Burn the Floor

UPDATE 2/10: The Post Street Theatre is offering $15 discounts for tickets for the show through the entire run! Through March 15! So click here to get your discount!

http://www.unionsquarepromotions.com/speaks.php

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Caveat: I am going to be very blatant here. I want you to see this show: Burn the Floor at the Post Street Theatre.

I really really mean it. If you can take a train, plane or automobile (or even Muni) to see this show, do it.

***

Last week, I had the exciting opportunity to see this new show in town. It's billed as "The International Dance Sensation" and that is exactly what it is. Once this rich red curtain is raised (sadly this is the only photo I could take before I got in trouble), eye-popping talent and gorgeousness is embodied in the phenomenal dancers who pull out all the stops to take you through the full spectrum of ballroom dancing, but with the most modern high-octane choreography. This show could literally burn the floor, it's that hot. But in the best way that hot can be.


Sensation meaning that every sense is dazzled, from the incredible talents of the world-class dance troupe (all of whom are ballroom dance champions), to the brilliant and exciting choreography, to the sexy, fun costumes, to the vibrant live music and fantastic vocalists... this show has it all. Cha cha, Rumba, Salsa, Samba (whoa!) Mambo, Tango (of course), Paso Doble, Foxtrot, Quickstep, Lindy, Charleston, Waltz... if you grew up loving Busby Berkeley films and 30s and 40s musicals and then graduated to more modern fare like Strictly Ballroom and Shall We Dance? (the original version, not that cheesy J-Lo remake), this show will be like crazy mind/eye candy for you.



Before the show, I was lucky enough to spend some time with Ms. Peta Roby, the Executive Producer and Company Manager. Peta, with a charming smile, easygoing manner and palpable head-to-toe enthusiasm for her dancers and their show, is a reknowned ballroom dance champion and was the principal dancer for the original incarnation of the show. With her partner, Jason Gilkison, the pair were one of Australia's most successful dance couples for almost two decades.

Jason's choreography vision and talents, put to good use on the Australian and American versions of "So You Think You Can Dance" television shows, give the audience a thrilling experience they could never get from watching television. Within five minutes, I knew that I'd be back to see this show again during its run.

***

How does that saying go... This is not your father's Oldsmobile... well, this is not your grandparents' ballroom dance.



This is a show you can literally feel that everyone involved has poured their hearts and souls into it. And to make it even sweeter, one of the dancers in the show, Giselle Peacock, is a local! So come out and see this show. Let's give a warm San Francisco reception to Burn the Floor, and hope they stay in town as long as they can. Before we send them off to Broadway (fingers crossed!).

And don't just take it from me... read the reviews. And this writeup on SF Gate.

See you at the theatre!

Through March 15. Post Street Theatre, 450 Post St., second floor. $49-$69. (415) 771-6900. www.burnthefloor.com or www.poststreettheatre.com.

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ps.: For those much braver and more talented dancers than I, you can win a private master class with the Dance Technical Director of Burn the Floor on the stage of the Post Street Theatre and get tickets to the show.

All of the info you need to enter the contest is here.

about last night

I feel decidedly unglamorous this morning in my sweats and fuzzy socks.

But now I have proof that last night I looked a whole lot better.

Thank you, Jennifer, for capturing the magic inside and outside of your beautiful tango studio.

(Look, you can even see the Transamerica Pyramid in the background, and a little bit of the Bay Bridge.)

A Three Advil Night

It's been a long time since I last prayed to Goddess Advil.

***

Tonight the red shoes came out, and yeah, it is like riding a bicycle.
You never forget.

You never forget how the music fills your ears and you dance with your eyes closed for minutes upon minutes. How your hair gets sweaty and sticks to your forehead and the side of your face, where it's pressed against the face of someone else. How you can't help humming the melodies, laughing when you make a mistake. Milongas, valses, tangos.

