Wednesday, June 21, 2006

Second Lesson

Partners: Mina
Hours danced: 1.5
Shoes: Flats with smooth soles

Mina and I planned to go to a lesson on Thursday, but couldn't wait (I was serious about being addicted), so we headed out after work to one of the studios that holds a lesson-lesson-milonga and paid our money at the door. Note: Tango is not cheap, which is unfortunate, because I am. My clothes are from Goodwill or Target, my tango shoes are left over from my high school prom, and I wear mismatched earrings on a regular basis because I don't see the point in throwing away a perfectly good earring just because there's only one left. I would track expenses here, but it would depress me. I just won't eat. Food is expensive, and it goes bad, so it's a poor investment anyway. Take that, food!

After handing over a bazillion dollars for he entrance fee, Mina and I walk in on a salsa lesson.

We stand for nearly a minute watching the twisting, flinging stomp of the salsa moves before we turn, walk back to the front desk, and ask for our money back.

Mina's shoes are killing her, and we decide to go to her apartment and practice the two moves we know. Her apartment is so minimalist that it's basically a dance studio, so this is not as fruitless as it sounds. For the next hour and a half I try to show her the move that I learned in the intermediate class. We learn several things from this attempt:

1) She is a much better leader than I am

2) This is unfortunate given that I have seen the move and she has not.

3) We need tango music. My iPod full of Armenian liturgical and Nine Inch Nails is not going to cut it.

4) I need shoes that will not fall off.

We laugh a lot, which is probably not the sort of tango face they encourage, but a good time is had by all, and at least in her apartment we can't publically shame a traditional art form. No harm, no foul.

Tomorrow we go again.

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