.

Did it work? Ha! I lurched and staggered, tumbled into the sofa, fell down on the floor.

When you hike a steep, tricky slope, it’s smart to keep three points on the ground—two feet plus one body part (for example, the hand). Who knew?! What works for mountain climbers works for tango, too.

For miles on end, I groped my way from table to sofa to bookshelf to wall. At first I held on for dear life, then to hold myself upright, then to steady myself. Eventually my fingers ran lightly across the surfaces of things. Eventually I realized--eureka!—the touch was reassuring but unnecessary.

Then came the toughest part of the game: weaning myself from reassurance. I knew I could walk unaided, but the gap between knowledge and trust is a wide chasm to cross. There is only one way to do it: keep walking.

I am a poet at heart. I love rhythm and repetition, a tiny aperture, tinkering, detail. I can practice Eleven Perfect Steps for up to two hours, subsumed in concentration.

I still practice Eleven Perfect Steps almost every day. I have yet to succeed with regularity. It still feels as much like a game of chance as a skill.

It feels that way, but I know better. I am learning: Every step is already inside you. Envision the step after the one you are taking, and the next and the next, the whole lovely sequence. Let the beauty you love be the thing that you do. Only walk.

* * *

To Eleven Perfect Steps, add these:

Bookshelf ochos. Turns around a stick. Doorframe boleos. Torso twisting. Elastic collection. Cool hip action. Adornments with a stick stuck in a shoe. Sit ups. Push ups. Balance exercises in the middle of the floor. Adornments in turns. Overturned ochos, moving down the floor. Enrosque. Why not?

You can do all these alone, or with props. No need for a partner, not yet.

* * *

Goofing Around

Practice this every day. You must! Every day put on the music that makes you feel free and do every goofy thing you like. This is self-expression.

I like chanson. Frank Sinatra. The Fresedo pieces that remind me of 1940s musicals. The 1940s musicals themselves. Big Bands. Swing. Motown. Norah Jones. Canaro. Celtic new age. Hammered dulcimer straight out of Appalachia. Pugliese.

During the holiday season: Eartha Kitt singing Santa Baby and Elvis singing Blue Christmas.

I run through all of Tom’s exercises: walking with the cross behind, cross before, the step for tight spaces. Then I move on:

Overturned ochos. GREAT BIG STEPS. Ronde de jambe. Pique. Enrosque. Sweeps. Taps with the heel and toe ... syncopated! Planeo. Boleo. Tendu all over the place. An old-fashioned milonga traspie. Soft shoe shuffle.

I am Ginger Rogers AND Fred Astaire!

* * *

Even in class, I like to practice alone. Sometimes when I am the extra woman, I do not even try to join the rotation. I go to a corner and practice. No matter what step the class is learning, a follower can use it to work on technique. I am a technique-geek, happy happy happy all by myself.

During a class last winter, Andrey marched over with a grim look on his face. He does not like to see me dancing alone. He believes it takes two to tango.

Eventually, it does.

The Problem with Partners, Part 1

I like to practice alone. Are you surprised?

Celebrating

Some people are in bars. Some at house parties. Hundreds of thousands are gathered in the streets, cheering.

In the lobby of the Turnverein, dancers take advantage of the cortinas to watch the election unfold. The small TV that sits behind the welcome desk is tuned to national coverage rather than the usual instructional videos.

It is my turn to work the desk when Mr. Obama goes over the top.

Cecile has been talking to the TV, urging voters not to disappoint the world. The organizer of the Turn is avoiding the area, looking disgruntled. When Mr. Obama goes over the 270 electoral college votes required to win the election, cheering erupts around the TV set.

Cecile makes a name tag that says in French "We won!" But people discourage her from wearing it into the ballroom. The entrance to the ballroom is a doorway into a different world. Politics stays in the lobby.

Congratulations to US.

Let's dance!

How It’s Done in BsA

From last Monday’s Tango Colorado listserv:

Hello Everybody:

I will be DJ'ing this Tuesday at the Turnverein starting at 7:30 …

It has been brought to my attention there has been some confusion as to what happens at a milonga (Salon) in BSAS. I thought for the first half I would play just what they play down there. Tandas, cortinas, and their version of alternative for a little over the first half of the dance.

