Friday, May 27, 2011

Dancing with the Meteorites

I apparently dislocated my hip by two feet
Last night at the Knitting Factory, Huck played backup for the local, randy group Pasties and Paddles.  They've also played back up for big "belly" dancers and the Roller Derby. Basically, if it's a freak show, they're in. Last night, it was an S&M exposition group which he claims reminded him of High School skits but worse. I don't know what drives one to be an S&M exhibitor in Spokane, WA.

relocating hip with playground vicegrips
Meanwhile, down on the farm, I was wondering why we can't seem to find a dance hall here.  Huck and I began our relationship with a foray into Tango. We get the giggles just remembering.  Tango is not the place to start.  I have no sense of rhythm and Huck has an intimate and exhaustive understanding of rhythm. He IS rhythm, whereas I'm just thankful my heart remembers to beat some times. And Tango being rather... sexist. And us just getting together.  The whole thing was bad.  I knew from experience and from watching other's experience that one needs to start a new relationship with boundaries and expectations in place.  It's sometimes necessary, but dangerous, to go switching these things around after a few years. You have to be yourself, firmly, from the get go.  So, I was loath to start our relationship with me being THAT submissive for hours on end every week.  And yet I have a void where kinesthetic intelligence should go.  The combo of my disobedience and lack of dancability created a mosh-pit type experience in the ball room. And when I became a pregnant bear, Huck decided to preserve his life and we just stopped.

Two kids later, we waltzed.  The first few brutal turns involved elbows and bruising.  And I turned to him and hissed, "Why the hell are you trying to beat me up?"  And he, just as mad, says, "Why would I beat you up?  And in public?"  "THAT's What I'm asking YOU."  And then we changed partners, thank god.   Eventually I learned that I was going to have to submit to my leader, and soon, my lip-licking concentration gave way to a zen-y zoned-out-ness.  I look like I've just had a lobotomy.  And in a way, I have.  In order for me to follow, I must turn off every spigot of thought in my brain and let my body respond to the jerks, squeezes, and after several years of work, the gentle nudgings of my partner.  I become a dancing blow-up doll.

But sometimes, I want to "re"gain control of my body, which is really a stupid impulse because of my total lack of ability to control my body. I had a dawning sensation once that I was no longer feeling fancy, or graceful as I'd learned dancing could make me feel.  And I said to Huck, "Darling, it feels like I'm just walking backwards. What's going on?"  "We're dancing," but his teeth were gritted.  "This doesn't feel like dancing. This feels like walking."  "You were having trouble with the rhythm so I've simplified."  "Well, it feels like BS."

I like the partner switching of dance lessons.  You get a feel for the overall personality of all the men in the room.  Control freaks and wet noodles and all spots in between.  Since I'd been to India, I always liked chatting with this one guy from there. But he was extremely short, even for an Indian.  And I happened to be his partner when we learned a dip. Yes, the tallest girl in the class and the shortest man in what turns out to be a physical impossibility.  I was feeling large and I'm sure he was feeling puny and I think we were both thinking the same thing, "HELP!"  when the male instructor finally glanced our way and screamed like a girl: "OH MY GOD!  Switch Partners!" 

 Since there's no ballroom here, we take what we can get and Huck sometimes has to ply me with wine (but not a stumbling amount) to be the first and only dancers for a band, because when you are that, you join the entertainment and people stare at you and clap at you which lets you know they are watching which isn't what I want to know.  And occasionally the band thanks us, from the microphone on the stage.  I know I am not that good and that people are watching me be not that good and sometimes thanking me for being not that good.  But with Huck's now expert handling, I do sometimes feel graceful and lovely and all that, if a little self-conscious.

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