Reading The Tea

It’s always a bit odd to completely uproot and move across the country. Here I am, three years later, experiencing the disorientation again. It’s hard to feel settled. It’s also hard to believe in the last three years. There are many things about being back in the west that I’m enjoying — getting to see much more of some of my family, reconnecting with old friends, starting connections with new friends, rock climbing, hiking, breathing clean air, more dancing. I also miss a lot of my friends in NY like crazy. I also miss the centrality of NY culture. When you’re there you can at least believe that you’re in the nucleus of everything that’s happening. I have a bad feeling that no matter which side of the country I’m on I’ll be homesick for the other.

I’m also in a weird transition place where I’m trying to figure out what direction to head next. Hitting that late 20s point many of my friends seem to ask “Ok, what next?” Well, here I am, asking. I was talking to someone from my calculus class (Yes, taking a college class right now feels weird.) and we were discussing her full-time school, full-time job situation. She’s getting tight on money, and was wondering if she should load on an additional job, or take a term off of school. The overload reminds me so much of myself at her age. I remember thinking that it was just for now, just for college, then life would start. What a shock when I realized that a magic gong isn’t set to ring at a point, announcing the beginning of “real life.” Life is now. I’m once again at a cross-roads, waiting. But no matter what point I’m at, I need to remind myself that life is now. So there, self.

I haven’t posted for quite some time, so this is just going to be jumble of things that I’ve intended to write full posts about, but somehow haven’t found the time.

First, sympathy to everyone affected by the Virginia Tech shootings yesterday. There’s a lot to say about that, but my fingers won’t type the right things, so I’ll leave it at that.

Did the Yale Tango Festival weekend-before-last. It was my very first tango festival (Awww…)! Now I’m afraid that I’m going to become an addict. One of the highlights for me was Robin & Jennifer’s gaucho class. Now I (likely) embarress anyone with the misfortune to wait on a subway platform or elevator bank with me by practicing letting my leg have it’s own weight while swinging. Brigetta and Tomas’ milonga musicality class may just have changed my feeling about that dance forever. After a couple of classes from the school of thought where you have to keep. going. on. every. beat. sometimes. go twice. but. always. fast. I was sure that I’d never really enjoy it. They introduced the revolutionary idea of actually listening to the music, and varying speed of step accordingly (twice in a beat, every beat, every other beat, long pauses…). I lead Carlos and Tova’s turns class, but actually took away an interesting exercise that mostly pertains to follows — put all of your weight on one foot, twist your upper body 90 degrees on one directions, and let your lower body catch up. Repeat. Good obliques workout, different way of thinking about ochos.

In other tango news, I took a follower’s technique over at Dance Manhattan from Valeria. She puts so much musicality and expression into just an ocho, just a step. Tempo/ emphasis can be effective embellishments.

Since I didn’t get around to posting last Friday, the 13th, I’ll mention now that some people suffer from paraskavedekatriaphobia.

Last night I went to the  church of craft meeting in the East Village, at the lovely new Rapture Cafe. Lovely people, lovely projects, lovely cafe.

Last Friday night/ Saturday morning Dustin & I went to the last big party at 3rd Ward. As the danger parties tend to be, it was eclectic, bleary, pillowy, flashing, with lots of new friends.

Other things going on in life, decisions being made. How’s that for nice & vague? Almost a flashback to my early LJ days…

March 17th we celebrated Dustin’s b-day at relatively new b-burg spot Hope Lounge. Since it’s so new, and not even remotely Irish, we were pretty much able to take it over. It has potential as a place, provided they get new bartenders… 

After midnight Dustin, Julia, Antonio and I went around the corner to salsa at Bar Rose, where they had a live music and a lively dance floor. The guys I danced with kept asking where I was from. One guy commented that I dance “like they do at home.” (Home turned out to be Columbia.) I’m going to take that as a huge compliment. I would highly recommend going to the next event there — besides the dancing & music Bar Rose has great wallpaper and the bartender is great.

I was surprised to get an annoucement in my inbox for their next event with the above photos. I don’t even remember them being taken, though I seem to be posing… (I’m on the far right, Julia is dancing in the middle photo.) 

Like most of Williamsburg, there’s a big new building in construction across the street from my apartment. The construction on this building is responsibile for the layer of pretty white power that greeting me as I entered my building last night. In New York Januarys, snow (in drifts not in dustings) is normal. But no, tomorrow it’s supposed to be in the 60s. And the white landscape is inside my apartment. We’ve been keeping the window open, because the steam pipes don’t know that it’s well (well) above freezing, and have been steaming merrily on, so the sticky construction dust found a home.

This morning, the construction site had other, um, technical difficulties. If you look closely on the right side of the first photo, you can see my window. Great.

The Manhattan skyline used to mean promise, adventure, endless possibilities to me. The other night, strolling along the soon-to-be-completely-obscured-by-luxury-high-rise-buildings river bank in Williamsburg, I realized that, while I still see those things, I also see a place powered by people locked up in florescent cubicles, spending the majority of their waking hours pursuing a career that they don’t really want.

Now I understand why people grow bitter about New York.

(But don’t worry — I’m not quite there yet.)