Excerpt from My First Press Junket

Okay, it's not the Frost/Nixon interview. But there's the Interview Me thingy going around Bloglandia right now, and when I saw there was an opportunity to be questioned by my blog crush, julochka, I thought now's the time, especially being on the Staycation and all.

Below are julochka's questions and my answers, and then at the end are the rules if you'd like to be the next Barbara Walters' special via me.

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julochka: if you could throw a shoe at anyone, who would it be and what kind of shoe would you throw?

You know, at first I thought this was going to be the easiest question to answer, and then I realized how many layers and options there might be. Also, I'm going to a Big Lebowski bowling birthday party soon, so bowling is on my mind right now, as well as what I'm going to wear. So I also keep thinking about rolling a bowling ball at someone. Anyway, back to your question.

First off, you have to decide what kind of shoe to use. Now I know in the past I mentioned a certain pair of stilletto heels that I would toss, but after really giving this some thought and thinking about the value and beauty of those shoes, I could never throw them. Anyone I would throw shoes at would merit an old pair of really stinky Keds that I had for a while that I wore without socks. They got pretty ripe. For extra impact, I'd probably load the Keds with some small rocks, and maybe even work a dog poo into the mix.

Then I would hire a baseball pitcher (I don't know jack about baseball, so I'd have to do some research) to actually throw the shoe. Because if I were granted an opportunity such as this, with the way I'm liable to throw, I certainly don't want to miss my target.

I know now I'm supposed to pick one person to throw my rock laden stinky Ked at, but choosing just one thing is never something I can do. Keeping the list under 10 is a challenge.

High on the list, depending on availability, are: Jerry Fallwell (I know he's dead but I still despise him), Rush Limbaugh, Anne Coulter, the two despotic cheerleaders from junior high school who were so incredibly cruel to me, and maybe Dick Cheney. I say maybe because I have this Big Lebowski scenario where at the end of the alley would be Cheney, The Shrub, Condoleeza, Rumsfeld, Gonzales-- who else am I forgetting here? How can I be drawing a total blank?-- and I'd get Jesus, the John Turturro character with his purple jumpsuit and his hairnet and his coke nail, to throw a perfect strike and nail all of those bastards. Whew, even in fantasy that feels good.

ps. If you want to throw a shoe at The Shrub (kind of old news now, but hey), you can do it virtually here at Sock and Awe. I am not very good yet, but I'll keep practicing.

julochka: you are a self-professed science girl...why didn't you study science-stuff and become a famous scientist?

This is an interesting question because I (again) have several answers. One being that when you're in college, you don't know what the hell you want to do. At least, I didn't for a couple of years. Luckily, I fell in love with printing and that gave me exposure to a variety of science courses that I was required to take, including materials sciences, physics, both kinds of chemistry, and biology. I think at the time I was so wanting to get out of college and start working that the thought of going for anything more than a BS was out of the question. I also gave myself short shrift... I'm a lot smarter than I gave myself credit for, and I just assumed that I couldn't handle the really hard classes. Or perhaps I didn't find the branch of science that really made me want to commit to it. Even today, I enjoy reading a book about quantum physics as much as I do about cell biology or even some of the social sciences.

That being said, there's a romance and a passion for scientific inquiry that anyone can have and I think that's what draws me to science because it is not only full of discovery and hard work and luck, but also training the mind to think and not live in a fairy tale. Science in its truest form is very democratic (I'm not talking about research institutes and the like), and for anyone to take an interest in the physical world around us should be applauded because there are certainly many more opportunities to live in fantasyland. I like to think of myself as a science appreciator, but back 100 years ago, it was not uncommon for many middle-class homes to own a microscope just for the fun of it. How many families today gather around a microscope after dinner, just to see what they might see?

Keep in mind that many people, not all classified as scientists, made amazing discoveries throughout their lives, including men like Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin, where science played a part of their naturally inquisitive minds. So perhaps there's hope for me yet.

julochka: what inspires you?

Ask me tomorrow. No, I'm kidding. But on any given day, the answer could be different. However, if I was to try to see a pattern in what I find inspiring, I think it's when a person can distill a feeling or experience into such a beautifully simple way that you're left in awe. For instance, there are sentences I've read by John Steinbeck, Anais Nin or Margaret Atwood that are so simply but perfectly crafted that I have to re-read them several times over because they amaze me with their truth.

Same thing with certain artists. Take for example Andy Goldsworthy. The things he can do with twigs or rocks or leaves are extraordinary. And you and I couldn't copy him in a million years.

