What Kind Of World Do I Live in?

This is not an idle question.

I've got my 53rd birthday coming up soon.

I have two master's degrees (basically), write as much music as I can, am an indifferently talented tango dancer, have a ton of great friends and the sky overhead tonight is spangled with stars, stars that shine strong enough to punch their way through the lights of the city.

Town.

City.

Whatever.

I'm nursing an ouzo at Geno's rock bar, a punk rock evening was scheduled to start 20 minutes ago - but, of course, they're punkers, so they're only just loading in right now - which means they all came straight to the bar and ordered big shots of ice-cold Jägermeisters.

Hopefully I'll be out before the show begins.  This doesn't mean I wouldn't be able to hear it - or at least sense the vibrations - from my apartment.  It's just across Bosnia and if they really take off I can often pick the sound up, faintly.

This is all relevant because my life, part-time job and all, is so much more involved, more intense, than it ever was when I was teaching in public schools.

It's as if two more heaping tablespoons of Nestle's Quick have been dumped into my eight-ounce glass of milk and been thoroughly stirred.  Much, MUCH more chocolate taste.  Much more fun.

I suppose that it means I'm doing more good by just being myself more often.

We shall see.

Dancing On Brick With Dry Feet

It's been a rule-of-thumb I've had for years: "Do not become happy about Spring until the street crews begin sweeping up the debris from the melted snowbanks on the sidewalks".

This rule has served me well for the quarter-century (or so) that I've lived in Portland.  It isn't always accurate - I distinctly remember going cross-country skiing on my birthday - April 18 - so I wouldn't bet the rent.

Still, it's a very New England thing to do, waiting until the earth's dihedral angle makes it pretty much physically impossible for snow to form.

Hurricanes, hail, the occasional rain of blood, yes - snow, not so much.

So I am allowing myself to be mildly heartened by the cleanliness (relative cleanliness) of the sidewalk outside of JavaNet's window.  The people that co-ordinate the Old Port are really good at keeping a tourist-friendly air about the place.  For that reason I'm not surprised that the sidewalks have been swept.

One can get away with a sweater and a corduroy blazer rather than a full-length top coat, or, heaven forfend, a parka.

Those might be the watchwords for the day - "getting away with".

Words to live by.

Grazing Day - Bride of Grazing Day

Well, everyone likes a good feed.

Native tradition refers to common meals, especially those that are part of celebrations or dances, as "feasts".

There's something reassuring, warming, comforting and very, very serious about calling such a meal a "feast".

We don't really use it in a sacred sense much these days.  Mostly, as least as I've seen, the term "feast" implies we're going to stuff ourselves sick, literally sick, just conspicuously consume food because we can do it.

It comes across, at least to me, as saying "look what we have, look at what we own, so much, so much beyond what we need, that we can make ourselves sick, because we have it and we can."

I suppose we can see a bit of both sense at work in how the Orchard celebrated its six-month party.  

Grazing Day had been declared back-of-house about a week ahead.  Actually, we'd missed the day - so much had been going on that we had to put it off.

Still, it was reassuring and somehow a little bit silly to see such an amazing collection of noshes.

There were some actually entrees available besides a ton of finger food.

For myself - and others - I'd brought gluten-free crackers and also some cheese sticks.  

My friend Mia is now in recovery from a serious stroke and attending to her transfer to a more supportive rehab facility took up my cooking time.

Not a bad reason to miss out - but still I'm sure my Mom's spirit was frowning slightly at the sight of me buying something to brink rather than making something from scratch.

It's not that she never bought anything herself, it's just that homecooked counted for more in her book - especially if you had time to make it - anything more than ten minutes.

So saying, it was fun to look at the table back-of-house, crowded with yummies, tracking the ravages of our ... well, you couldn't really call it "hunger" it was more "rapaciousness" ... the ravages of our eating chunks of dips, piles of cookies and crackers, the diminishment of pyramids of cheese.

I know I am in danger of contradicting myself but it was fun to think that our respect, joy and love for each other was expressed in such concrete ways. 

You can measure the feeling we have for each other by the variety of food we had to share.

What a strange, odd feeling.

I know I've had similar spreads at schools but this was something special - perhaps because I am so invested in the feelings and thoughts that brought us all together to celebrate and share.

It's a nice place to come from.

tango In the Blue Sky - 3

A lot more people - more than 20, including those getting dinner at the bar - have arrived.  It looks an even mix of folks from Portland and Portsmouth.

The evening is progressing very well.

If the idea is to provide "atmosphere" then we're well on our way.

I'm working on a soda and lime (sadly, I have a long drive home and I'm saving my booze budget for Party More - believe it or not I'm going to the Empire when this is done) and have managed to have a couple of dances.

As usual it's more fun to watch and see how people relate to the music and structure of phrasing in the dance.

I've finished a new tango this afternoon - the piece is scored and ready to edit.  My original idea was to work on the score here before this all started but the fun started and I got dragged in.

Besides, the lamb pizza was so rich I couldn't finish it.

Sue me.

Anyway, this has turned out to be a lively experience.

