The Jam Cellar: Kings of Swing

The dance scene in Washington, DC is intense- you can dance every night of the week. If you like salsa, swing, or blues, the district is your musicbox.

In DC, I was always told about new venues from Virginia to Maryland: Charm City Swing in Baltimore, the enthusiastic college crowd at GMU or UVA, Habana Village, Cherry Hill, bars in Ballston and Clarendon… everywhere. However, I mostly danced at Glen Echo Amusement Park, the Jam Cellar, and Chevy Chase Ballroom.

If I could dance every night, I would. To me, dancing feels like nothing else, combining my love of music, connection, movement, and touch. It satisfies my extroversion and my desire for one-to-one intimacy. When I dance, I grin like an imbecile, or I close my eyes and let my face relax. Dance is so instinctive now, and so pleasing.

Please, allow me to share?



THE JAM CELLAR

The tagline for the experience is: The Jam Cellar. YOU WILL LIKE IT.

They’re right.

When John described the Jam Cellar to me as a “swing club,” I pictured a basement of dive bar near Adams Morgan: low lights, strong drinks, hardwood floors, and mega-hot follows. Not so much. (Except for the follows. They are still hot.)

In reality, the Jam Cellar is more of a phenomena than a place. The event engulfs an entire house, a beautiful 19th-century mansion with ornate iron doors and hardwood floors. Originally, the building – the Josephine Butler House -- was proposed to be the home for the vice president. It’s easy to imagine one suite as the “Master’s Study,” or “Lady’s Library,” or “Butler’s Discretionary Area.” The house borders Meridian Park, a short (and convenient) walk from U Street, Columbia Heights, and Adams Morgan.

That said, the key part of the Jam Cellar is the crowd, rather than the locale.


CROWD
The Jam Cellar hosts dances with the crème de la crème, the rock stars of swing dance. Remember listening to Zoot Suit Riot, by Cherry Poppin Daddies, back in the 90’s? Some of these folk have been dancing since then, becoming the leading teachers and most exceptional dancers around. They built this city.

Their skills attract a big crowd. The Jam Cellar offers beginner and intermediate classes at fairly affordable rates in targeted areas: subtle movements, aerials, collegiate shag, balboa, vernacular jazz steps, and ridiculous shit. I took an entire class on “Texas Tommy” variations, a position-turn move that may have started as its own vernacular dance. As a follow, classes expose me to new moves, and often make me more aware of my limitations*.

When I do dance with one of the fantastic leads, it’s pretty surreal. When you’re a beginner/intermediate kiddo, dancing with Bobby, Paul, or David is like hooking-up with Beyoncé while riding a dolphin.

There’s a certain way that super-experienced leads move that is incredibly foreign to me, a delicacy and skill that I can register, but not respond in kind.

It’s like challenging a grandmaster to a spot of chess, when you are an excellent checkers player. Mercifully, most of the grandmasters apparently enjoy an occasional game of, erm, checkers. Very enthusiastic checkers. Yes.

Even without the Beyoncé-dolphin experience, I still have a fantastic time. I'm lucky enough to dance with leads who have far more experience than I, who push me to improve. And, most importantly, they're all fantastic humans. Like, super-freakin' nice and kind.

I was always excited for Tuesday nights.



MUSIC
One thing that defines the Jam Cellar is the music selection: exclusively classic lindy tracks. No modern remakes of older songs, no Motown, no new swing music. You hear old-skool big band jazz: Louis Armstrong, Benny Goodman, and Duke Ellington (who grew up a few blocks away).

To be honest, that took some getting used to. Vintage tracks rarely have the emotional resonance for me that more modern tracks do. I know all the lyrics to Katy Perry songs, but the lyrics to most swing songs escape me. Also, I like the invention of the subwoofer. The subwoofer was made for a reason. The subwoofer makes the beat really damn obvious. And while it’s a great challenge to have to noodle out the bass from the treble, it’s nice to not have to worry about losing it.

On the other hand, it’s taught me a lot, about finding and recognizing rhythms, and learning more about the roots of swing. At Jam Cellar, I realized that I knew nothing about swing, from the origins to the revival. It made me want to learn more.



The Jam Cellar.





So go to the Jam Cellar. You will like it. Observe this video for more clarification. Hint: it is silly.

My first Bohemian

On Saturday, I went to the Bohemian in Cleveland, to get mah swing dance on with Ms. Brandi, Mr. Burrows and Mr. Spenser. Had a fantastic time -- I'd no idea what to expect. I pictured a nightclub in the sleazy part of Cleveland with large cocktails in frosted cups. In reality: Bohemian National Hall was a ballroom of Sokol's Czech Cultural Center in "Little Bohemia." Apparently, "the not-so-great side of Cleveland" has a lot of Czech culture.



It was a sweet venue. The downstairs was filled with Czech goods and the ballroom itself was enormous. The Demetrius Steinmetz Band was good, their featured vocalist, Eileen Burns, was great. They played the classics, and though their slow songs lacked the sauce, they did a solid "T'ain't What'cha Do" and a great cover of Nature Boy. Apparently, Nature Boy is a pop-jazz standard, not just a David Bowie song on the Moulin Rouge soundtrack. Regardless, the song made me feel 14 again, belting out my feelings in my living room. Singing along is something new. I like it.



Pro:
- The posse! Brandi, Stephen and Danny are all brilliant humans. We had 4 singalongs on the way back. It was fantastic. I don’t know Danny as well, and getting to dance with him a lot was swell. Having Brandi more prevalent in my life has made Winter Term better. And Stephen has been an excellent work-to-life companion.

- Wooster kids! They were super-cute. A lot of them did basic steps that were syncopated differently, or just moved differently. Lots of big arm motions. Very interesting style.