I'm also very visual, so colors and visual textures make a big influence on me, and also the lack thereof. I am very influenced by certain kinds of music and instruments, especially the piano and the violin.

So I guess when I look back at my answer, it's Truth, Vision or Perception, and my eyes and ears. I'm sure there are more subtle influences I appreciate and find inspiration from, but this is what comes to mind today.

julochka: before you became tangobaby, had you had other dance lessons and so were, in general, coordinated enough to learn the tango?

I have to say that if it weren't for tango, I probably wouldn't be dancing at all. Keep in mind that just because you can do ballet, it doesn't mean you can tango. Tango is a partner dance (obviously) but being comfortable with someone in your very personal space is a uniquely different kind of partner dance, even amongst the other ballroom dances. When you watch people dance Argentine tango, like in my little video, keep in mind that it's completely improvised and all of your clues you read from your partner. With tango, you quite often never know what will happen next.

That being said, I am the world's worst bellydancer and the saddest looking ballerina you've ever seen. I am definitely all about dressing up, so it's hard not to fall in love with bellydancing because the costumes are so awesome and when you have a pile of coin belts and finger cymbals and veils draped about your bedroom, you feel like Bathsheba. And the music just makes you want to move. But the difficult part about bellydancing is that people will be watching you at some point. That was what killed me. I'll never be able to perform, and with bellydance, even if you are just dancing in class, there comes a time where it's just you and the mirror and someone else's eyes. I couldn't do it. Somehow the tango doesn't affect me that way. Or I just took to it so easily. I never had a really difficult time with tango.

And ballet is just plain hard. I'm a baby. So is flamenco. Wow! I'm really bad at a lot of dances.

The only other thing that I kind of sucked at but enjoyed a lot was fencing. I do hope to get back to fencing someday so I can live out some of my little Errol Flynn daydreams (except we'd be fighting Basil Rathbone together if I was Maid Marian). The fun part about fencing is that when your arms and thighs are covered with little dark perfectly round bruises, you can look in the mirror and say, Yeah, I got those in a duel. It just makes it hard to wear short-sleeved tops.

julochka: if you were going to run away to somewhere in the world, where would it be?

I think it's not so much as a matter of where, but where and when. For instance, I would give a major body part to have been able to travel the Orient Express in the years between the world wars. Or to have taken a steam ship from New York to Europe during the same time. Or to have traveled through Africa or Arabia with Sir Richard Burton. Or the Silk Road. I am very intrigued by places where the East and West intersect. That's why Venice was so incredible last year for me.

I would also have loved to see the Earthrise from an Apollo mission. I wouldn't have minded not getting to do the moon landing, but to see the earth from space has to be one of the most amazing trips a human being can take. *sigh*

As far as destinations today, it's tough. I think I'm such a dreamer that if given the opportunity, I'd probably give almost any place a shot. I always have my passport on me, just in case. ;-)


But Turkey (anywhere in the Baltics actually), Morocco, Russia, Spain, back to Italy... anyplace there's a gypsy encampment... see, here I go again. Maybe I should think about taking up bellydancing again.

Thanks, julochka! That was fun!

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Here's "The Rules."

1. Leave me a comment saying, "Interview me."
2. I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3. You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4. You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5. When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

Thanks, and I'll try to do my best Barbara Walters impression ever.

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portrait of a Gypsy Woman by Nikolai Yaroshenko.
image of Earthrise from LIFE Magazine.

Flamenco Night and My New Boyfriends

I have two new boyfriends. Technically, I guess you would call them crushes because they probably don't know that they are my boyfriends. Well, the first one might. Let's take this one at a time...

To the left, you will find the adorable Mattin of Iluna Basque restaurant in North Beach. (If you think he is cute here, you should see him in person. In fact, I think you should see him in person, and order a lot of his food because it is good.)

My Flamenco friend E. and I decided to go here for dinner last night before we went to see the Flamenco performance at Peña Pachamama.

We were greeted and seated by Mattin, who told us that usually he works in the kitchen but tonight was his first night waiting tables. My friend and I automatically congratulated him on his "promotion" and it wasn't until a few minutes into the conversation that Mattin let slide that he owns the restaurant. And has worked very hard day and night since he came here five years ago from the Basque country. He pointed shyly but proudly behind him to the flag over the kitchen: "That's my flag."

