Category: dancing

Every month or so during the school year, the Stanford University Dance Department puts on an event called Jammix. It includes a huge variety of music and dance styles… from schmaltzy tangos to goofy covers of American pop tunes to “Play that Funky Music, White Boy!” to Metallica waltzes (!) and beyond. And all for $2, too!

The talent is equally varied. Given that this was the first Jammix of the season, there were even more newbies than usual, but also quite a few impressively experienced folks (including dance teachers!) in attendance.

The common denominators amongst it all are Fun and Friendliness. Oh, and always at least a couple memorable moments for me :-).

The D’oh Moment
A salsa song came on, and — despite being a total salsa neophyte (I remember about 3 moves) — I decided to ask the woman standing next to me to dance since she looked particularly warm and approachable.

“Hi, I’m Adam” I offered.

She looked at me with a mix of surprise and genuine amusement. “I’m…”

“Anne!” I interjected. Yeah, as in Anne the (at least locally) famous and much beloved salsa teacher that I’ve been acquainted with socially for over a year. She had dyed her hair, and apparently by this Friday evening my brain fuel was running low.

Thank goodness she IS a kind and patient soul, or I would have been even more mortified than I was… asking such a fab salsera to dance salsa AND not recognizing her. And why oh why couldn’t I have asked her to Lindy Hop instead?! :O But luckily I ended up feeling pretty comfortable sticking to the basics during the dance, chatting throughout and catching up with her since we hadn’t seen each other in a few months.

* * *

Of courage and compliments
Despite assurances from nice friends that my waltzing is actually decent, I still am a bit self-conscious about it. So you can imagine how proud I am that I got up the guts to ask one of the most talented women of the evening to dance a cross-step waltz with me. Even better yet, halfway through she complimented me on my dancing and asked if I’d consider being a part of the Annual Stanford Viennese Ball Opening performance group that she’s leading.

Alas, it requires rehearsals twice a week for several months, and given my uncertain schedule for the next while, I sadly can’t afford to make that commitment. But I was quite honored nonetheless, since she obviously liked my waltzing :-).

* * *

Each time I attend Jammix, I always have so many mixed emotions. On one hand, I feel regret (for not learning to dance earlier in my life), I feel a little embarrassment (for being an old fart amongst so many 18 and 19 year olds!*), and — when dancing with beginner after beginner — I sometimes feel frustration or even exhaustion (e.g., waltzing with someone who has no frame or polka’ing with dead weight). But on the other hand, the welcoming atmosphere of openness, of joy, even giddy enthusiasm tends to outweigh the downsides for me. And — unlike sometimes when I’m out Lindy Hopping — I rarely worry whether I’m good enough or popular enough to be asking someone because at Jammix everyone’s just happy to be dancing (it helps, too, that there are often more women than men in attendance… w00t!!!)

Also, seeing so many young people on campus doing something than drinking themselves into a stupor or grabbing each others’ asses at crass frat parties is also delightfully refreshing. And no, these aren’t predominantly freaks-‘n’-losers, either. It’s clear that — along with indeed a bunch o’ geeks (not that there’s anything wrong with that ) — Stanford dances attract many jocks, cheerleaders, pretty boys, hottie chicks, fashionable peeps, and so on. Indeed, this sort of scene does give me hope for future generations of college students :-). I’ve even heard that many students camp out just to get into the uber-popular dance classes at Stanford.

What a wonderful world, at least this piece of it! And how lucky I am to be a part of it 🙂

* * *

Related links:
– “Skipping the frat scene: Jammix social dance party” [Stanford Daily newspaper]

* * *

* Regarding the age-thing, my friend Graham said to me at an earlier Jammix: “You may be old, but you’re not creepy old.” Whew 😀

Well, it’s been the worst of times, it’s been the best of times, to semi-quote those cliched novels. For those interested in my Lindy Hop and other dancing adventures, read on. 🙂

I’ve been doing less and less Lindy Hop lately, partly because I’ve felt burned out on the swing scene a bit, both dancewise and otherwise. I’ve reached a sort of plateau where I feel I should be a lot better than I am, but I’m not quite sure how to get there or even if it’s worth all the effort. I miss two of my favorite teachers who moved away (Paul and Sharon) whom I really learned well with, and I’m a bit overwhelmed by all the new faces in the swing scene nowadays.

Additionally, the increasingly heavy emphasis on fast music and slow blues — neither of which I’m very good at — is making me feel more and more like a fish-out-of-water around here. My visit to St. Louis for a blues dance workshop weekend to get a jump start on blues fell flat when I got really sick with allergies and also was (perhaps partly due to the sniffling and sneezing?) totally ignored amidst all the cliques. It was the complete antithesis of the warm and welcoming camps I’ve been to in the past, like Herrang and Swing Out Northwest.