Cons:
Surprisingly-Touchy Guy. Tall dude in his 40's. Kinda stiff, and strange to dance to. Didn't make much eye contact. We danced twice, which was a poor move on my part. I'm a fan of closeness-- slipping into bluesy-forms is awesome. But I don't want your hand on my butt on a swing floor. Cupping my ass is not where your hand should be. Also, trying to kiss me twice in one song is not good. Yes, swing does bring out the preposterous love-monkey in me, but only in my age-demographic. If you're able to run for president, than I'm far less interested.


Fascinating late-night:
Especially after swing dancing for hours and feeling my endorphins percolate my body, I kinda want to cuddle. And keep dancing. Blues enables this.

Much like swing, I feel nervous with it, as I’m still not technically proficient, but I love it. Technical blues dancers are lovely, but frustrating: at the end of the night, I’m tired. Absurd moves not ingrained in my muscle memory are difficult. Following is hard when your leg has been twitching for the last hour. Given the close nature of it, I feel more wretched when I botch blues than swing.

But non-technical blues? Sexy-blues? When we’re one writhing mass on the floor? That, my friends, is IT. Feeling a stranger move my hips with theirs is the most sensual way to say hello.

The late-night started as tech-blues. It ended with sexy-blues. There were these four awesome leads with great chill attitudes, wry wit, and about 10 tons of eroticism. They were openly emotionally affectionate. They were comfortable with their bodies. It felt like being with circus people. Or like family.

Dancing in NYC

From Christmas until New Years, I went out nearly every night dancing. These are my notes.



Brazen Fox
A classy sports bar in White Plains. Good for fans of football, Jersey Shore or Armani Exchange. Also, having long talks about friendship and relationships with one's best friend (and an awesome friend of hers).


Calico Jack's Cantina
Club-bar. Patrons take myspace-pictures of themselves, sipping enormous neon-colored cocktails through giant staws. Pop music. Girls in tight jeans, boys coated in hair gel. I was glad I brought earplugs. Not too classy, but not too sketchy. Not really my place, but I liked the company.



The Players Club for New Years Eve's Eve
The Player’s Club was ridiculous: a historic building on Gramercy Park. Old world classy, portraits on the walls. One large dance hall with sticky floors, always filled with dancers. Intimidating. Matching their surroundings, the crowd was very glamorous. The men wore suspenders, and sharp hats.

But the ladies were a class above. Tiny flowers woven into their hair, their dresses showed just enough flesh to entice. Their make-up was flawless: eyelashes extravagant, brows shaped, lips lined and glossed. In their fancy shoes, they all hung within the acceptable rage of 5’4” to 5’9.” And worst of all, they exuded class, grace, and femininity.

While I have good points, refinement is not one of them.

I wore my black tennis dress from the previous night. My bangs were poking upwards. In my yellow converse sneakers, I stood over six feet. I only applied a bit of make-up. Even before dancing a step, I felt a bit warm, the sweat collecting.

I saw Shawn. As gorgeous as ever, if not more so. Suddenly, I realized how much I missed her. We hugged and spoke. She introduced me to her friends, whom I enjoyed and danced with. One of them was a total tease, the kinda guy I become bros with.

After dancing with me, he said, “God, I’m sweatier than a Ukrainian!”
“So true!” I said, “I’m Ukrainian!”
“Ah, I’m so sorry,” he panicked. “I’ve never actually met one before.”
“It’s cool— we really are that sweaty.”


The dance floor was packed, bodies flying everywhere to George Gee's tunes. Though there were more of the younger set, the older folks were the large majority. I danced with some good folks and saw some terrible burlesque.

Well, not terrible. But I’m spoiled. A tap dancing girl in a skimpy outfit is charming, but Catherine had more skill and fantastic showmanship. This girl just didn’t sell it. I miss you, Catherine. And not just when you’re Shirley Temple and I’m the zombie after your heart.

The other one sold it, but I didn’t want what she had to buy. She was on the older side, doing feather fans, with a rather unfortunate outfit.

I was very, very happy when George Gee started playing again.


Connolly's
Stupidly, I didn’t write down the cross-streets, just the address, leaving me wandering around midtown on one of the coldest days of the year. Fortunately, with the assistance of two boys working at a bodega and three of their customers, I found my way. When I finally saw the venue, it was obvious. Connolly's was huge, with a bar on the main floor and the dance floor on the third floor. It was strategically placed near a number of Broadway theaters, so if one needed some liquid encouragement before, after or during a show, it was close.

The dance floor at Connolly’s was big, but packed. While it wasn’t as stuffed with bodies as Banjo Jim’s, dancers absorbed every space. I’ve never really danced in crowded quarters before, so I started to be more aware of where my body was in space. The band was fantastic, dressed in colorful vintage wears. There were three leads around my age; everyone else was much older. One of them was pretty good: when I closed my eyes during a swing out, I could pretend it was John. Almost.


Amanda and I share a deep love for older gents, mostly due to contra. Though younger dudes treat me with polite disinterest, but older gents think I’m the queen of France. Complimentary as this is, I do miss the speed of younger dudes. Older folks jacked style from other types of dance: tango spins, salsa holds, ballroom attitude. Only the younger ones felt like swing dancers, really feeling the music for what it was.



Swing 46
Not really what I expected, both in showing and style. Boilermaker Jazz Band is one of the few swing bands I’ve hear of, so I was expected a big showing of younger folks. Not so much. Like Sophia’s, there were lots of tables, making it hard to see who was really there to dance, and who was to listen. Over the past few months, I’ve gotten over any fears of rejection. While I struck out a few times, I managed to keep dancing for most of it.

Only one sketchball. Vastly outweighed by dancing with the Boilermaker’s drummer during set breaks.

And again, I saw Shawn, which made everything lovely. Seeing her was the highlight of the night.



Club 412
Club 412 convinced me to go dancing from now until forever. There were three dance studios, two live bands, lots of great dancers. Many were older and liked dancing with younger ladies. Slidey floors.

An equal number of follows and leads, and as most ladies were not aggressive, and dudes were shy, I could dance with whomever I wanted. Everyone there was very friendly.

