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I am a refrigerator to be steered.
Feb. 28th, 2014 12:41 pmThe diminutive Siberian Siren once said about leading much larger dance partners that it's like steering a refrigerator. I invited her to do so last night at the beginners' tango practice night ("practica") at Dance Underground on Capitol Hill. She was game, despite her protestations of not being that good a lead at tango.
It's a good thing I didn't have much ego invested in my tango abilities because if I had, she would have crushed it. The SS broke the dance down into very small bits and I practiced much of the time against a wall. She was superbly patient about it, but clearly, I have a lot to learn. At least I did learn some last night.
It's a far cry from my instructor E, who's a fantastic lead and not much shorter than I am. With her everything happens magically - that's how it feels - and I'm left wondering how. Now I'm pondering the relative merits of E's holistic teaching and the SS's more analytic approach. You can't be a good dancer if you have to think about it, which argues for E, but in order to get there you have to know how to move the parts of your body, which the SS excels at teaching. It's been pointed out to me that the SS might not be used to applying the force necessary to steer this particular fridge, and E most certainly is.
The SS insists that I invest in some dance shoes. I was the only one on the floor in my stocking feet, because Fluevog Kona boots, while beautiful, will wreck a dance floor. The Siren spent some time pointing out various options on the feet of other dancers, natch.
Here's the deal with beginner's night: if you're not a beginner, you don't have to pay $6 provided that you volunteer to dance with beginners and wear the appropriate name tag. The SS did, so I got a few breaks. It was a little hilarious watching her dance with men who were two heads taller than she is. (I'm only one head taller.) She said dancing with men felt like a "duty". Way to stay gay, girlfriend.
There were other people from my class who I could have danced with, but I refrained because, hey, you dance with them what you brung, right? The SS later said I needn't have bothered, so that's a lesson in etiquette learned.
ETA: The SS remarked that once upon a time, queers made up a much smaller fraction of the attendees. They'd call each other ahead of time and arrange to go as a gang. We were both pleased to see that's no longer necessary. There were a couple of gentlemen dancing together who met even the Siren's high standards; we've met them, natch.
It's a good thing I didn't have much ego invested in my tango abilities because if I had, she would have crushed it. The SS broke the dance down into very small bits and I practiced much of the time against a wall. She was superbly patient about it, but clearly, I have a lot to learn. At least I did learn some last night.
It's a far cry from my instructor E, who's a fantastic lead and not much shorter than I am. With her everything happens magically - that's how it feels - and I'm left wondering how. Now I'm pondering the relative merits of E's holistic teaching and the SS's more analytic approach. You can't be a good dancer if you have to think about it, which argues for E, but in order to get there you have to know how to move the parts of your body, which the SS excels at teaching. It's been pointed out to me that the SS might not be used to applying the force necessary to steer this particular fridge, and E most certainly is.
The SS insists that I invest in some dance shoes. I was the only one on the floor in my stocking feet, because Fluevog Kona boots, while beautiful, will wreck a dance floor. The Siren spent some time pointing out various options on the feet of other dancers, natch.
Here's the deal with beginner's night: if you're not a beginner, you don't have to pay $6 provided that you volunteer to dance with beginners and wear the appropriate name tag. The SS did, so I got a few breaks. It was a little hilarious watching her dance with men who were two heads taller than she is. (I'm only one head taller.) She said dancing with men felt like a "duty". Way to stay gay, girlfriend.
There were other people from my class who I could have danced with, but I refrained because, hey, you dance with them what you brung, right? The SS later said I needn't have bothered, so that's a lesson in etiquette learned.
ETA: The SS remarked that once upon a time, queers made up a much smaller fraction of the attendees. They'd call each other ahead of time and arrange to go as a gang. We were both pleased to see that's no longer necessary. There were a couple of gentlemen dancing together who met even the Siren's high standards; we've met them, natch.