Just one good thing from the camp: at the end of our last class, our instructors put on a 7 minute version of “Summertime.” When they announced that they’d be playing it, I cringed and almost ran out the door; that was, after all, the same song that scarred me years ago when I asked someone to dance at a Lindy event before I knew what song was being played… and, too shy and not smart enough to gracefully exit, I subjected myself and my follow to a truly torturous 7 minutes of faking blues when I hadn’t an inkling of a clue of anything past the old sway-back-and-forth-like-junior-high-kids. I had tried to put on a courageous face when my follow, after the first 30 seconds, asked with clear disgust: “Um, do you KNOW how to blues dance?” and I replied “No, but I’m willing to fake it!” But I didn’t try blues dancing (or even faking it) for literally years after that.

So, anyway, to make a long story, well, long… this “years after that” in St. Louis, I made it through the same song quite nicely, so it was a personal triumph of sorts. Undoubtedly more interesting to me from a symbolic standpoint than any of you poor saps still reading this entry, but hey, as I’ve said before, it’s my blog. Guaranteed fascinating and informative, or your money back! 🙂

* * *

So, anyway, I’ve thought about just calling the whole swing/blues thing quits again a lot lately, but then every once in a while (apparently just often enough) I have such a wonderful dance and I just have this humungous grin on my face and I’ll go home happy, vowing to stick with it all. From an acquaintance of mine who gushed “That’s the best dance I had all night!” to other wonderful follows who literally run up to me to catch a dance… it’s just hard to throw it all away.

Plus following is still fresh and fun for me, even when I don’t plan on following! :-). For instance, at one of my birthday jams recently, my friend Elizabeth started off leading me, and that triggered an unexpected and pretty hilarious chain of guys and women jumping in to lead me in my jam. Only Kathy, bless her heart, gave me a brief break by following. But it was all good… totally a blast, and I’m proud that I managed to get through it not only unscathed, but looking almost decent, apparently.

I also had a delightful and unexpected birthday jam at Stanford’s recent all-night “Big Dance” as well, with lots of really nice people — many of whom I didn’t even know — coming in to dance with me. Plus my friend Graham thoughtfully helped me get through the 34 (!) birthday pivots I had to do afterwards, and — despite a slight bump (okay, total crash) into a neighboring couple — we all survived.

* * *

Over the last few months, I’ve also taken some basic classes in latin dancing and waltzing. Of the two, I think I’m more partial to waltzing at this point, because when comparing the social scenes… well, salsa seems to be — on the whole — much more of a drinking / pick-up-chicks-in-high-heels scene, whereas non-ballroom’y waltzing seems much more laid back, friendly, and less competitive. Oh, yeah, and unlike the couple of salsa clubs I’ve been to, at least all the waltz songs don’t sound the same, and I can actually tell when one stops and another begins.

You laugh. I still remember (again, cringing), when a woman asked me to dance in a salsa club and I kept thinking to myself, “Self… okay, you’ve done all 3.14 move you know how… when the *@&!#( is this song going to end?!?!?!?” About 20 minutes later, I realized — as my partner politely excused herself — that the song was really many songs seemlessly tied together. What in heaven’s name is going through those DJs’ minds when they pull crap like this? “Heh heh, I know… right after the beginner lesson, I’m going to skillfully crossfade 10 5-minute songs into each other and see how long those newbies last on the floor!” With waltzes, I may only know a tiny tiny number of moves, but at least I can be pretty assured that the boredom’ll be limited to 3-5 minutes.

And actually, the aforementioned PivotKindness friend Graham recently praised my waltz basic, and that made me very happy. So, while I may bore my partners to tears, at least they’ll be twirled around in a relatively comfortable way :-).

* * *

But anyway, I really need to do some thinking about how I want to be spending my time, my effort, and so on. On one hand, it’s tempting to really push myself to get over that Lindy hump/slump AND also start taking some waltz public and/or private lessons so I can more fully enjoy the FridayNightWaltzes. But on the other hand, I’ve been meaning to get back into my music composing, which — while unfortunately pretty solitary — can be truly rewarding when I’m disciplined. I wish I could snap my fingers and get by without sleeping, or create more hours in the day…

I am so angry at myself.

There are a million and one reasons why I went to a blues dancing practica tonight and only danced one song… but none of them are compelling or rational reasons.

Worse yet was my assedness (is that a word?) towards the later part of the night.

