Waiting for the limo to head back to Maine.
Just like every day is the same, this one feels different in the same way.
I wish I could say it better. Like Buckaroo Banzai said, "Wherever it is you go, there you are".
Perhaps it'll come during the writing.
The SFWA men's question section was very informative, a lot of direct questions about "what men want". Discretion precludes specifics (and the non-disclosure agreement was in force, as we were reminded - don't take this as unusual, in a way it was a sort of doctor-client privilege sort of thing).
But I can say that a lot of the thinking seemed a mile wide in love and respect but an inch deep in apprehension. From my point of view most all the problems discussed could be solved - or addressed - if people just really listened. It seemed so silly.
If I love someone - anyone, in any context, really - then I want them to be as much themselves as I can possibly get. If anything gets in the way of them being themselves - even me (which has happened) then the warrior in me comes out. No messes with my friends. No one.
Think of it like a glass of Nestle's Quick - I want as much chocolate in the glass as can be managed. Why would I want someone to be someone else?
So there is my solution to the world's problems - chocolate for the women, milk for the men - it all works out, no?
You walk a lot in this city. A friend of mine who spends time doing some gallery work here specifically mentioned it and it's true. At some point I'm going to do the calculations to figure out how much mileage I've put in but even so, it must be a lot.
The evening was given over to two events, long in the planning - a tango friend who is also a wonderfully personable belly dancer, EH, was performing at a benefit for a medical center for paraplegic kids - both her distinctive and engaging belly dance and a provocatively un-provocative bit of burlesque.
Some of the burlesque on the program - held in the Cellar of the Chelsea Hotel on 23rd Street - were so provocative as to be totally boring. Fun to watch, but a little bland. Not EH.
There was an intermission with dancing, which was fun - I got tagged by the DJ while I was reviewing pics I shot of EH. I was "the guy in the pink shirt who is texting while I'm talking" and he riffed on me. I took a page from the locals and shot him the bird, much to the humor of the room.
He kept riffing on me as the evening progressed, though I did go up and show him the pics of EH and offered to buy him a drink. Pax. What the hell.
There had been a plan in the works for some time to go the the Lafayette Grill for its Saturday Night Milonga. That got suddenly changed by half our group when we went outside, ostensibly to head for the Grill.
The new target was a milonga called "Nocturne" which is held at Dancesport on 35th Street just behind the Empire state building. Apparently it's one of those things that "everyone" goes to.
I was in the company of CN, Jim C and a couple of Goddesses from the weekend, friends of CN who wanted to learn tango - and who wanted to get out of the noise of the Chelsea Cellar.
Wound up teaching an extended beginner lesson to one of the Goddesses (THERE's a sentence I thought I'd never write - add it to the list).
I found Nocturne to be a very self-centered milonga. Everyone seemed so absorbed in showing off clever moves (I'd say a third of those present) that the line of dance, the sort of global social interaction that is part of what makes tango so much fun for me - that was gone.
Which, in such a small dance space, makes for an unpleasant dance. I disliked Nocturne, intensely.
Which is a shame as some of the dancers were great fun to watch.
That led to a cab ride back to 16th. Street and 5th. I walked CN back to the apartment - still guarded by its Russian Doorman and thence back to the Standard.
So Saturday ended with our major obligations to the SFWA and its Sister/Goddesses fulfilled.
Our airport limo will be here shortly and I suppose I'd better close off. Next up, Sunday - a divine John and a Jonesing Diva.
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