I am very aware that Tango at the Turnverein is both a milonga and a practica. I am sure that the practica side of the room will find the music to be enjoyable, fun and full of energy.

Anyone that has questions, comments, concerns about my DJ'ing tomorrow. Please email me.

I will also take any complaints that happen to come to anyone's mind about the same subject as well.

TangoMan

* * *

To understand the last line, you have to know Tango Colorado: We’re a contentious bunch, and the conflicts often play out around the music played on Tuesday nights at the practica/milonga held in a very large ballroom, split down the middle by a row of tables, in a building call the Denver Turnverein.

From what I can gather, traditional means up to (and possibly through) Pugliese; alternative means anything post-Pugliese. There is some debate about where Mr. Pugliese should fall.

To settle arguments, both groups turn their eyes to BsA. The way to win an argument is to say your way is “how it’s done in BsA.” This poses a bit of a problem: Various people in Tango Colorado have visited or lived in various districts of BsA during various decades, and there is no consensus on how things are done there.

The good thing about a rocking boat is that eventually it comes to some sort of balance. Over time, TC has settled into a canon, a collection tango music that is generally accepted as acceptable. This is the music that is played during the early evening. The 1930s are quite popular, though daring DJs have been known to slip in a Pugliese or Piazzola. After 10 p.m., all bets are off.

DJs often post to the listserv to say something descriptive and sometimes defensive about the music they will play.

That’s why the impish TangoMan, David Hodgson, has decided to give us a taste of “how it’s done in BsA."

To put this in perspective, consider his siganture sign-off:

If you’re going to wreck a room. Wreck the room, do it well, have fun, and with a smile.

Because I am intrigued, and because it is possible for even the stirrer of a pot to feel unsure of what might ensue, I drop David a line:

Looking forward to it! I am going to pay attention to the music for a change. Normally I just like it all. (Follower’s good fortune—just have to dance, don’t have to think.)

When it comes to tango music I am a slobbering puppy. If I love all the music, I can learn to dance to all of it.

I do not want to be one who comes flouncing out of the ballroom, drops into the empty chair at the welcome desk to declare: You can’t dance to this! I like figuring things out. If I can’t dance to a certain kind of music, I want to practice until I can.

David responds :

O, have no doubt the first half will be quite obvious...

* * *

I am at the front desk, which means I have been at the Turn for about 90 minutes. Everything seems normal.

My shift is about half over when one of the TC teachers flounces out of the ballroom and drops into the spare chair in the lobby. He is cranky.

Most of the time, when someone flounces out of the ballroom, they just need a time out. You leave them alone, they regain their equilibrium and launch themselves back into the fray.

There is a cortina, some crazy thing. The DJs use the cortinas for self-expression. This is one of my favorite parts of tango. Then comes the—oh my goodness, it is not yet 10 p.m.!—alternative music.

What is this shit? the teacher explodes. He propels himself out of the chair, rockets across the ballroom, making straight for the DJ’s table.

I do not recognize the energy that prompts such sudden heat, nor the system of belief that fails to require a person to contain it. This is our well-documented national mental illness: self-indulgence. We do not control our impulses. We do not defer.

Still, as I idly watch the tantrum unfold, I smile. David has been into the esoteric side of martial arts for years; he knows how to take a person's energy in, transform it, and shoot it back out.

Easygoing is a not a personality trait, it's a skill.

The music goes on, the teacher storms out. I can't help but think that if he could have disciplined hiself to inaction, waited out his emotional burst, he could have enjoyed the rest of the evening.

I count the minutes until my shift is up, then dance the rest of the night. Nothing snags my attention. David said he would play "Tandas, cortinas, and their version of alternative for a little over the first half of the dance."

I have not figured out what makes the music tonight any more like BsA than any other night at the Turn. Is it the selection of songs, the order in which they are played? There was only one alternative tanda in early evening, the one that the teacher disliked. So what is it that makes tonight's music more like BsA than any other night?

At the end of the evening, I ask.

You don't know? David says.

Elvis.