An ancient, tiny Venezuelan guy, Andres, looked at me, and said, “Do you salsa?” I gave my head a wiggle. Kinda. He replied, “Well, then I’ll teach you.” We went to one of the other studios, and he lead me around.

Later on, Carlos, a younger guy, taught me how to cha-cha. Though the basic was different than the cha-cha Nora taught me, it wasn’t too difficult, until he started adding turns. “Thanks for being so nice!” I said, catching my breath when the dance was over. “Well, I like dancing with you,” he said, “and I wanted to cha-cha. Figured this was the easiest way.”

I left coated with sweat, my hair spiked and slick, as if I’d just gotten out of the shower.


Cache at Sofia's
I heard that Vince Giordano, who made the soundtrack for Ghost World, was playing here. The venue was huge, but the term “club” seemed false. The space was covered in tables. The crowd was old, mostly seated. The music, while good, was very… period. Not very funky. I didn't want to pay the cover and left.



Banjo Jim's

Check it:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jD9nD8ltRNs&feature=related

This was the band I saw last night, Cangelosi Cards, at Banjo Jim's. The video does not do it justice -- their singer is sick, they all play three instruments. They did everything from old-school jazz, to gospel, and blues. Lucy's recommendation was very successful. Tara and Lucy met me there. There's something wonderful about friends who you can clown with.

It was crazy crowded in there. Though it was only 20º outside, it felt a 120º in there. I felt a wee tad claustrophobic and started talking to the dude next to me (Richard), who was really charming.

Aries: Is it generally this packed?
Richard: It varies. Last week? Empty. Week before that? Full.
Aries: Aw, man, there's no space to dance.
Richard: Wait, you dance?
Aries: Yeah! Do you?
Richard: Yeah! Lindy hop.
Aries: Sweet! That's so great!
Richard: How long have you been dancing for?
Aries: About three months. And you?
Richard: Um. Nine years. ...Don't worry, I'll go easy on you.
Aries: But how do we dance in here?
Richard: Here's the codeword: floorcraft. Unless you know bal.


And then, we danced.

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy!

I just saw Big Bad Voodoo Daddy. Live. Free. In Youngstown.

Obviously, I danced a lot.


The Crew:
It was all because of Brandi Ferrebee. Her car contained: me, Brandi, Matt C, Rachel B, and John A.


The Band:

Big Bad Voodoo Daddy!

Big Bad played an awesome set: over an hour of tunes. I remember "Mr. Pinstripe Suit," "Minnie the Moocher", "You And Me And The Bottle Makes 3 Tonight" and "I Want to Be Like You," though there were certainly more. It was solid. Sadly, they didn't play "Maddest Kind of Love." But they nailed out a lot of fast songs with tight playing. Though after a while, I focused less on musicianship and more on the beat.

The venue was a grassy valley, a natural amphitheater. Grass and swing dance aren't great bedfellows, which I never knew before. Brandi suggested wearing sneakers, not flats, but my sneakers looked pretty smelly, so I went with my casual flats. Ugh. The ground had very little traction, and any footwork I had... went away. I danced badly, unsure of my footing.


The swing crowd was tight. Out of the general audience of 300 - 400, there were about 25 swing dancers. They knew their stuff. There was a Greg Schram doppleganger. I wanted to dance with him, but he was really good and had a girlfriend, who he danced with for the whole show. Damn you, monogamoid couple.

John and Brandi were some of the most talented dancers there. John gets totally immersed in the musicality of the song; he scat calls as he dances and is one of the most outwardly happy dancers I've met. Most swing dancers seem to take it very, very seriously. Brandi wields an incredible style: cute, sultry and exact. She prances and pouts when she dances, her hips always moving.

I was only disappointed with the audience. While the grass was full with lawn chairs and picnic blankets, no one stood up. Clapping was minimal. Cheering was slight. Singing call-backs were quiet. The audience was mostly older folks and families; folks who gave little energy back to the band save their presence. Watching amazing performers for free is an incredible privilege. Fail, people.



--
It's something I've noted elsewhere -- normal people suck at being audience members. (The woman sitting next to me at the Tempest actually recoiled from me whenever I laughed.) If a performer does something impressive, you clap. If you don't clap, Tinkerbelle dies and the show is sad. A supportive audience makes a good show great.

I know people express joy differently. I know loud people don't feel more than quiet people. I know I can't pack each show with Liz Hibbard, Ardon Shorr, Grey Castro and Chris Gentes... but I'd like to.


--


I feel guilty when I swing dance. I apologize to my partner before and afterwards. I bumble and shift. My footwork is awful; my timing is worse. It's so frustrating. I want to do it more; I want to learn more and dance more. I want to dance to fast song. I hate being a block to my partner.

But as fraught as I feel, it's still wonderful. Swing's peculiar intimacy has grown on me considerably and the sensation of a good dance is unbeatable.

I unleashed my litany of self-defeating woes on a follow, a really good one, asking for her advice. Her name was Miriam and she moved like a tricked-out ballerina.

"Well," Miriam said, "All of us were once where you are now. We all remember how much it sucks. So when you ask a guy to dance, don't apologize, just say, "I only know the basics." That always works."

Addicted to Bad Ideas: Punk-Metal-Rap-Ska Music Shows

Time: Tuesday Morning


There are tiny, intense bruises on my knees and elbows. My hearing is still iffy.

I can still feel the crowd's moshing, dancing and pushing, the way the ocean still moves you even after you've gotten out of the water. I can still see the crowd: folks making a space in the center of the dance floor to let couples kick-dance a demented carnival homba. When the Inferno changed the tempo, the circle exploded into a flying moshpit.

World Inferno Friendship Society. Bucketkickers.

This feeling is familiar.





Time: Sunday Morning (two days previously)


My ears hurt. My thighs hurt. I am super-duper happy.


Tonight: Music party at Harkness, with Andrew Gombas, Birthday Kids, and Dos Mil Días De Fuego. Before that, I saw Spring Back, a dance show, so it's been... a long night.




