![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
It was time for breaktime. I'm not doing much work, but the good times are of a kind that will completely outweigh any procrastinatory consequences. Today, despite the weather's precluding a skydiving expedition, was one of those days I spent carefully hoarding the memory of, even as it was passing. I woke late after calling Dan to check the sky status, and did some lazy laundry while my mom showed the house. She introduced me to the guy who was looking, and it turns out he's lately a real estate agent but sound engineering is his first love, and he has a home studio literally a 30-second drive away. He listened to Fall, Fly, Sing and asked if I'd lay down some tracks for some hip-hop tunes he's working on (?! expand my horizons, I suppose), and said to call him if he didn't call me first and bring my friend over to play in the studio. He even showed me the really basic things in ProTools that I'd just installed and that intimidated me so thoroughly I couldn't even work the record button. Naturally, I called Joodles immediately, and he was (of course) highly enthusiastic.
There was a slight downturn after lunch, what with Stephan's senior-year psychological crises, but he came over to be distracted and I accidentally cheered him right up. We went to get him a sandwich, and since every excursion to Cali is now an opportunity to share its bounty, I called mama and Joodles both. We brought them a sandwich and a pineapple smoothie, respectively, and ended up spending an hour at Lovett surfing Youtube and collegehumor.com, trading classics (he'd never seen the complete Rejected, and Stephan hadn't seen One-String Willie). After a time, a discussion of the relative merits of Dylan Moran and Eddie Izzard led naturally to an expression of interest in seeing Run, Fat Boy, Run, so in one of those beautiful and serendipitous snap decisions, Stephan drove us downtown to the Angelika.
The movie was not as good as the company, but Dylan Moran can carry off even the most abhorrent characters and make them appealing (even the ones he's not playing; he works well as a best-friend foil). A 10-yard stroll to Sake next door fetched us each a Cobb salad and an opportunity for biting aesthetic evaluation of the architecture. The flirting-tolerant, mentoring-competitive, playful-shy, fascinatingly dichotomic relationship Stephan has with Joodles is good for hours of entertainment. However, we did have to put him back at Lovett for at least a wide swipe at some work.
Stephan brought me home and waited (I won't lie and say patiently) while I tossed off some piano tracks for Dust in the Wind (I am a bad cellist, need I remind you? The violin solo is not hard to sing, just hard to sing well). Before long, we decided it'd been long enough for Joodles to be working, and we kidnapped him again to see Hedwig, since he'd never seen it, at Stephan's. He was quiet after it, but played down any accusations we could make about it freaking him out.
Stephan's salsa-class partner finally called him back halfway through the movie, so we went to go get him and anyone else from Brown who felt like dancing tonight. Maybe I'm repeating myself, but I don't think that a fairly intense interpretation of "love" is too strong a word to use in describing how I feel about these house dance parties.
I didn't dance at all until last semester. I took the Latin LPAP after we did waltz in opera workshop, because it would be more fun that weight training or Pilates, and discovered I had some coordination. I certainly didn't know how to follow. In the abstract, I doubt I'm very good at it, as it's contrary to my vehemently egalitarian conception of gender roles. I don't even like doors opened for me; why should I give up all control of physical direction? In learning the waltz, I had a good reason put to me. Acting requires understanding (well, there are schools, but for me it helps), and anyway it's something I should know how to do at least a little if I'm going to be in operas.
Debbie read us the contemporary denunciations of the waltz as an obscene and dangerous pastime, and with the right perspective I can see how they'd have been worried. It's almost shamefully fun, when led well and followed equally well. There's a rush that comes with, forgive the cliche, letting go of yourself and being swept away, controlled. And the Viennese particularly is rather close to the partner. And then, when you learn dances that have beats in four, which encompasses almost all of my favorite rock, you can fall in the music, too.
The thrill is multiplied indescribably when the partner is... good. To be led well is comparable to being taught by the best kind of teacher, who knows exactly what you need to have to click with the subject, who throws all the right clues your way so that you can make the connections yourself and remember it forever. But it's more together than that. It's also like participating in a mind-meltingly good ensemble, when everyone's part is so clear, solid, and supportive that you hardly have to think to get your own right. And then there's the physical angle, which reminds me of doing somersaults and riding horses and swimming in the ocean, but with no dizziness, monotony, or resistance.
