Thursday night: Jeff's last Swing Soulstice before moving to Minnesota. Bye, Jeff! Because it was pouring down rain and I hate to drive at night in that kind of weather, Aaron strapped Z into the car and gave me a ride to the dance. We brought Z in for the beginning of the open practice session, basically to show off how cute he is, and to let him run around and wear himself out a bit. Both goals were readily accomplished, to the point where both of us were required to drag him out again--he really liked the music and the mirrors and all the activity, and wanted to get underfoot of the dancers. This does at least bode well for the future, but watching out for someone Z's height goes beyond floor craft training, so Aaron took him off to Borders to get coffee. (Aaron got the coffee, not Z. Z does not need coffee.)

Friday night: Hour and a half blues class followed by social blues dancing. I got real up close and personal with a lot of sweaty men.

Today: five hours of dance workshops...ouch. Lots of good connection work, a few new jazz moves, and some tips on stealing into a jam circle. Must relax lead arm, engage frame, push feet into ground, push off from preceding steps, not look down, move from center, and, oh, yeah, dance.

I mean, I think I really got it this weekend. I made measurable progress from Saturday morning to this afternoon, and not just in muscle soreness, either. Nothing fancy, but now I have something I can do when a slow song comes on at a dance, without going, "oh, this is too slow for me, I'll have to sit out."

I was talking to a group of other dancers about how swing and lindy seem to be a repository of people who grew up thinking they were clumsy and couldn't dance. We also observed how seldom it is that we get a chance to sit down and have a conversation with each other--partially this is bc we're busy dancing, but it also has something to do with the fact that many swing dancers are shy, introverted, and/or somewhat socially...less-than-smooth, shall we say? So we dance instead of talking, bc it's easier. I had to pause a moment at that--what does it say about us that we find learning to lindy hop easier than making casual conversation?!

Tonight was my first Hot Jam since the pregnancy. Unfortunately, the A/C was out, which made for a thick, sweaty stew of dancers, but I was determined to get my dance fix. I got in 10 dances, and the last few were really good. I even did some blues. Not too shabby!

I've got nothing against taking kids to the movies. Disney has produced some great films. The Harry Potter movies are gorgeous, and the Narnia movie was pure gold.

But movies, even the best of them, are flat. 2-dimensional in ways that even 3-D glasses can't fix. They can't reach off the screen and engage your senses the way, oh, say...puppetry can. Do you sense a bias here? Sorry, can't help it. The world today suffers a severe shortage of realness, and live, physically manipulated entertainment helps fill the gap. Puppets are something you can put your hands on. Kids--well, they seem to be made of hands.

Duke Ellington's Cat at the Center for Puppetry Arts is, dare I cliché it, a feast for the senses. Featuring live vocal music, stop-motion animation, real-time shadow puppetry, rod puppets, and giant black-light-reactive flat puppets, it cavorts off the stage and grabs the attention--in fact, it breathlessly dances the attention around the room--of children, parents, grandparents, and the odd group of 30-somethings out for an afternoon.

skellington, partytrick, abovenyquist, and I surely made an odd group. I think we might have been the only people in the theater--not to mention the "cool cat" puppet making workshop beforehand--without children. But that was ok, because this show has something for everyone. There's slapstick comedy for the youngest, lively music and plenty of action for the too-young-to-care-about-being-cool set, and for the adults, a brief history of early 20th centry jazz.

Of course, it is Black History Month, and this performance showcased not only the positive influence of jazz on American music, but also dealt well with the more serious issues of the times. In fact, I was quite impressed with the way the show's tone darkened briefly on a few occasions, without dampening the joyous romp through a great man's life. It was as if the scriptwriter (the great Jon Ludwig of Avanti, da Vinci!) were saying, "here, this is what happened...discuss it with your kids later, but it's not what this story's about." It doesn't ignore the dark side of Black American history, it merely says, "we will not let the darkness steal the light's show." Moreover, it uses that darkness to highlight jazz's sister genre, the Blues, in a gorgeous live rendition of "Mood Indigo."