Not only is Mattin extremely boyish and charming, but he has the most adorable accent ever (my friend and I were instantly smitten with him). We asked him to order for us, and we shared a lovely spread of a variety of tapas: Baby Shrimp and Potato Croquettes with Aioli (crunchy crispy outside and heavenly creamy inside); Seared Tuna with Bleu de Basque Sauce (the sauce is to DIE for); Egg Mimosa with Anchovies Toast (a light egg salad topped by pickled anchovy fillets--YUM!); Mache Salad with Feta and Walnuts and Stuffed Calamaries with Ink Sauce over Spanish Rice. This last dish--OMG--the rice was out of this world.

Mattin chose a nice bottle of Rioja for us to go with our meal, and he came over often enough so that we were able to grill him on his family, how he came to open a restaurant in San Francisco and why he loves what he does. He showed us pictures of himself when he was 10 years old--he's been in the restaurant business for that long! Anyway, we were looking for excuses to have him chat with us. We were unabashedly enchanted by him. I have a feeling we are not the only ones.

And then it was time for dessert. Mattin told us that he started working at 10am that morning on his special rice pudding and it was "still warm" so of course we had to order that. But we also got the yummy warm chocolate cake that I can't remember the name of. Both desserts disappeared in minutes.

We probably would have stayed all night and kept ordering food if we didn't have prior plans to meet some friends across the street, which leads me to Boyfriend #2.

Boyfriend #2 is Jorge, the guitarist from my Flamenco class. In class, Jorge is sitting quietly in the corner, playing for us while we limp and struggle through our beginner's exercises and routines.

But tonight, here he was, dressed and polished in black with a grey blazer, and he was the muscial star of the show. The talent that I knew he must have from the snippets I've seen in class were blazing mightily on the little stage at Peña Pachamama.

His passionate gypsy guitar rocked the house.

Accompanied by singer Azriel El Moreno, the dancers Carola Zertuche and Roberto Aguilar made the floors shake with their rhythmic percussive steps. Flamenco is so in-your-face, and I love it. The dancers were sweaty and strutting. Some of Carola's hair clips went flying as she twirled but it seemed like a natural part of the excitement her dance. Even her hair could not be contained.

At the end of the performance, Jorge came over to talk to me and my friends. I think he was glad to see us outside of the classroom setting, so we could see what his passion was all about.

He was holding his guitar like it was a beloved child and his face glowed when he talked about his music and how much he loves to play his guitar, for hours and hours at time if he can. He talked about his touring and who he's played with, and all the while sounded like a guy who was head over heels in love with a beautiful girl. But the girl happened to be the guitar he was holding so close.

I could not help but want to catch that moment of his happiness, which he kindly obliged.

Being around talented people who love what they do is such a wonderful gift.

Kick That Ruffle

That is what our teacher tells us.

When you kick the ruffle of your skirt with your knee, it flies up in a swirl of flounce and polka dots, looking like a more modest version of a can-can skirt. And then you stamp your feet hard on the wooden floor--bang!--and the dozens of little nails that are hammered into the toes and heels of your shoes make a sharp crack.

Your torso is lifted, your head held high, and you are fierce.

Flamenco is h-o-t. (Not that tango isn't, of course.) It's a different kind of hot. Like if tango is a panther quietly prowling towards its prey though a lush bed of jungle, flamenco is a falcon that will swoop down on you and take your heart and fly off into the sky again.

Tango is voluptuous, stealthy, perfection in shadows. Flamenco is in your face, like the flash of a magnesium flare, audacious and wilful.

Like I said, it's fierce. I like it.

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Last night in my class, I had a glimmer of hope in that I will not always look like a special-needs person dressed up as a flamenco dancer.

I had little flashes of what it will feel like when I can actually do this dance without screwing up.

I have band-aids on both heels this morning from flamenco class last night. I don't remember scraping my skin off yesterday, but I guess I did somewhere in that hour.

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In class, we have live music. A guitarist named Jorge plays and sings for us. We rode up together in the old clanky elevator at the dance center yesterday, and I said my little Hola, que tal? (because that is all I know, I really must try to learn Spanish) and he quietly reciprocated.

I told Jorge what an honor and a pleasure it is to have him play for us in every class. I told him that I am not used to having a musician play in my dance classes (although in ballet we have a piano accompanist, but that feels more like background music than music you dance to). Flamenco guitar is very passionate but his gypsy singing is what makes it soulful.

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After class, my muscles ache. I feel stretched and loose and sore and sweaty. My neck feels longer and so do my arms. Even though it's cold outside, I am not wearing my jacket. I think of that John Mellencamp song, Hurts So Good.