***

Tonight at Ney and Jennifer's.
Music, color, art and friends.
The three most favoritest people I could ever wish to dance with, this being my debut for 2009 and the first day back on the dance floor in many moons.

They didn't forget me!

xoxo to my lovely friends: R, P and T.
You made me feel like a princess, thank you.

ps.: And I got to ride the cable car there and back. Now that's what I call San Francisco Tango.

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.

***

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!

***

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.

***

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

All or Nothing/Starting Small

Words of wisdom: As you advance in age, falling asleep on the sofa is not a good thing for your back.

It is either very early in the morning or very late at night as I write this. If I was dancing tango, it would be very late at night. As things stand now, it's just very early in the morning.

A year ago today I wrote this post.

I still have that dress, that perfume, that bracelet and those shoes. I still can conjure up the feelings I had that evening just by reading my words again and listening to the music in the clip. The tango is still in me; it's like riding a bike or having sex. Even if you don't do it for a while, at your core you still know how to. For the scant remaining tango dancers that might still read my blog once in a while, you know exactly what I mean. For you new readers that came later and have never danced tango, you can use your imagination about that feeling and you'd probably be right.

I often think about why I haven't danced in months. I could say it is my personal finances that prevent it, or I could paint sweeping generalizations about the drama of participating in tango society or I could point fingers at specific people disguised in anonymity. Part of the reason is that tango, for some, requires a kind of immersion that is not copacetic with "real" life. To experience tango, for some, it's an all-or-nothing scene. Compromise is hard.

And I tend to be an all-or-nothing person.

Some people come to tango and it's like enjoying an apertif: they drink their cocktail, enjoy it, and then move on to dinner. And then there's the other people: they start with one drink and then stay until the bar closes. For them, tango cannot be practiced in moderation.

I think about going back to dance, but in the limited way I could manage, that would put me in the perceived lower echelon of random occasional dancer and that doesn't seem to be worth the effort. The retirement home of Tango.

So now I'm in this space where not dancing is like coming out of a bad romance: I don't want that guy in my life anymore, but I still think about him. Perhaps if I was younger, I would have made the sacrifice.

***

Speaking of being younger, last night I went to see something that was pretty awesome. In the inspiring, look what kids are doing today kind of way.

About five blocks away from my house is a circus school. I kid you not. The whole works: acrobatics, juggling, contortion, aerial silk and ropes. Of course they have adult classes, but I wonder how many adults could stick with such an education, even if they had comprehensive health coverage.

But those bendy and talented kids--they put on quite a show for us, a crowd of friends, family and a few random neighbors like me. It was a cross between an Andy Hardy movie (hey kids, let's put on a show in the barn!) and a seedling class of Cirque de Soleil future talent.

As much as I was enthused by the young performers and how capable they are (and slightly cringing at times in a protective reflex that someone was going to get hurt), I mostly felt so glad that these kids had the opportunity to discover something they loved from a very young age, practice it so they were advanced and talented enough to perform, and still have many years ahead to make their talents deepen. The little Julie inside me was more than slightly jealous of them having that chance. The older Julie knows not having found that creative niche as a kid has driven me to explore many kinds of outlets, tango included, but that creates the bedrock of my personal dilettantism, too.

Sometimes I feel like I'm too old to be good at anything at the deepest level. And the other part of me thinks I just haven't found that thing yet. And a tiny voice says that all of these thoughts surface in the wee hours because I should be sleeping right now.

But you'll be relieved to know for my own personal safety that I did not sign up for circus school.

Yet. They have an open house where you can try the flying trapeze and more on December 20. Hmmm.

Image: Tight-Rope Walker by Jean-Louis Forain, 1885.

Craving the Elusive

The pleasure we derive from the representation of the present is due, not only to the beauty it can be clothed in, but also to its essential quality of being the present. ~ Charles Baudelaire

Art is the concrete representation of our most subtle feelings. ~ Agnes Martin

When you look at yourself from a universal standpoint, something inside always reminds or informs you that there are bigger and better things to worry about. ~ Albert Einstein

Be careful how you interpret the world: It is like that. ~ Erich Heller

***

Normally, when I have a craving for something, it is very easy for me to figure out what it is and fulfill it quickly. I am an excellent craving satisfier.