People are dancing to the point that they're actually getting tired and flopping into the leather booth with a sigh and small gasp.

Adrianna has chosen a very classic set of songs.  They're all three minutes or slightly longer.

Sometimes you go to these things and DJ's will chooses more pop - or alternative - music that has a solid danceable beat - but runs for six or seven minutes and tends to wring you out.

Not physically, but psychically.  

It's hard to be inventive for that length of time - even for those of us who make their livings by being inventive.

It's hard to relax when you can't relax.

Adrianna has been called away by the waitress - who, by the way, has been very attentive, supportive and interested in this experience - to attend a lady who is asking about lessons.

This may go in  unexpected directions.

A lot of converesations - both on the floor and off the floor.

There is a knot of locals in the bar that I observed when getting my soda.  When cortinas are played - generally Adrianna uses pop songs - the folks in the bar tend to smile and recognize them and make "now that's more like it - who wants to listen to that other shit".

Oh, by the way - for those of you playing at home a cortina ("curtain") is the short piece of music, generally non-tango, that separates each group of three songs that constitutes the length of a couple's social dance.

Tango in the Blue Sky - 2

The Blue Sky is part of the Atlantic Hotel - i think it's called - and it's on Beach Street in York.

The Atlantic Ocean is a stone's throw - maybe even a pebble - from the balcony window.

It is a lovely place, the service exemplary and the food very tasty.

Even closer than the ocean is a bowling alley.  I thought those crashing noses above the music were waves - they're out-of-season Mainers throwing splits.

Everyone chooses their own gutters, I suppose.

The conversation around the table has been lively and comfortable.  We've been chatting about our histories as tangueros and tangueras and how things have changed in our respective communities.

It's a pleasant way to get away from my desk - but not my computer.  I'd spend some time dancing but we have four leaders (guys) and two followers (ladies) and one of them is spending time chatting up interested students.

Oh wait, another couple has arrived.

The basic math has not changed.

Still, this is a rather nice way to spend an evening.

They've come from a West Coast Swing class in Portsmouth.  I know there is a connection in a ballroom sort of way - even Salsa has a relationship to tango, but there's only so much I can worry about here.

More later - this is turning out to be a very interesting evening.

Tango in the Blue Sky -1

Well, believe it or not, York Beach exists outside of the time from Memorial Day to Labor Day.

I have the lamb pizza slice to prove it.

Adriana Pinto, doyenne of the Portsmouth Tango community has organized an evening of dancing  for various and sundry from both the PortTown communities.  Like so many places we're not really expected to be part of the buying crowd - mostly we are to add ambience to the experience. 

There is small crowd of dancers and a small but growing bunch of diners watching.

And they're getting a great experience.

The room has warm wood underneath, bright lights and a spinner lure in a glass case (shown in the pic) big enough to hook a right whale.  They've kindly dropped the lights down and turned off their sound system so Adriana's music can be heard.

It's really a very lovely space.  

I shudder to think what it will be like in Summer time:

• crowded
  
• full of indifferent, slightly pushy people
  
• hot
  

I can't wait to see it in Summer time:

• full of life
  
• catching people in the net of good music
  
• serving ice drinks with bright little umbrellas in them

This evening is progressing well.  People on the sides are watching and talking - half their attention on the dances and half on their drinks.  

More as the evening progresses...

Letting it Slide

Today was a very busy, very odd day at the Orchard.

Everything that started well turned strange, then came back to being fine.

I was subbing for a colleague, missed a bus and wound up taking a cab - which was basically half the pay I made (well, almost).  Then I left my nifty I.D. tag at home on my keyboard because I put it there so I wouldn't forget it.  We made do with a name card but I still felt incredibly silly nonetheless.

Then I got the wrong computer out of the stacks - twice.

And finally I got caught up with helping an Irish woman get the simplest of cases for her iPod Touch.  It should have been simple but her accent and beguiling air put me off my stroke.  

Wrong case.  It was for an iPhone.

Wrong screen covering.  She has the earlier generation of Touch.  Which I found out after putting the covering on for her and seeing it didn't fit.

Turns out she and her mate were performing this evening at Longfellow Square.  So I made it a point to tell as many people as possible in the 60 minutes between getting home and leaving for the show.

It was a great concert.  The band Slide is mostly from Dublin and made up of 5 people.  A keyboardist/utility wind player (whom I met in the shop), two squeezebox players (button accordion and German concertina) a bazouki player (rather than guitar) and a violinist/vocalist (the beguiling Black Irish woman in the shop).

Mostly they flew over their instruments in classic Irish style, displaying formidable technique and faultless rhythm.  It was a lively, entertaining show.  

The singer, Eithne (two syllables) sang several lovely solo pieces with a real sense of compassion in the texts.

All told it was a good evening and a great end to the day.  I'm really tired but in a good mood and tempted to head back over to One Longfellow and ask them all out for a drink.  It's funny to want to do that and I'm torn between reaching out to people I think I'd really connect with and getting to bed to reflect on such an emotionally full day.

Interesting.