Spring Back!
The dance department here is growing, with more folks than ever enrolling in classes. We took in two new members of the faculty: Holly Handman-Lopez and Ashley Thorndike. Spring Back is part of the block of dance shows hitting around now -- Sprung, Colors of Rhythm, Essence's Steppin' in da Beat, Oberlin Dance Company and a lot of senior recitals. Warner, the main dance/theater building, is booked. If you dance, this is a good time for you.

The main focus of the dance department is modern, with contact improvisation, capoeria, bodywork and ballet getting some love too. Half of the pieces in Spring Back were modern, the others hip-hop, folk or break. As I have the dance awareness of a child, I seperate dances into:
- Emotive: You're communicating how you feel!
- Movement: You move amazingly! Your body is a work of art, a tool of creation!
There was a nice combination of both.

I must admit to a certain narrative inclination, which poses a problem in an unfiltered enjoyment of movement. Whereas in circus, I see tricks as, well, tricks... dance is an art form. It has meaning. So, to my plot-centric brain, it should have a narrative and relationships.

In the dance piece with three women, they were totally a mother with two daughters who had recently lost their elderly father in a tragic threshing accident. The daughters adjusted to the lost by throwing themselves with childish abandon into their farm tasks; while the mother dejectedly resumed normal functioning.

There were monks in brotherly love, a bride left at the altar, spirits of global warming wrapping their warlike arms around one another with apocalyptic glee...

Or, at least, that's what I saw.

I've had a few conversations with Kai about the difficulty of writing about dance. I can talk about how it made me feel, but not always so clearly about what occurred, without creating childish scenarios. The moves themselves were impressive: many of the performers wore kneepads, given the amount of times they flung themselves at the ground. All of the modern soloists controlled their bodies precisely. Their handstands landed slowly and gently-- they cartwheeled over and around one another.

With the folk/hip-hop/break dances, I find there's more of a vocabulary, because I'm less caught up in a search for story-meaning. They picked the crowd up. The hip-hop group did an incredibly tight piece that looked straight out of a music videos. SPARK rocked, showcasing their old heavies with their new blood. They popped, locked and broke, making Warner into their space. I've seen them do more ridiculous stuff in the past, but this act was so seamless.

I ran to Harkness, ready for action.
Question: Why don't dance concerts end with the audience having a dance party with the cast? Does strike really have to happen the instant the show ends?





Harkness Concert


Harkness Basement is a place of great joy. Amazing bands have played there, amazing food eaten there. It's a cafeteria: there are chocolate milk stains that will never leave the ground. The tables were rolled away and the ground was mopped. On the wall, there were still the co-op food posters on the wall by the drum set:
"Pros and Cons of Soy" and "Report Ideas to the "Fun Committee!""





Fun Committee of Harkness?




Andrew Gombas went first. You may remember him from Ma'ayan's post about Organs... He does music too! Acoustic and electric guitar and brilliant songwriting. Most of his songs are about some twisted, mangled love... like that time you went home with the prettiest girl and she was really into roleplaying games. Like the role-playing game where she's the "dominant young woman" and you're the "stupidface who took her to your home, got stabbed 19 times and robbed blind." That was a good song. It was a singalong.


I love this photo. Andrew looks like Mr. American Psycho.


Andrew:: "You may now know this, but I used to be an improv-style spoken word performer in the south side of Chicago. A rapper, one could say. So, I'll need two words from the audience to let me go..."
Audience :: "Watermelon!" "Somali pirates!" "Elk!" ""
Andrew:: "I heard... ''gun-related violence" and "attractive women."


So, Andrew rapped about ''gun-related violence" and "attractive women," which has a refrain that's so virulently not-PC that I don't think I should share it. Despite all of his evil-doing and disturbing lyrics, Andrew is a truly kind, warm and amazingly stable man. His nickname is Pickles.



Birthday Kids went up after: Liz, Ralph, Jim and Jesse, playing jam rock. Liz sang like a mellowed Janice Joplin; Ralph played the bass like a bear locked in a cellar for a few months. Jim controlled his drum set perfectly, and Jesse loved that guitar like a lover long-separated. The boys were all Connies (conservatory students): Jim is TIMARA, Ralph and Jesse are composition.


They have a lot of fun when they play: one of their games was "Mess with Jesse." Game was: Jim and Ralph would make a rhythm, and Jesse would solo. When folks got bored, they would raise their hands and Jim and Ralph would set a new tempo. Five hands determined the game, so it changed a lot. It also proved how ill Jesse is. That boy loves his guitar.



Liz and Jesse. Note how Jesse cannot see how gorgeous Liz is, due to his overwhelming love of his guitar. This is devotion, people.






After that... Dos Mil Días De Fuego!
Grey on rap/vocals; Sam on vocals; Khari and Sarah on the turntables, Ryan on bass; Jim on drums. It was awesome to hear them in a better venue (not a living room), even if I still didn't hear all of Grey's lyrics.




Grey spreads the word. Word, Grey.




They're an interesting band, with a lot of fluidity. Some songs are really furious and hip-hop/rap/metal, others are silly. Grey makes an excellent emcee, really pushing the crowd; Sam makes jokes and keeps things light, leading interactive dance sequences. She has a low, sweet voice, like a cup of hot chocolate in the morning. Khari and Sarah are sick-- they played amazing dj sets between each band, keeping the energy high. Their samples were tight. Ryan makes superb faces when he plays and holds the beat steady. And Jim? Jim is incredible. He played drums for both bands and after their intense, kickin sets, he smashed out a crazy solo.




Note: Ryan's face. It is superb.





Jim declared King of America.



It was an excellent crowd. We had enough space to dance -- Harkness basement is able to serve over a 100 members for each meal, so it certainly had space for 100 people to dance. There was a lot of good energy there: most people knew someone in the band, or really liked their style, so we had less general-party people and more open, happy, high-kickin' folks.


I left happy and sore, the way it should be.