Today's cravings:

Taste: salt
Touch: silk
Sight: luminous light
Smell: amber
Sound: Chopin's Nocturnes

***

On Sunday, I had a craving for something and I had no idea what it was.

brief, evanescent, fleeting, momentary, passing, short, temporary, transient, transitory, unenduring, vague

***

By happenstance, I found a notice of a ballet performance, just one of two performances by the Inbal Pinto Dance Company, touring select cities. This ballet company is from Israel. I had never heard of them before, but once I read about the show, Shaker, I knew that I should see it.

Perhaps it was my escape from the week's hyper-reality and hyper-unreality of bad news and work and politics and fatigue of the mind. Perhaps it was that this troupe of talented dancers, being ambassadors of something more transient than "reality" but more necessary--beauty--that I wanted to help welcome them to my city and appreciate their talents by witnessing them.

Yes, I think it was that.

***

Shaker takes place inside a fantasy world, inside a snowglobe.

When I see something very special or beautiful, part of my heart aches that I don't have all of you with me to see it too. So all I can do is try to describe it as best I can, and hope that someday you might see something like this too, and tell me about it.

***

From the program notes (just use your imagination):

The newest dance theater piece by Inbal Pinto and Avshalom Pollak looks and feels like one of those eerily beautiful, but grey winter days, fitfully seen through whirling snow from the window of a fast moving train. The inspiration for this piece comes from those little glass snow globes that fill with snowflakes every time you shake it.

On stage there are three tiny grey huts into and from which the dancers, clad in black or colored bodysuits, appear and disappear as mysteriously as they emerge from the wings or the ground. Pinto says, "The world inside the shaker is not necessarily happy. It has it all - good, evil, happy and sad." Pollak adds, "We used the imagery of melting ice. The piece starts off in a frozen state, and slowly, the ice breaks. It is somewhere between dark and silly. When the two sides are tied to each other, they fight, make up, and can't be one without the other."

It was just what I needed to see.

And happily, I found these brief clips to share with you:

The Tango in My Heart

This is me (with pals), in a cab, in Buenos Aires. (I'm the one on the end. You knew that.)

We're just coming back from a wonderful class at the Dinzel's studio. This may be a capture of one of the happiest times in my entire life, one that I can remember like it was yesterday.

But it wasn't yesterday at all. It's been a while since that day.

***

I was awakened this morning by a dream about tango. I never dream about tango.

In my dream, I was wearing my flamenco shoes and I think I was in a hardware store (go figure), but they were having some sort of dance competition there. Some guy asked me to dance. (You know how in your dreams there's someone that seems really familiar to you, but doesn't look like anyone you know in real life? Well, this guy was like that. Upon awakening, I still don't know who he might be.)

Anyway, the song they played is the one that makes me melt, the one that draws me like a moth to a flame: Desde el Alma. In my dream, I could sense my partner's nervousness (he was a beginning dancer) but since I had more experience than him, I could feel his happiness and relief that I could follow his steps so effortlessly, and could even feel his cheek smiling, pressed against my own. I closed my eyes and danced to this beautiful waltz.

And then I woke up, that song still haunting me.

***

I haven't been dancing in several months now, not flamenco, not ballet and not tango. It's been an amalgamation of reasons, a snowballing effect of things I don't need to bore you all with, but to some degree a bit of this, some of this, vestiges of this, and other mundane things like being flat broke and tired at the end of the day.

But dancing in my dreams, and still having my beloved song playing on endless loop in my brain has made me remember all the wonderful things, the lovely things, the tango in my future, when I was a tango angel, and especially this memory, the tango in my past.