So what I am learning from all of this?

I think that flamenco is going to help my tango. I am finally using and working that infamous core that my tango teachers talk about. I realize now that I am getting the training and warmup exercises I have needed for tango all along, but I am guessing it is needed for any kind of dance. I have not had a tango class that has focused on exercise to develop the intrinsic form and internal strength of the dancer, aside from the walk, even though that form is talked about a lot in class.

I think flamenco is going to help my tango a lot because I'll finally be developing that dancer's stance. We'll see. I'm going to Cellspace tonight so I'll be evaluating myself to see if I notice anything new in the way I carry myself.

I'll just have to be careful not to stamp my feet.

The Flowering of the Hands

"Your hands should move like doves." -- from Carlos Saura's Flamenco

One of the myriad of things I am learning to do in flamenco is move my arms and hands carefully and gracefully. In flamenco, you make these undulating and flowing embellishments with your hands. They are called floreo.

The flowering of the hands.

I like practicing these movements because I happen to like my hands a lot. They have always been one of my favorite parts of me.

When I was little, I used to twirl my hands and wrists and watch them move like they had a life of their own. Like they were sea creatures swimming or ribbons made of silk.

I have been making flamenco hands my whole life and I didn't even know it until now.

Below are two excerpts from the movie Flamenco that beautifully illustrate the concept of the floreo.





Flamenco Hands, originally uploaded by vergentino

"Don't Worry, It Gets Better"

That is what my flamenco teacher said to me at my second class on Saturday. My teacher is very sweet to me, and she smiles at me with a mixture of fondness and what I presume to be extreme pity. She is so graceful and has such presence. I want to be her. Really badly.

I am a person who tends to look at and aspire to the end result, and I don't always think about how I'm going to get there. Having the right shoes and the skirt with the ruffles at the bottom is definitely putting the cart before the horse. Although it would be surprising that I wouldn't be tragically horrible after only two classes, at least it is the shoes and ruffles that tide me over in the moments when I feel like such a supreme klutz.

So now I am realizing that I am just plain hard on myself whatever I am dancing. It doesn't matter if it's tango, flamenco or ballet. I want perfection. But I'm not strong enough yet. I don't have the muscles and the stamina to keep up. (Hey, lady, lighten up. It's not even been a week yet since you started this latest adventure.)

These classes are really tough on this old bod and brain. I feel like I've been beaten with a stick. Pretty much everything on my entire body hurts right now.

But in a way, the sore muscles feel good. It's a reminder that I'm working on something that is important to me. I don't know that to do about the sore brain though. So many expectations.

I guess that I forgot to mention that I'm taking ballet now, too. I'll esplain later.

Just call me Lucy.

She's Just Not That Into You

Dearest Tango,

I never thought it would come to this, but I need to start seeing other dances.

For over two years, you have been my light in the night. Sometimes you were the only thing I looked forward to and I waited for days to have you. You've given me a way of being, of feeling, that I guess I always had inside me but never knew how to express until I met you. You've made me feel confident, sexy, beautiful and an object of desire--to myself, if no one else.

You've also made me feel lonely, insecure and inadequate. But that's not fair to blame it on you--you didn't do that. I did it to myself.

Even though I love you so, dear Tango, I think I'm getting bored, unsettled, unsatisfied. I can't believe it myself, and I'm not sure what happened. I know experienced dancers say this happens to everyone, this slump I can't seem to break out of.

It's not you, it's me.

I'm not giving you up completely. That could never happen. I'll always want you in my life. I just need to stop putting all my eggs in one basket.

Love always,

tangobaby

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Tonight I started my first flamenco class. It was very challenging and my feet really hurt right now.

I'm going to have to learn to build stamina (which I don't have), muscles (ones I don't use) and precision (thinking!), while remaining graceful and poised. I'm going to have to do many things at one time: swirling wrists, flowing arms, bent knees, stomping feet and tapping heels.

Tonight I felt like a different kind of dancer. Like a dancer who only needs herself to be complete. I am not used to that. That is going to take a lot more practice than any kind of technique. Dancing on my own, alone. But in the company of women who are strong and powerful.

I think that sounds really awesome.

Wish me luck.


The first and third paintings are by talented contemporary artist Fabian Perez.

The second incredible image is El Jaleo by John Singer Sargeant.

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Here are a few videos so you can see what the fuss is all about. The second one in particular reminds me of the veil dances in bellydancing.