I was sitting in the corner, one dance shoe on and one off in a lame attempt to stave off being asked to dance, and all of a sudden I got quite the unexpected visitor. Salina — one of the most amazingly talented and beloved blues dancers I have ever met in my life — plopped down cheerfully right next to me.

She looked me in the eye and asked “Want to dance?” with her trademark warm grin.

I forget exactly what I stammered out, but the gist of it was “no.”

She stayed and small-talked for a few moments, then got up to dance with someone who was less of a loser. To my right, Chris looked at me, mouth literally agape like you read about or see in the movies but rarely see in real life.

“Wha…?” he started to say. He paused, and you could almost see the gears turning in his head while he tried to express his utter confusion.

“You… um… you said no to Salina?” he continued, half as question and half as an expression of something seeming not quite right.

I muttered a lame explanation, and then there was silence. We both sat and watched Salina dance.

* * *

I wonder if there’s a cure for partial shyness.

I’m not the sort of fellow one would typically think of as shy. Typically cheerful, talkative, occasionally even witty, I wouldn’t say I’m the life of a party, but I’m sometimes the center of a small amount of attention.

But in certain contexts, I become intensely uncomfortable and I simply withdraw. I claim — to others and myself — that I want to watch and learn, to absorb… but as a fellow retorted in a friendly way “You don’t learn by watching. You learn by doing. Get off your ass and ask someone to dance. Sheesh. Practice!”

And besides, I know that I really don’t learn anything or get any better by watching. I become mesmerized, entranced, absorbed… but the intellectual part of my brain refuses to take notes. It’s too busy making excuses for why I shouldn’t be dancing. There are way too many guys, and most are better than I am — let the women dance with them. None of my good female friends are here, and I don’t want to dance so close with mere acquaintances. I shouldn’t subject any women to my dancing especially tonight when I’m so tired and cranky…

* * *

Admittedly, too, there are the painful memories of recent Dentist Dances — that is to say, the dances where the follow looks like she’d rather be under the drill at a dentist’s office than in my arms. For some reason, the memory of those — at least in circumstances like this — are more vivid than the warm memories of blissfully connected dances. Or the fact that one charming follow recently asked me to lead her in blues dancing… seven songs in a row. Or that a professional dancer commented with awe two weeks ago that I had improved fabulously, and sought me out for delicious dances three times in the same night.

No, in my irrational world, my feelings of desperate incompetence — at least in this arena — outweigh my accomplishments. And it all makes me so angry at myself.

I know I will never get better if I don’t practice. And I know the longer I put it off, the longer I make excuses, the longer it will be — if ever — that I become Good. And I know that — despite the sharp and sour warnings of women who rant to groups of us men that there’s little worse than being stuck in a blues dance with a lousy lead for 10 minutes — a Dentist Dance shall pass and is not the end of the world or even the end of my career or a sign that I’ll never be married or an indication that I’m somehow a bad person or anything like that…

And stupidly, it’s not like this is completely new territory for me. I went through this same self-doubting and self-loathing and withdrawal in Lindy Hop — and, indeed, still suffer through some bad nights of this sort. And now… heck, I’m at least above average in my scene, often asked to dance, even complimented pretty regularly.

* * *

I wish I could be more like my friend Niles. You know the part of the brain that says, “Dude, you shouldn’t do that! You can’t ask her! You’re looking like a total fool! Shouldn’t you be more cautious?”… yeah, that limiting part of the brain? Well, his was apparently lobotomized at or near birth. From his first days in San Francisco, he asked the instructors to dance, he asked the hotties, the ice queens, the Lindy snobs, the most talented and the least accessible… he asked all of them to dance. Repeatedly.

I asked him how he did it, and he looked at me like *I* was crazy. “Huh?” was his response, “If they say no they say no. What’s the big deal?”

Well, as you might guess, Niles got really good, really fast. And now all the hotties, the ice queens, the Lindy snobs… they ask him.

I wonder if Niles has this sort of fearlessness in everyday life. “Hi!” I envision him slapping his boss on the back, “I’d like a raise, please. $20-$25K more a year. Can I sign the new contract tomorrow?”

Then again, maybe not. Niles confided in me last week that he was extremely shy. No, really.

But that’s fodder for another post. I think I’m going to go get some much-needed sleep and see if I’m able to replenish my store of Courage. Wish me luck.

Added on April 8, 2005:
I’m hauling my ass to this. I’ll either become totally discouraged or I’ll learn to love blues and actually get some more confidence and mad skillz. I’m hoping for — and optimistically expecting — the latter :-). After all, when I was similarly bummed about my lack of lindy libido, I went here for two weeks and that delicious kick in pants made all the difference in my dancing… and my dancing outlook.