For those of you new readers who weren't sure where a silly little name like tangobaby comes from, to those few remaining tango-loving readers who still read my blog even though I don't really write about tango anymore, let's watch this dance together, to the song that haunts me even now, as the faint rays of the sun start to brighten the sky and I wait for the day to begin.



I need to dust off my dancing shoes already. I still haven't even worn these shoes yet.

Tango, For My Non-Tango Dancing Friends

This post is for my friends, new and old, who do not dance tango. (Those of you who do dance tango are welcome to read this anyway.)

When I started this blog (ostensibly so my mother could find out what I was up to in the Big City), I chose the name tangobaby because I had to think of something so I could get my gmail account. And then as I got used to blogging, I wrote a lot about tango because it's a big part of who I am, even when I'm not dancing. That quickly chosen name was well-chosen after all.

I was, and am, in love with the dance called tango. Even though I've obviously branched out to write about other things that excite, delight and interest me, I am still tangobaby at my core.

The name tangobaby: Tango, because to me that is the only real dance for me--despite what else I might say, and Baby, because this dance is so intricate, so involved, so enigmatic and unfathomly beautiful when the moment is right that I will always be a baby in tango. Always learning and growing, but never growing up.

I am happy to admit that tango is something I will never master (although as someone with a dilettante's nature, that is a rare thing: mastery), and because of that I will always keep dancing it, as much as I am able.

A little while ago I was trying to describe what tango really is to my sweet friend Relyn, who was delightfully curious. (What I was trying to explain is that tango is not what the mainstream culture thinks it is: as seen in Dancing With the Stars, over-edited Hollywood films, glitzy Forever Tango shows, ballroom tango (ugh), the rose in the teeth, and that hokey, smarmy pablum that is a total anathema to most tango devotees (and only uttered by those who don't dance): "Tango is a vertical expression of a horizontal desire." Blech.)

This is part of what I wrote to her in an email:

Imagine this: you are surrounded by people from all over the world, nice people, charming people. But you cannot speak their language and they cannot speak yours. And then the music starts, the lights lower, and a man takes your hand and you dance with him. You dance with him as though you have known him for your entire life, and you've only just met him. He smiles and you smile because you communicate perfectly.

That is tango. And that is true.

Tango is that lovely fantasy, a shared moment of pleasure and connection that might only last a few minutes, but is the nicest way I know to transcend, share and communicate with another person.

And then I saw this video that Sallycat posted on her blog. (For those of you who remember Sallycat from the last wonderful post...)

When I watched this, I got the chills. I watched this video in silent amazement and joy. This video, of Sallycat and her teacher Ariel, explains more about what tango really means--to dance it with your heart--than I ever could in a thousand-word essay. When you watch this, you are watching tango.




If you want to read more about Sallycat's video, click here.

Beautiful tango image by Métempsycose.

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.

This Is How I Get Ready for Tango

No, I'm kidding. My room isn't that big. ;-)


I thought it would be nice to share some more Cyd Charisse clips with you since you guys liked the last one so much.

This clip is actually my very favorite Cyd Charisse scene ever. It's from Silk Stockings, a film she stars in with Fred Astaire. It's a musical remake of the Ernst Lubitsch film Ninotchka starring Greta Garbo.

Click this: Part Two, because you can't get too much of this kind of beauty.

Give Me an "L"

Maude: A lot of people enjoy being dead. But they are not dead, really. They're just backing away from life. Reach out. Take a chance. Get hurt even. But play as well as you can. Go team, go! Give me an L. Give me an I. Give me a V. Give me an E. L-I-V-E. LIVE! Otherwise, you got nothing to talk about in the locker room. ~ Harold and Maude

***

It has come to my attention that I might not be preparing as well as I might for my future. Certain people who love me very much are concerned that I have no savings, no money. (Well, so what else is new? When do people have all that they need, in the bank and in their hearts?)

I suppose it can be said that I'm at that part of my life where I am halfway to being dead. But who is not? And who knows what will happen tomorrow?