Swing Dancing > "Real World"

I never bought any of that "greatest years of your life" crap in high school. Sadly, it seems that sentiment might be valid as far as college is concerned.

This terrifying thought struck me last weekend at a Mardi Gras party at French Language House. It wasn't a great party. The venue was too small and didn't have the best acoustics. Still, it was $2 to see an amazing New Orleans-style jazz band ... with beads, tasty king cake and masks. While dancing, I realized it wouldn't be this easy in the "real world." Music wouldn't be ubiquitous; conservatory players would be hot, expensive commodities. Friends would be harder to access, communities harder to join.

In fear of the real world, I resolved to do as many excited, ridiculous things as I can this semester. Especially new things. Like swing dancing.


This weekend I spent a majority of my time at OJDF - Oberlin Jazz Dance Festival. All in all, I took five classes and attended four dances. The classes were perfect: equal follow-lead ratio, strong teaching, good dancers. Very few folks were raw beginners, but we all needed a bit of help, so we could all teach each other. It takes me a long time to learn anything dance-related, so my ability to pick up lindy hop, charleston, Suzie Q's, turns and swivels was surprising.

The Saturday night formal dance was incredible. Obies don't get gussied up all that often, but when they do, it's a sight to be seen. I can still see the shimmer of Ploy's red silk dress ruffling in the hot air. We destroyed that gym floor - the floorboards rattled when the whole crowd danced. The festival hosted two competitions, one individual and one for couples. Competitors weren't only Obies - a few pros entered in, as well as some folks from Kalamazoo who visited for the weekend. It was incredibly well run and the collective skill level was amazing.


I'd always liked swing, both participating and watching. In my first year, I took the Swing Dance Exco but I didn't keep up afterwards after busting up my ankle. Freshman year was a long, long time ago, so I thought I'd lost it all. But this weekend, a lot came back, and I found it pretty easy to pick things up. I've still got a long way to go to feel proficient or be a tolerable follow, but this weekend was so energizing and inspiring. I want to do it. OSwing organizes a jazz dance every 2 weeks, and does a smaller jam each week, as well as blues dancing.



And sometimes, they just do ridiculous stuff... Example: Brett and Haley.


Normal dancing




Preparing for something?



Hot damn.




So much air!




Awwww.

(Photo credits: Ma'ayan "Freakin' Awesome" Plaut)

The attitude of Swing, like Contra, is super-social. I must insist on the superiority of contra for friend-making, due to its inherent silliness, but swing is a social dance. I feel as if I understand my friends I've danced with... in a different way. Sometimes, even watching them dance is enough to get a bigger view of them. When some people dance, they drop their guard. They laugh, they smile, they sweat, they mess up and keep going.

Work it, dance it, write it.

In comparison to the first week of school, by the fourth week, I can tell a bit more where my energy is going. In short: everything takes five times the effort I originally expected. Sigh.



Admissions:

As an intern, my job is to interview prospective students, and assist the overall admissions process. I answer emails, work the front desk, speak with families, do filing. Right now, the counselors are working like mad, reading applications and meeting in committee. Each application gets read twice, then discussed in committee. Molly explained to me that the process is much more egalitarian here as compared to other colleges/universities. The first reader serves as the lawyer for the student, arguing their case to the rest of the admissions board. The decision is made by consensus, not solely by the dean.

Through this process, my respect for the admissions counselors has grown even larger than before. The sheer quantity of work they do is incredible.

Sco:

This week was a good one, dancing-wise. I grew up around music--my Dad ran a PA company, my grandmother has a Ph.D in music, my parents used to sing to me all the time. So when I need something to make me happy, music works best. Especially loud, silly music. On Wednesday, the Sco hosted Motown night, which got very, very crowded. I heard songs I haven't heard since election night, which was one of the happiest events of my life. The elation to "you can feel it all over" by Stevie Wonder was amazing, and the rest of the group was so alive. Whenever a mass of 100 people dance, there's so much energy generated that the mood becomes potent, electric.

Thursday's techno night was much more relaxed. My friend Daniel was DJ-ing--he played excellent trance. I met Daniel before school started: he's a first-year international student and I was catering some of the orientation events he attended. I remember working at a karaoke picnic, and arguing with him about which one of us should sing first. Anyone I can argue with is someone I want to befriend.

Yesterday, the Sco hosted a fundraiser for IYS (Immerse Yourself in Service) which hosted Triceratops, B-52s Cover Band, Bowie Band, and OSTEEL. Picture this entry, now add more hopeless noodling over how cool the Bowie band is. Their guitar players are ill, sick, ridiculous, and impressive. They turned "5 Years" into a rock epic. After the Bowie set, the crowd chanted "One more song!" or "Ten more songs! At my house!"

When we finished dancing, Ma'ayan invited myself, Yoshi, and Amanda back to Harkness for some pie. During the day, Ma'ayan and Daniel had made Derby, Bavarian Creme, and Chocolate-Coconut-Pecan pies.

Pie = Love.



Neurophysiology:

Some people speak Spanish, French, Chinese. My friends speak Science. If I didn't speak at least some pidgin Science, I couldn't understand them at all.

At Oberlin, I've taken Human Neurobiology, Behavioral Neuroscience, Abnormal Psychology and, at present, Neurophysiology. As much "vocabulary" as I've learned in class, I've gotten most of my grammar from my friends. I heard about Becca's woes with programming for experiments on childhood development, Alex and Jo Ling's fish, conversations on whether snails or crayfish would prove more effective for gathering data on neuronal membrane potentials.

I can tell I learned something in college because when I read this phrase at a normal pace: "'Cerebral activation patterns induced by inflection of regular and irregular verbs with positron emission tomography. A comparison between single subject and group analysis'" ... I understood it completely.

Three years ago? Not so much.

I wonder what my college career would have been if more of my friends spoke fluent Humanities. I might know about epistemology, determinism, or radical self-conscious ethnocentrism. As is, there's always more to learn.



