My Tango Diaries

A recent thread, called "Men's Strategies [for dancing in Buenos Aires]" on Tango-L got me thinking about the codigos again. Austin isn't Buenos Aires, and my expectations are, for the most part, adjusted accordingly. I'm not making a character judgment based on whether a dancer follows the codigos. (I know that might seem hard to believe after reading some of my posts, but it's true.) And I'm not offended or hurt or angry when a gentleman doesn't walk me off the pista after a tanda. But here's something to keep in mind from a dancer on Tango-L, regarding this particular aspect of the milonga codes: "Sometimes the friendships are so familiar and casual that the man does not escort [the follower] back to her chair.. However, I find that if the man really appreciates and enjoys the tanda he had with me, his final and most all-encompassing thank you and sign of respect and appreciation is to escort me all the way back to my seat, not just to th

From a previous post's comments (thank you Happyseaurchin for the post topic): "In the post, you mention the distinction between sensual and sexual. I have that distinction too, and I was wondering if you could elaborate on some future post. Many people I speak to don't seem to be aware of this, and I was wondering how that was "wired" into your being...? I presume your partner is not threatened by your tango exploits, precisely because of this distinction? Whether I have been in a relationship or single, the experience of this distinction is ever present. Your observation of your own experience in this matter would be most appreciated." This will be my fourth draft on this topic. It's such a difficult thing to write about and feel like I'm conveying what I mean to convey. I've tried twice before, here and here . And I still don't think I've done the topic justice. I have told people this frequently, but until they experience it for the

El Leon is returning. :)

(Picture courtesy of Morguefile.com ) A new face. Well, new to me anyway. One follower told me how beautiful his dynamic, nuevo styling felt. Another how comforting and secure his close embrace was. One would tell me how light and quick he was on his feet. Another how grounded and secure he felt. Were they all talking about the same dancer? Then, the invitation to dance. To embrace. The first song played while I tried to open the map to him, to get a feel for the terrain. Was he fast or slow? Light or heavy? Sometimes, okay more than sometimes, this is my favorite part of the dance. Listening. Adapting. Does he prefer a Ferrari or a Rolls Royce? Grace Kelly or Ava Gardner ? (You could say that dancing tango is ultimately about being yourself, and of course it is - but it is also a little bit about being more than yourself. More than the self that goes to work, picks up groceries, and watches the latest movie from the Netflix queue.) Yet as we danced, each time I'd get a feel for

"The only reason for mastering technique is to make sure the body does not prevent the soul from expressing itself." - La Meri There's been a lot of criticism thrown about lately on tango blogs, forums and on Facebook, regarding the "perpetual tango student" and of course the corresponding tango teachers that encourage their students to continue to take classes (presumably rather than learning the "traditional" way of just showing up and dancing socially - though I've never been too sure how that was supposed to work.) I've only been dancing a little over two years and I still take classes, though mostly I take private lessons and workshops, when I'm able. Most of the people I dance with, in fact most of the people in my community, take classes from one or more of the teachers in town. A few dancers travel to Buenos Aires to take classes. This is the usual advice I hear from people who tell me classes aren't necessary: Just walk natura

Every time I dance, I stand on the edge of myself to reach you. Whether you are open, or closed, or on the edge trying to decide, I will be there waiting in the music. Standing on the edge to reach you.

"You dance inside my chest, where no one sees you, but sometimes I do, and that sight becomes this art." -- Rumi