It's not that I'm profligate with my money; I don't have that much money to be profligate with. But if every penny I make goes in the bank and not to help me live my life while I live right now, I'll be retiring on what?--A lifetime of memories spent working for other people? An existence spent during the hours of 8:30am to 5:30pm?

During the week I make small choices: to go out to lunch and get a hamburger once in a while, or to eat a can of soup and take a dance class instead. Usually I opt for the dance class and the soup. But sometimes I opt for the dance class and the hamburger.

Neither the hamburger or the dance class costs enough money to help me retire comfortably. I suppose giving up a hundred thousand hamburgers or a hundred thousand dance classes would be a start towards something practical.

But I'm hoping that the enjoyment of having them might give me something to smile about when I am too old to eat the hamburger or get up out of my chair to dance.

If I live that long.

I don't want to retire on a dearth of experiences. I'll be old soon enough anyway, why start now? I'm not trying to be maudlin or sad, just practical.

But thank you for thinking of me...I love you, too.

***

How we spend our days is, of course, how we spend our lives. ~ Annie Dillard, The Writing Life

***



From one of my favorite films, Harold and Maude:

Well, if you want to sing out, sing out
And if you want to be free, be free
'Cause there's a million things to be
You know that there are

And if you want to live high, live high
And if you want to live low, live low
'Cause there's a million ways to go
You know that there are

Chorus:
You can do what you want
The opportunity's on
And if you find a new way
You can do it today
You can make it all true
And you can make it undo
you see ah ah ah
its easy ah ah ah
You only need to know

Well if you want to say yes, say yes
And if you want to say no, say no
'Cause there's a million ways to go
You know that there are

And if you want to be me, be me
And if you want to be you, be you
'Cause there's a million things to do
You know that there are

The Slumber Party

Last night I went to a slumber party at Ms. Wellspring's house.

The Boy (and probably a lot of others like him) think that at girls' slumber parties, we lounge around like Elvgren Girl pin-ups in frilly negligees, giving each other pedicures and talking about them (boys), breathlessly waiting for the Panty Raids to start and hoping some handsome scamp will climb in through a window to kiss and/or ravage us.

When, in truth, most slumber parties involve wearing baggy sweats and/or fleece and old t-shirts (but sans bra so I guess that is somewhat titillating--pun intended), eating unfortunate amounts of junk food (including, but limited to, Doritos, potato chips, Red Vines, cookies, ice cream, hickory-smoked almonds and microwave popcorn--but we also had some grapes), talking about ourselves (maybe we did talk about you guys but only for a second and then it might have been to make the others laugh), and watching silly movies.

The only difference between this slumber party and ones we had when we were twelve were that we did not do makeovers, make crank calls or have a seance (light as a feather, stiff as a board) but only because we had to start our party after we had gotten off of work and we had already lost a few hours.

So it was a pared-down slumber party but still lots of fun and pretty true to the original format.

***

This slumber party was very educational because the first movie we watched was Flashdance. I remember seeing this movie when it came out and I'm pretty sure I liked it. I didn't remember a whole lot about the particulars of the movie aside from Jennifer Beals' torn shirts that created a huge fashion trend of which I was a lemming to, some sexy dance scenes (see below) and that she played a welder.

Watching the movie after a 20-plus-year hiatus was a sociological event and an opportunity to hone our skills at playing Mystery Science Theater 3000. I had no idea that Flashdance was such a bad bad b-a-d movie! It also raised a million questions in my mind, including:

1. Did we really look that stupid in the '80s?! (Yes.) Between the giant padded shoulders, stiletto heels with white anklet socks, shredded clothing and ratty hair, a miasma of bad wardrobe images floated in my memory. The '80s look made the '70s look seem like a well-considered fashion statement.
2. Why was it okay for an 18-year old to be stalked and hit on by her employer who was, oh, a good 20 years older than she was? By stalked, I mean following her home on dark rainy nights in his Porsche while she rode her 10-speed bike back from work and coming on to her at work and where ever else he stalked and found her. But then she stalked him too and pyschotically threw a brick through his window and generally acted like a freak.
3. What is it that a 40-year old guy sees in an 18-year old girl who works as an exotic dancer? (Silly question.) One ponders the scintillating conversations they must have had about life, the universe and everything. Clearly they had so much in common.
4. Who hires an 18-year old girl to be a welder in his factory, for Chrissakes?!
5. Why must a young woman become a stripper when her career as a waitress and her chance to become a professional figure skater don't work out?
6. Why did I not realize that Jennifer Beals did not actually dance in any of the dance scenes? Other dancers wearing crazy black poodle wigs were flinging themselves all over this movie and I had no idea it wasn't her until last night.
7. Why did I not remember this being one of the worst films of all time?

***

Had I absorbed some Life Lessons from this film in my formative years, I could have known the following Truths about Life as "Important Things I Learned From Flashdance":

1. You can ride your bike to a fancy evening at the ballet in a sequined gown and high heels without looking like a sweaty mess.
2. You can live in a cool-ass loft complete with Shabby Chic antiques and a dance studio on a welder's salary.
3. You can work as a welder and an exotic dancer. You can have two careers AND have a dream of being a classical ballerina.
4. And most importantly, it is okay to stick your foot in a man's crotch while you are in a fancy restaurant. And to eat lobster like a crazed ho as long as your date is paying. (Bet you don't remember that scene! I sure as hell didn't. And I don't think my mother does either.)

Below is all I really remembered about Flashdance until last night. Thanks, Ms. Wellspring, for allowing me to rediscover my buried memories of the '80s while eating Doritos and Red Vines in a sleeping bag at your house.



The scene we all remember (no, it's not Jennifer Beals.)

And this scene, which ain't her either.

The Calm in the Eye of the Storm

"Please send me your last pair of shoes, worn out with dancing as you mentioned in your letter, so that I might have something to press against my heart." ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

Someday I hope to have a pair of shoes like that.

***

Cellspace again tonight. The dancing does have a wildness to it that I am not used to. Lots and lots of crazy boleos and ganchos and leg wraps. And twirls. Twirls?!!

I am not always able to hear and feel the music because so much movement is distracting me. Plus, I got kicked twice and stepped on once. I cannot believe my fishnets survived such abuse.

But there was yet a new Tango Angel who made it all worthwhile. He made me forget those other people even existed. He hummed and sang the music softly while we danced. He danced so smoothly, so calmly. Pausing and moving to the music so I would hear the music though his movements. Waiting for me and not rushing me through my steps. Letting me do my thing. It was a partnership.

And then I self-wallflowered when I realized I had already danced my best dances of the night. So I got to enjoy the others enjoying each other and captured a few moments before calling it a night.

Good night, tango. Good night, tango dancers everywhere.

Un beso.

Ballerina Daydreams

The other day when I got to the dance center for my flamenco class, the hall was full of willowy people. They were waiting for a ballet master class next door.

Ballet dancers stretching. I love looking at them. I don't blame Degas for painting them over and over again.

They sprawl and stretch like cats.

When I see ballet dancers, I wish I was long-legged and tall and elegant like they are. But a willowy, delicate body is not in my genetic makeup, alas.

I tried very hard to take some photos without the dancers knowing, and I am too shy to ask for their permission. Or maybe I don't want to ask.

It is very difficult to be sneaky sometimes. Maybe I should just try being bold instead.

***

Last week, I was the recipient of quite a fantastic windfall: two tickets with primo seating (fourth row center, orchestra!) for An International Salute to San Francisco Ballet.

With the always effevescent and lovely Ms. Wellspring as my ballet buddy, we first enjoyed a lovely meal at Sauce, a restaurant we'd both been wanting to try. It's in Hayes Valley, and we had a cozy table at the bar (book ahead if you want reservations).