Possibly the best thing about a show at the Center is that, after the lights come up and the curtain comes down, and the magic gently recedes, the puppeteers introduce themselves and explain how the magic is done. And though it turns out to be everyday, dimestore magic, made of paint and paper, lights and a whole lot of teamwork, it's still magic, and still amazing. Possibly even more so. The performers love what they do, despite the tremendous physical toll taken by two or three of these energetic shows per day, and both the love and the energy find their way into the imaginations of the kids in the audience.

The Henson Foundation is heavily invested in the Center, which is the largest space devoted solely to puppetry in the US. In other words, Atlanta is not only the place to learn the craft, it's the place to get "discovered" as a puppeteer. Keep an eye on those kids in the audience. The wide-eyed one sitting next to you, mental gears turning madly, may just be the next Jim Henson.

(Duke Ellington's Cat is running through March 16th. Click here for tickets and show times.)

It's amazing what three weeks away from social dancing can do to you. I did my first dance without stretching enough, and boy was that a mistake--my calves and quads were cramping up by the time we were done. It took me two or three dances last night to get my groove back, and even so, my swingout's gone all to hell. I got in a really good blues dance, though, which I couldn't have managed a couple months ago!

I started to break in the new wingtips. They fit pretty well, but my orthotics are slightly smaller than the insole, so by the end of the night I was feeling their edges--no fun. :(

One of the things I like about dancing is that it's one of the few things that can wholly focus me. I spend so much time multi-tasking that it's good to throw everything into one activity for a little while.

And speaking of busy...

Monday night at Hot Jam, two couples did an Argentine tango demo. Whoa, Nellie. Here is a dance that is all about the women's legs and where they go. And where they might go. *fans self*

No, I am not taking up Argentine tango. I can fake a watered-down ballroom tango, but the real Argentine deal is as different from ballroom tango as lindy is from ballroom swing. Plus, it's hard like lindy is hard: you can't get good at it without devoting a significant chunk of time to it--and there's just no point in doing it if you aren't going to be good. There's no faking an Argentine tango, nor a lindy swingout--you either got it or you don't. And if you don't, you look like an utter dork.

Right, so did I say no more new dance forms?

In addition to lindy classes (and occasional social dancing at the Marriott) on Wednesdays, and Hot Jam on Mondays, I forgot to mention that I've been doing a four-week blues workshop on Thursday nights. This is fun, though it makes me feel slightly silly and self-concious. I'm just glad to have something I know how to do to the slow songs.

Aaron: "Give me a 1-minute synopsis."
Joyce: "It's all in the hips."

Remember I said how tango is all about the legs? Blues is all about the hips.

Next month: more lindy, possibly some vernacular jazz solo stuff, and Charleston lessons!

ATLX seems to have marked some sort of turning point for my dancing: I'm still dancing the four L's: low, loose, limber, and 'lert (be a lert! the world needs more lerts!), and concentrating much better on not anticipating moves (a good way to get your arm wrenched off).

Last night's music featured a lot of slow, bluesy numbers, which I don't really know how to dance to, so I usually stay out of them. Last night, though, I partnerned up with Martin, a long-haired Brit visiting GA on a work contract. And whew, can the boy dance. He's the kind of partner who can teach you as he goes, and make you look like you knew it all along.

The thing with blues, though, is that it is not, shall we say, for the faint of heart. It's slow, gritty, slithy, and above all, close. Think "Dirty Dancing." At one point, I'm fairly sure I felt his cell phone go off. At least, I hope it was his cell phone.

*fans self* lordy, lordy is it just me, or is it a bit warm in here?

(In Martin's defense, he's not the sort of slimy guy who'd dance like that the first time on the floor with someone. I've danced enough straight lindy with him to feel comfortable with it.)