With these groups, I also have the chance to teach people one or both sides of the dances I know, to lead and backlead, which assuages my control-freak side. There's really no reason but tradition for the man to lead, and since we usually have two boys dancing together, what's another tradition to toss, occasionally? Tonight, we didn't just teach each other stuff, we outright made some stuff up, and got it to a point where it was just as good as the stuff we've been doing for months. Joodles also taught me some Western dance he refreshed last time his sister was here, and I think I've gotten better at following. It took me all of five minutes to figure out the steps, and then we spent half a Lynyrd Skynyrd album making everybody jealous with the complicatedness of the tangles we tied and untied, while they rested.
Once again, my inner ear is still rocking with the steps we spent hours falling into. I will sleep happily.
There was a slight downturn after lunch, what with Stephan's senior-year psychological crises, but he came over to be distracted and I accidentally cheered him right up. We went to get him a sandwich, and since every excursion to Cali is now an opportunity to share its bounty, I called mama and Joodles both. We brought them a sandwich and a pineapple smoothie, respectively, and ended up spending an hour at Lovett surfing Youtube and collegehumor.com, trading classics (he'd never seen the complete Rejected, and Stephan hadn't seen One-String Willie). After a time, a discussion of the relative merits of Dylan Moran and Eddie Izzard led naturally to an expression of interest in seeing Run, Fat Boy, Run, so in one of those beautiful and serendipitous snap decisions, Stephan drove us downtown to the Angelika.
The movie was not as good as the company, but Dylan Moran can carry off even the most abhorrent characters and make them appealing (even the ones he's not playing; he works well as a best-friend foil). A 10-yard stroll to Sake next door fetched us each a Cobb salad and an opportunity for biting aesthetic evaluation of the architecture. The flirting-tolerant, mentoring-competitive, playful-shy, fascinatingly dichotomic relationship Stephan has with Joodles is good for hours of entertainment. However, we did have to put him back at Lovett for at least a wide swipe at some work.
Stephan brought me home and waited (I won't lie and say patiently) while I tossed off some piano tracks for Dust in the Wind (I am a bad cellist, need I remind you? The violin solo is not hard to sing, just hard to sing well). Before long, we decided it'd been long enough for Joodles to be working, and we kidnapped him again to see Hedwig, since he'd never seen it, at Stephan's. He was quiet after it, but played down any accusations we could make about it freaking him out.
Stephan's salsa-class partner finally called him back halfway through the movie, so we went to go get him and anyone else from Brown who felt like dancing tonight. Maybe I'm repeating myself, but I don't think that a fairly intense interpretation of "love" is too strong a word to use in describing how I feel about these house dance parties.
I didn't dance at all until last semester. I took the Latin LPAP after we did waltz in opera workshop, because it would be more fun that weight training or Pilates, and discovered I had some coordination. I certainly didn't know how to follow. In the abstract, I doubt I'm very good at it, as it's contrary to my vehemently egalitarian conception of gender roles. I don't even like doors opened for me; why should I give up all control of physical direction? In learning the waltz, I had a good reason put to me. Acting requires understanding (well, there are schools, but for me it helps), and anyway it's something I should know how to do at least a little if I'm going to be in operas.
Debbie read us the contemporary denunciations of the waltz as an obscene and dangerous pastime, and with the right perspective I can see how they'd have been worried. It's almost shamefully fun, when led well and followed equally well. There's a rush that comes with, forgive the cliche, letting go of yourself and being swept away, controlled. And the Viennese particularly is rather close to the partner. And then, when you learn dances that have beats in four, which encompasses almost all of my favorite rock, you can fall in the music, too.
The thrill is multiplied indescribably when the partner is... good. To be led well is comparable to being taught by the best kind of teacher, who knows exactly what you need to have to click with the subject, who throws all the right clues your way so that you can make the connections yourself and remember it forever. But it's more together than that. It's also like participating in a mind-meltingly good ensemble, when everyone's part is so clear, solid, and supportive that you hardly have to think to get your own right. And then there's the physical angle, which reminds me of doing somersaults and riding horses and swimming in the ocean, but with no dizziness, monotony, or resistance.
With these groups, I also have the chance to teach people one or both sides of the dances I know, to lead and backlead, which assuages my control-freak side. There's really no reason but tradition for the man to lead, and since we usually have two boys dancing together, what's another tradition to toss, occasionally? Tonight, we didn't just teach each other stuff, we outright made some stuff up, and got it to a point where it was just as good as the stuff we've been doing for months. Joodles also taught me some Western dance he refreshed last time his sister was here, and I think I've gotten better at following. It took me all of five minutes to figure out the steps, and then we spent half a Lynyrd Skynyrd album making everybody jealous with the complicatedness of the tangles we tied and untied, while they rested.
Once again, my inner ear is still rocking with the steps we spent hours falling into. I will sleep happily.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
From:
no subject
From:
no subject