Soon, our little table was filled with lobster and crab sliders, baby arugula salad with blood orange and Point Reyes bleu cheese, sesame shrimp, spinach and artichoke brulee, and their signature dessert, which is not to be missed.

Called simply PB&J, this dessert is not like any peanut butter and jelly sandwich you've ever had: pan-seared sponge cake layered with homemade strawberry preserve and Frangelico peanut butter with a vanilla ice cream center...yummmmm...

I apologize that I do not have any decent photos of the food. First of all, the lighting was too dark, and second of all, we were too busy eating.

And then with full bellies, it was time to head for the ballet!

***

The San Francisco Ballet performs in at the exquisite War Memorial Opera House, directly across from City Hall. The building is designed in the magnificent French Renaissance style by Arthur Brown Jr., who also was the architect of Coit Tower and City Hall. It opened its doors to audiences for the first time on October 15, 1932, and served a very important historical function as the birthplace of the United Nations. In fact, when President Truman signed the United Nations charter on June 26, 1945, it was on San Francisco's very own Opera House stage.

I learned that the San Francisco Ballet is the oldest professional ballet company in America and was founded as the San Francisco Opera Ballet in 1933. Initially, the ballet's primary purpose was to train dancers to appear in full-length, lavish opera productions.

The interior of the War Memorial Opera House is gilded confection. I tried not to look too touristy as I snapped some quick photos.

And then it was time to get settled in and wait for the curtain to go up.

From the program notes: ... San Francisco Ballet regularly tours the world, delighting audiences with its passion and excellence. This season, three international companies—New York City Ballet, Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo, and The National Ballet of Canada—take the Opera House stage to pay tribute to SF Ballet and its imprint on the world of dance.

Once the performances began, I was completely hypnotized by the dancers and the dance as it interpreted the music. I actually won't go into too much description because it's really not possible to describe how beautiful these performances were. I wish I could have taken you with me.

Instead, I've found some photos and an a small video clip. As they say, a picture is worth a thousand words so hopefully in this instance I can share a little bit of the beauty I saw with you.

The first act, A Delicate Balance, was a thought-provoking juxtaposition between modern clad dancers and men and women dressed in suits and 18th-century ballgowns.

This piece was danced on a stage full of glistening, glowing snowflakes.

The second act, Duo Concertante, featured two dancers from the New York City Ballet, who performed magnificent pas de deux with a pianist and violinist onstage. Of the three performances, this was the most classical in technique.

The final act, Altro Canto, performed by Les Ballets de Monte-Carlo, is impossibly beautiful and impossibly difficult to describe. All I can say is that it was like watching a dream but you happened to be awake.

The stage was hung with many candles that magically floated from the ceiling. Suspended against the black, the candles moved in and out of the dance, creating a very spiritual, almost cathedral-type setting. The music was a haunting choral singing that made the stage feel like a sacred place.

I cannot believe it, but there is a tiny bit of video of this performance. The music is not at all what we heard (in fact, this selection does not do the performance justice at all) but watch it to get a taste of what we saw--especially for the last few seconds with the tall ballerina.

.

She was pure and utter magic and breathtakingly etheral.

Me 'n Mia Wallace

About every four or five weeks, I look like Mrs. Mia Wallace for a few hours.

Well, not exactly. But I feel like her.

That's when Kat does my hair so it looks almost exactly like Uma Thurman's in Pulp Fiction (I can never get it as perfectly smooth and shiny as Kat does). And then I get my Mrs. Mia Wallace manicure from Sarah (officially Uma is wearing Chanel's Vamp, but I'll settle for Essie's Wicked at a fraction of the price).

I know where I can get a $5 milkshake around here, but I don't think I'll be winning any twist contests tonight. Where's my Vincent Vega when I need him?

(Yeah, I know this is a lame post. Basically this post is an excuse to watch a favorite video clip again, but my hair really does look this good. And so do my nails.)





Photo from the NY Times Dining & Wine section.

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.

***

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.

***

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.

***

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.

"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.