This is a double post- two blogs for the price of one!


1. On Thursday, I was robbed.  Some scoundrel (or, as one theory holds, out of control self-replicating AI robot) broke into my car where I had foolishly hidden my laptop... complete with my firstmonth/lastmonth/security deposit for the next place, which was on its way to the bank to get deposited.  In cash.  Also in the bag: my fancy-shmancy new erasible gel pen, my external harddrive (where I keep all my music, image files, text files), my headphones, my chapstick (I love that brand, too), some travel receipts from BAB, and other miscellaneous items.  Not to mention, the bag itself.  Gah.  But Philly, my true love of cities, rushed to my aid.  Not one, but two rent parties happened over the next 56 hours, complete with a silent auction and dance marathon.  Dance marathon?  Why yes, dance marathon- people pledged $.10 to $1 for each song I could dance.  Consecutively.  Without a break.  The final tally?  (And I do mean tally) 45 songs.  Whew!  Philly made back a considerable amount of the money I lost (I won't be homeless after all!), and even provided a temporary laptop (I can keep working!).  I simply can't say how grateful I am, and think that in most cities, I'd have been utterly without hope.  But here, in the city of arts and commraderie, I'm back on my feet, back to a normal level of poverty (a place I'm strangely grateful for this month).  If I had any doubts about Philly, they're totally gone.  I owe this city more than cash- I owe it my sense of optimism, my love of people, and a very strong sense of community.


I love you guys!


2. With Love: A Portrait

There are few cities in the world quite as poetic, I think, as Philly.  Not the pretentious, beatnik, in-love-with-its own ideas sort of poetry, but the poetry of folk musicians (the good ones), who write about love and mundanity.  It's seven fifteen on a Monday night.  After mistakenly showing up three days early (but otherwise right on time) for a private lesson, I found myself wandering through Rittenhouse Square.  Rittenhouse, for those of you who don't know, is a park nestled in among the giant apartment buildings and skyscrapers of central Philadelphia.  Allow me to share it with you.

Temperature: probably very close to 80 degrees.  I'm not sweating (when I'm sitting still).  The light is indirect, but still looks sunny- sunset is quietly setting istelf up for a show.

On the way into the park, along the sidewalk, lay a single black slipper.  For those of you who don't yet own Carsie's new album, Buoy, you're missing the reference, but I'll fill you in, if you promise to get it.  Speaking of a heartbroken lady: "Now she lives, out in Arizona, lonely as a single shoe."  Sure, you see broken, dirty sneakers on the side of the interstate... but a pretty black slipper lost downtown... now I have a soundtrack in my mind.

The tiled fountain has an elevated section which spills over a wall into a large, 1' deep pool.  Standing on that divider wall, the chlorinated water rushing over her burkinstocks, a woman makes conversation with a nearby father and son.  Did I mention she's tethered to a giant, woolly dog, delightedly up to his belly in refreshment?

All around the center circle of pavement is a wall, and benches, where young people and artists sit and watch.  A group of african drummers (plus one coronet player) are chanting and singing to a trio of girls who shyly toss coins into a pouch.  Their father comes along, and next thing, an impromptu dance party has broken out.  Another pair of dogs drip by- it seems Woolly's idea is catching on.  

This is what so many cities doesn't get... the value of funding murals isn't that you have painted buildings, and the value of parks isn't just a photo for touristry brochures (although to two Asian girls getting their photo taken while perched atop a concrete frog is pretty priceless).  The value of funding the arts is that you get centers of joy, community, and creation.  Sure, there's a rat* hiding in the bushes across the walk, and yes, someone broke into my car, and I'm cranky about it.  But this city holds so much more than streets and gutters and police.  This city holds a space for growth.  While as nature abhors a vaccuum, art loves a space.  So keep your eye on Philly- musically, dancewise, and visually, good things happen here.


Epilogue
So here I am, sitting at Jon and Carsie's watching (occasionally jumping into) an advanced blues lesson (if you've never taken their classes, you absolutely should!), feeling utterly validated in my choice of home scenes, feeling thankful that I've landed in what, I think, is the best scene and city a gal could hope for.  

Much love, many swingouts, and multiple murals,
-Mike


*a note about the rat.  She's huge.  Really, really huge.  I mean, I kept rats for a while, and this lady is giant by well-fed standards.  However, she's doing her darndest to stay well out the way (and reach) of humans.  She's smart, and she's social.  And frankly, everyone's got to make a living, right?  She's cleaning up the garbage that disease-carrying humans leave.  She's an undervalued garbage-lady.  Who doesn't steal laptops.  Scurry safely, little one.  Scurry safely.

Being a teacher first, and organizer second, I will freely admit that my event-running is utterly biased.  I just returned from the most successful Buenos Aires Blues we've had yet, and I'm proud to say that despite my own flaws and "learning experiences," the event went off beautifully.  I chose, for a number of reason, to withhold class titles and descriptions from the site, and rather than leaving folks to think it was an oversight (although I had a few of those, of course), I wanted to explicate my reasoning.


There are occasions when I think that class titles/descriptions are not only justified, but required.  The most obvious example, of course, is any workshop where a student has to choose between classes at the same time.  Instead of only the dance form and instructor name, the class description allows students to create a curriculum that suits their weaknesses and strengths.  Then, there are times when the class titles are not truly useful, but provide a feeling of security- for instance, at a beginners' workshop, or an intermediate workshop, with only one track.  A basic, very vague topic is easy to stick to, while still providing the instructor with enough room to alter the class plan to fit the students' needs.  (One class on technique, one class on musicality, one class on moves[aka technique 2], one class on solo dancing.  Sound familiar?)


However, there are some situations where class titles are simply impractical, such as BAB.  Before Friday night, there's no way to know just what the levels will be.  The instructors are from all over the country, as are the students, and with tango and blues dancers in one track, it's hard to predict what skills students will bring.  Likewise, once instructors have talked, face to face, about what material they're teaching, the classes influence each other.  All of our instructors at BAB made changes to their class descriptions (which I didn't publish); some changes were minor, but others completely scratched their original topics.  The classes they taught were perfect for the levels, and flowed together way better than I could have hoped for.  However, if students had received class titles that promised other classes, we either would have had to stick to the original classes, or have lied to the students by publishing classes that didn't get taught.  


In a sense, my decision not to publish class titles was a decision made by a dedicated teacher, who acknowledges being a terrible saleswoman.  I knew ahead of time that class titles were a plan, from which we were free to deviate.  I'm not insensitive to the fact that students want class titles- I like knowing what's coming, too.  But I refuse to give my students a plan that doesn't mean anything, purely to make students feel like they knew what was coming.  Essentially, I refuse to pationize you.  This was my way of saying, "this workshop will be a collection of classes that make sense together, and flow from one to the next, by teachers I believe in.  Trust in your teachers, show up, and we'll teach you what we think is best."  Because that's what the student-teacher relationship comes down to.  We ask our instructors to give us overall topics for a workshop or series, but after that, we ask them to do their best, and teach us what we need to know.  


So thank you, to the instructors who put together a top-rate set of workshops, and especially to all the students who put their trust in the instructors this weekend.  I may or may not publish class descriptions at various events in the future, but know that at the end of the day, my job is to make good dancers, and make people love dance, and I'll do everything I can to succeed at that, in the most honest way I can.


I'd starve as a politician.  And that's from someone who eats Ramen now.
-Mike