modern dance

I recently ran into a former boyfriend at a bar. We chatted for awhile, and although he didn't ask me anything like, "What's new with you?" or "Any new hobbies?" I somehow felt the need to share. During a lull in the conversation, I suddenly blurted out, "I want to tell you something." He looked wary. "I've been taking modern dance classes!" Then he looked perturbed. "That doesn't sound like you at all," he said, turning away and heading back to the bar. 

I have mixed feelings about this response. On the one hand, it's a sad fact that I shunned exercise of any form for about ten years because I was loathe to be anything like the coarse, ignorant, homophobic jocks that populated my Catholic high school. But I guess I got it out of my system after a decade. Realizing that if I didn't change my ways I would end up obese and arthritic, I happily began biking and walking around a lot. 

And then one day, out of nowhere, I suddenly had this idea that I should be taking dance classes. It seemed strange, because it wasn't something I'd ever considered doing. Unlike my shattered "theater star" dreams, there was no squelched dance ambition lurking in my past. 

But I wasn't sure where to start. Since my mysterious dance "thing" was probably at least partially inspired by a Live Action Set performance, I went ahead and emailed Megan, who I decided was the most approachable Live Action company member. I asked her if there was any place in town where an "old" (e.g. not a 12-year-old ballerina) person could take beginning dance classes. She referred to me to Zenon.  

So I started taking beginning modern dance classes on Saturday mornings. I was impressed with the range of ages in class--I'd been terrified that I would be the oldest person, surrounded by a bunch of nubile 21-year-olds. I was pleased to discover that plenty of other people decide at say, age 55, that taking up dance is a good idea. 

The classes were fun, but humbling. Basic things like walking four steps forward, and then turning around, were exceptionally daunting. I fumbled around while everyone else seemed to execute every move perfectly. But despite feeling awkward and uncoordinated, I kept coming back, and week by week, I started to improve, ever so slowly.    

I also met a bunch of great people. Lots of the people who take dance classes are super smart and funny and interesting! Not like the people I met at my tennis lessons. (No offense to tennis people, but I just didn't have much luck making friends at the tennis bubble.) 

I don't have a neat little conclusion for this story. I'm still taking the Saturday classes; still trying to make my weight equal on both feet. I've promoted myself to some harder classes, just so I can feel awkward and out of place again. It's addictive!

square dancing in Gays Mills, Wisconsin

This past weekend Nick was scheduled to play a rock show in rural Wisconsin with his friend Phil. Phil, his girlfriend Laura, and their baby daughter Elva all live on a farm-like property in Soldiers Grove, Wisconsin. 

The show was scheduled to take place on Saturday evening in the natural foods co-op in a little nearby town called Gays Mills. When we arrived at the back door of the co-op, a sign on the door informed us that "NO ALCOHOL CONSUMPTION [was] ALLOWED." Nick and I lingered in the parking lot for a few more minutes, sharing a Hamm's. As Nick's band was "headlining," I could tell we were in for a long night. 

We entered the co-op community room. An employee tried to charge us $5, but we explained that we were "with the band." A variety of comfortable arm chairs and church pews lined the walls, and there was a table set up on the opposite wall selling baked goods (50 cents to $1) and natural canned sodas ($1). Nick and I splurged on a fruit-flavored soda, which we then shared. 

Meanwhile, a male and female musical duo entertained the crowd of about 10 to 15 people (there was a travel advisory in effect that night due to the ice storm that was taking place, so apparently there normally would have been way more people in attendance). They played guitar, fiddle (despite not being a musician, I am pretty sure that was a "fiddle" and not a "violin"), and also sang. 

This went on for awhile, and although they were fine musicians, I began to get fatigued. Normally in these situations one can just start downing drinks to keep things interesting, but every time we wanted some cheap beer we had to go outside and hang around in the sleet. 

The resulting restlessness is probably what led to our participation in the square dance. After a lengthy set, the fiddle duo took a momentary break to allow a tall guy with a bullhorn to announce an imminent square dance. Many eager hippie couples bounded into the middle of the room. 

Nick asked me if I wanted to square dance, but for some reason, I balked. I enjoy all kinds of dancing, and usually don't care too much about not really knowing the steps or looking stupid, but these people looked like they knew what they were doing. They really seemed to be into square dancing. I was vaguely worried that they'd be mad if I went in there and screwed up the promenading. 

But it turned out that the dance was one couple short, so we felt obligated to join the group. We quickly launched into the dance. I've square danced once--in second grade, at the "father-daughter square dance" that was sponsored by my Catholic school brownie troupe. The "moves" (calls?) I remember from that were the following--"now swing your PART-ner," "do an Allemande left on your corner," and "now do-si-do your PART-ner."     

Unlike at the dance in second grade, there was no lengthy overview of what all the "steps" are. Luckily, most of the "calls" are fairly distinctive ("you swing mine and I'll swing yours," "yours is fine, I'll go back to mine"), so we were able to fake it alright. 

There were no major catastrophes. At first, we weren't sure what it meant to "promenade," but watching all the other couples linking arms and prancing around in a circle pretty much explained it. 

There were definitely some couples who took the dance very seriously. Giggling like a fool, at one point I was thrown in the arms of Davy, one of Nick's temporary bandmates. Expecting him to lurch around like everyone else, I suddenly realized that he had me a Nazi grip and was leading me with precision around the floor until it was time to fling me back to Nick. Later, while watching him with Sarah, his regular square dancing partner, I noticed they were both dead serious about the dance. With unsmiling concentration, they perfectly put each other "back in the pound" during a later round of dancing.

Nick and I emerged from the dance fairly successfully, as far as I could tell. No matter how confused we were at a given moment, we always kept moving, which seems to be a key factor in all kinds of dance. And later, a fellow square dancer applauded the fact that we "kept smiling" throughout the ordeal, despite any possible confusion. Maniacal smiling, apparently, is a key part of being a real, professional square dancer.