Writing:

Creative Writing is a fascinating major--we don't have Honors, Capstones, or Theses. We just write, write, and write. This semester, I'm working with Chelsey Johnson and Sylvia Watanabe on a super-long project: The Novel.

Remember the Novella from last semester? That was the larva. This semester, I've gotta hatch a butterfly.

With Sylvia, I'm in a super-small workshop (five people) who are all top-notch kick-butt writers. Most of us were in Novella last semester, so we've got a feel for each other's styles already and have gotten comfortable being very constructive with one another. Workshops work when you can say to a writer: "This character? He's a jerk. He's not funny. He's not smart. Why is he here?" ... without being self-conscious.

With Chelsey, I'm going over the piece, full blast, each week. We did a close reading the other day and met for over 2 hours. It was great. Chelsey's focus is fabulism, a super-crazy writing style similar to magical realism, from writers like Gabriel Garcia Marquez, Aimee Bender, and Ursula LeGuin. She gets my weird, post-apocalyptic romance stories.

Happily, my friends get it too, as the other language they speak is art. Making it, mostly, not analyzing. The mechanics of the creative process are so fascinatingly messy. All the rehearsals that take too long, the film shoots that die in poor lighting, the muscles pulled before the rehearsal, the paint splattered on new clothes, or hours of research for a character who will take up about a minute of script.

Even if we don't love the same thing, we love it in the same way.

Finally finished with Finals.

The hard part of Finals is ... finishing them.

I completed my Ancient Sexuality paper just in time. In my haste to take a nap, I sent a "Yay, here you go!" email to Professor-Captain Kirk Ormand, but forgot to include the attachment with the actual paper. It had been a long night.

I've spent the past few days on the paper, focused on seductive lyric poetry in Greece and Rome. I argued that the poems weren't seductive at all. Generally, the poems demeaned the person they were hoping to woo. The pieces, in my view, were intended for something else entirely: asserting the masculinity of the narrator/author. The paper was called "Boyfriend Training."

I muddled through the Astronomy final, nailing the math problems, but totally forgetting how to find supernovas and any useful data about quasars. I'm still working on finished David's paper. The day after the Sexuality paper, I worked on the drama paper, but for some reason, I didn't save it at the end of the night. I lost about 4 hours of work. Pleasantly, I also found that when I opened the document, my paper was awful. Really, quite awful. So I spent the past 5 hours trying to make the paper more coherent.

And then, I worked on novella. And worked. And worked.

And now, I'm done! I've been to the library, bought my parents Christmas presents, worked out at the gym for a really long time, gotten dinner with my grandmother, and slept.

Overall, I fought really well in the War Against Procrastination, battling the axis of academic apathy:
1. Friends
2. Webcomics
3. Events

Friends
These are the Clytemnestra of my life, the sweet dangers who may lead to academic disabling. Pretty, kind, intelligent, bearing tasty things and good ideas. We all cluster in the academic commons of the library, cozy ourselves and chat. I must be wary of them.


Webcomics
A laundry list of foes:
XKCD, Questionable Content, Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal, Married to the Sea....


Events
Around the end of the year, most folks have their recitals, final projects, and all sorts of ridiculous study breaks. Some days, the "Study Breaks" start at 10:00AM and end at midnight. If you attended all, you'd be in trouble. I focused on a few: a three-band show, the Dead Hear Footsteps (WOBC radio noir drama), the Storytelling EXCO's final show, and Artwalk.

Artwalk is one of my favorite events at Oberlin. The art students of all levels and mediums take over studios, the classrooms, and the hallways of the building. Any empty space is snatched up and covered with photos, sculpture, or paintings. Hallways, furniture, doorways... last year, there was a sculpted boat made of passports sitting between two of the art wings. It's free, open to the public, and packed.

Some of my favorites:
Seth's photos. Seth is one of my coworkers for Academic Ambassadors and his project was perfect. Obies are not very... formal people, in action or in decor. We wear comfy clothes. We're pretty chill. So when there's someone who behaves in a more formal manner, it's pretty interesting. Seth's pieces explored his own formalism, with two black and white photos selected from his set. In both, he was dressed like a young power-broker, tied to a chair or wearing a dunce cap.

Natalia's Quinceañera photos were brilliant.

I asked my friend Izzie if she had any pieces for Artwalk (she's an art major), and she ducked her head and said, "Yeah, but it's no big deal. Don't go for me." Izzie is modest. And highly ridiculous as her piece was beautiful--a dual-layered piece using transparency sheet with the physical form and an underlayer with the skeletal structure, shaded to show a sense of emptiness. Still, Izzie was better than Liz, who forgot to tell me that she had a mixed-narrative piece up--a giant mural with a woman waiting on a road, Wyeth-esque, with a story she told playing on an old walkman.

Many of the pieces were interactive games. A crowd favorite was the Cat Chess Board:






(Anna and Sandhya)

Speaking of Anna, she also had a piece up that gorgeously blended about 10 different cartooning styles, from Ramona Quimby to Eloise. I got lost in it for a while.



Besides this, there were a wall of faces, an installation piece on the divide between Palestine and Israel, colored vials, comics (one by Nick Wirtz, a design/artist/video genius). Antonio built a tank.

The work was so imaginative--being able to see it really helped me through the tedium of Finals.

Afterwards, I went to the Cat and danced to OSTEEL, Oberlin's awesome steel drum band.








Happy holidays!

** Photo Credits to Ma'ayan "Gorgeousface" Plautand the OSTEEL website!

Work it for Women was sponsored by 4 different organizations: SURF (Students United for Reproductive Freedom), ACTS (Advocating Choice Though Spirituality), ACLU (American Civil Liberties Union), OC Democrats, and HIV Peer Testers. Outside of the Sco, each group set up tables with information, selling brownies and snacks to raise money for local abortion funds. And inside of the Sco, after a donation, was really excellent music.

As Medicaid covers the procedure only in cases of rape, incest or life endangerment, abortion is functionally inaccessible for low-income women in this area. The money raised by Work it for Women was to help women with the costs of an abortion: travel, overnight stays and child care. At one count at the end of the night, the event raised over 2,000 dollars and also educated hundreds of students regarding the difficulties of obtaining an abortion, showing ways in which students can help.

After talking to a few SURF workers, I went inside to the concert. I caught the tail end of Like Bells, Will's really amazing band, and stuck around for The Sauce and The David Bowie Cover Band.

The Sauce is the high-quality funk jazz that play really solid sets. If there's an official school function in which dancing would be good... the Sauce is there. They're mostly jazz studies majors who have their licks down, so when they play, it's obvious that they're having fun. The guitarist, Jamey Arent, was particularly on, wearing this incredible look of rapture during his solos. The lead singer, Alex Birnie, did an amazing job working up the crowd. I had slid to the front and stood near Mike King on keyboards, who looked zen for the whole show, even when the tempo picked up.

And then, the Bowie Cover Band. Confession: I love David Bowie.

When I was still a bump in my mother's womb, my dad made my mom an excellent Bowie mixtape for her hour-long drive to college. Twice a day, she played the mixtapes, for my entire fetus-hood. I gestated through Space Oddity, Ashes to Ashes, Modern Love, John, I'm Only Dancing and Young Americans. My brain formed with saxophone solos. Now, as an adult, I know the lyrics to Bowie songs that I've never heard before. I've watched Labyrinth, the Prestige and The Man Who Fell to Earth. I know all the different stages of Bowie, from Ziggy Stardust to the Thin White Duke.



The David Bowie Cover Band shook my world.

First, it was a big band: two sax players, two guitarists, a violinist, a drummer, a pianist, two back-up singers and a front man. They were all very attractive. Very, deeply, poignantly attractive. I needed to fan myself as they did sound check. The whole band were all in some form of Bowie regalia -- Andrew, one of the sax players, had the Aladdin Sane face-paint; Derek, the guitarist, wore a man-dress; the drummer wore faux-snakeskin pants. And the lead singer embodied Bowie, his blond hair slicked back and his eyes rimmed with eyeliner. Throughout the set, the Lead Bowie adopted the trade-mark mannerisms perfectly. He only left the persona for a few minutes during a break in the set to read a PSA about abortion statistics.



The crowd responded very, very positively: fans howling lyrics back at the band. Some of us jumped onto the step in front of the stage, just to get a little closer. Most of the folks in the audience were dancing in a crazed exuberant way: arms flying, hips shaking, legs kicking. You don't grind to Bowie; you dance. At the end of the show, the line for the water fountain was impressive.

After the concert, I walked one of the organizers home, to Johnson House, then back to North, which is the longest walk one can take on campus: 15 minutes.

The next day, after a tour and two circus meetings, I went to Ed Underhill's senior recital. As mentioned here, the composition students at school are top-notch. Ed's focus was on evocative, narrative pieces -- after college, he's going to grad school for film musics. From his concert, it's pretty clear that he's already on his way. Also, he plays the accordion. What can be better?


(Ed playing with Erika Oba in the Circus)

His first few pieces were solos and duets, but his final two pieces incorporated a small orchestra -- there were up to 19 people on the Warner stage. The final two pieces were incredible; the word "soaring" was described for those pieces. Best of all (for me), the pieces told a story. More than many pieces of writing, Ed's music had a strong narrative arc, which really grabbed me. The entire audience sat rapt, completely enraptured. I read an article in Slate that pinned down the feeling: "elation."

It was a good weekend.

+ Photo Credits: Kate Ettinger and Ma'ayan Plaut

Contra Dancing: What, Where and Why You Should Do It

As mentioned, I'll do anything for a contra dance. But what is a contra dance?



Well, depending on who you ask, it's a line, social, square dance, or barn dance, built out of English folk dance traditions. A caller reads out instructions for the dance, walks everyone through it once, and calls out moves throughout the dance. Everyone partners up, but also dances with every other couple on the line. I think it's all a metaphor for infidelity within small towns: you'll stay with your partner, but you'd really like to take on your neighbor.




The contra theme was "Formal," so I wore my little black dress and went out to dance with fine-frocked ladies and buttoned-up gents. I've been getting into leading, as well as following, which is helping me with my overall frame. The contra scene here is very cool with non-standard gender pairings: women leading women, men as follows... it's all good. It also leads to better dancing all around, when you understand why your partner makes the movements that he/she does.





It's a very easy dance to learn. The essential move is the "swing," where each partner faces the other, rests their arms on the other's back and spins around. It's awkward for the first few times -- you feel as if you're skipping while attached to another person -- but with practice, it comes easily enough. The other moves are deliciously simple: the allemande, the do-si-do, circles, stars... all of which the caller's say in time with the music, so the entire room of dancers moves in unison with their separate partners.

And of course, there's live music. The contra band has a rebellious streak, changing its name for each gig. Tonight, they were "Stretchy Rhino." Or "Chewy Rhino." Or "Tasty Rhino." Besides a fiddler, there's sometimes dulcimer, banjo and percussion.







It's also a great way to make friends. Rather than club dancing, contra has space to speak with your partner, rather than just whirling around. I've gotten to meet some amazing people: not only other Obies, but folks from around Ohio. As I've been doing it since I was a wee first-year, I've gotten to see people change. One girl who started going when she was 12 has now hit puberty and talks to me about middle school -- another partner has just fathered a child. It's a different slice of life.

One of my favorite partners is Glen, who I've been dancing with for about 3 years. Besides being a supremely kind and generous landlord to college students, Glen works as an electrical engineer. His workdays start at 5:00 AM and end at 6:00 PM. Strangely, he's a relaxed, easy-going guy. Over the summer, we got coffee and chatted about progressive radical baptists, permaculture, music and peace movements. As much as I love college students, it's nice to be able to connect with someone who's in their 50's.

The dances typically end with a waltz, but this one had a special ending show, from the rapper sword Exco, dancing with huge bendable swords in gorgeous patterns!




*Images courtesy of Dale Preston, Ma'ayan Plaut and the Oberlin College Contra Dance Club!

Halloween, the best holiday.

Halloween on a Friday Night. A great thing.

Earlier in the week, the college's costume "shop" sold the old costumes from shows and operas past. I clocked in pretty well, nabbing a leather dress (!), suspenders, shorts, a skort, a black blazer, a shirt/sweater and a hat for $22. I really love the feel of these clothes- most of them were used for about 3 weeks at most on an opera; I like feeling like a "character," sometimes. The costume sale itself is always a lot of fun, and a study in co-operation. Too many people cram into the lobby of Hall Auditorium; there's one bathroom, 2 mirrors, and not much privacy. There's a problem that when you put your own stuff down to try other things on, someone might unknowingly try to purchase your clothes. Although there's so little space, so many pairs of amazing cheap clothes and so few opportunities to see what you look like, students get more polite. There was a quiet line by the mirror to scope out how well the new top hat (or blazer, or pants) looked.

Sadly, I used none of those clothes for my costume. I went as Bettie Page, which is hard to do, in public. For the sake of Oberlin College, I won't do too much description. Suffice to say, I looked classy. Bettie Page: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bettie_Page

We had a special day in astronomy- Prof. Stinebring had to go to a huge conference, so the observing staff taught a lesson about the life cycle of our sun. To make things a bit more exciting (Halloween and all...) they wanted some circus stuff there. So, I gathered a few jugglers; Ali was already in Astronomy and prepared to spin poi for glory and honor. The performers did an awesome job; they were used to show different fazes of solar activity, as stars move from the Main Sequence, to Red Giants, Planetary Nebulae and White Dwarfs.

After class, I finished my weekly response for Professor "Captain" Kirk Ormand, then went to TGIF. During the warm months, TGIF is a big outdoor party in Wilder Bowl, right by the Student Union. Sometimes there's a dj, sometimes, a live band. Students chill out, relax after a week of work. The circus uses the time to give lessons, juggle and mess around for a while. Given the oncoming train of winter (despite the 65* temperature)... there was no outdoor music, as normally, but there were still many people about.

A bunch of folks were in costume - Poison Ivy, Rorschach, Dr. J and Mr. Hyde, a Romance Novel Character, Harley Quinn, Starbuck, Scarecrow, Spider Jerusalem. There was a Belle and Prince Charming who kissed theatrically in the center of the quad; we applauded. I sat on the grass and listened to a folk duo on fiddle and guitar for a while; a Tuxedo Mask gave me a slim rose.

Orville taught me some new acrobalance moves, so I can lift more tiny people around. My favorite was the "lazy man's sit-up," in which I, the base, lay on the ground, knees bent and arms up at a 90 degree angle. My flier (tiny person = flier) stands on me in a funny way, a foot on each of my thighs and their hands on my hands. When they lean back, I do a sit-up and move to standing, with them standing on my thighs. Basically, it makes the Tiny Person look super-strong, when it's actually physics that's super-strong.

In preparation for Halloween, Ma'ayan took out the media lab in the library. Mudd Library is an absolute fantasy castle- there are a kazillion little rooms that all have magical purposes, that you never know until you need it. There are screening rooms, a computer store, a theatre, statues, writing centers, study carrels, womb chairs, group study rooms, huge computer labs, a silent floor, a sunbathing roof, rainbow couches, storage, old printing presses, a "dock" and a photo studio. A hundred Rooms of Requirement.

This one was on the fourth floor and was a full studio, made for photoshoots. It looked like something for Hollywood, not our very 70's library. About 20 people filtered in and out, throughout the night. It was a blast; there were posed gunfights and cross-canon flirtations (Mrs. Lovette + Poison Ivy). We got pretty giggly under the bright lights.

I love this holiday.

After photos, I went to The Breakfast show at the Sco and danced for 2 straight hours. The Sauce opened and were incredible, as usual; the Breakfast was very danceable, rock-jazz-jam with little openers of songs from cartoons. Looking around the crowd was surreal: elves danced with cavemen, Clockwork Orange droogs moshed around, zombies and faeries flowed around the sides of the stage, a dinosaur waggled its tail to the beat.

As for me, I thrashed. Thrashing in Bettie Page shoes... was a poor choice. I staggered home, brushed my teeth and collapsed.

I woke up 20 minutes before work, still in my Bettie Page costume. It's amazing how fast I can shower, change clothes, brush my hair and put in my contacts. I took an extra minute to fold my costume, giving my respects to Ms. Page.

Still around

Exco Fair, staple of my college life.

For two glorious hours, the Root Room (the old Reading Room) becomes a mad bazaar of tables, stuffed with students selling their awesome classes. Excos (Experimental College Classes) are student and community taught- the popular ones are Swing Dance, Tango, Steel Drum and Calvin and Hobbes. The new ones- Swedish Language Exco, Astrology, Buffy, Knitting and Grass-Roots Organizing- looked pretty sweet too. I really want to play Calvinball before I graduate this fine institution.

I'm teaching Circus Arts Exco, to do both skillshare and individual performance work. I hawked for two straight hours in the vein of: "You, step right up and join the circus, miss, you're so pretty, I bet you'd look prettier upside down-backwards-on fire!" It was successful: I got about 40 names for a 12 person class. Gah. In the end, I had to waitlist people I cared about/wanted to accept. It was painful to have to pass over my friends to do a more random, equitable selection.

First meeting of the class went well. It had 16 people, which was a good size. I spent a bunch of time prepping and it all worked out. We did mostly improv/dance exercises.

-

Contra danced!

Emma was calling and stoked the crowd. I danced with Grey, Jeremy, Glenn, Nathaniel, Kokoteca and Sean and saw... the whole dancing crew, inclding some new, lovely freshmen. All of the town dancers thought I was set to graduate, so they asked variations of "How's the fifth year coming along" or "What the hell are you doing here still?" In a charming way, of course.

Left soaked with sweat. My feet are an unholy terror.