Sunday, January 18, 2015

262, 263

Friday night went out with KC Trommer and her friends. Kind of felt like I was crashing a literary version of Sex and The City. One of the woman asked if anyone liked hearing how wonderful someone else's life was. And all of the women said no, in their own way. I said I didn't mind. And then someone said that's because I was an empath. I don't think that's it. Just because I like to share when things are wonderful, but I hold back, because people are often not very happy and resent hearing about someone that is. All the women said they had miserable fathers. And exes. And they asked me how my father was and I said great, and they said, "makes sense for you." One woman said she didn't know anyone who was truly happy! I suddenly felt guilty. How ridiculous is that? And then we talked about how misery was more interesting to talk about, made a better story, and, indeed, KC told us an amazing story about eating too much spacecake and waking up at her inlaws with no pants. But New Yorkers, maybe worse than most people, like to bitch about anything. Even the weather. "The weather's disgusting." I hear that all the time. It's crazy. The weather is never disgusting.

Everyone was meeting at Sekend Sun in Astoria, which was the perfect distance from my house to have a good dance. So I danced on the way there to Chuck Berry. Then I snuck a flask into the bar, and poured it in a coke. Lame, I know, but just can't be dropping $40 on drinks all the time. 
I got a little tipsy and then had such a good time dancing on the way back to Chuck Berry again, at a whole new righeous level. He was something else.

Then tonight I went out in the rain. My back is still hurting from a pulled shoulder muscle, so my movement was very limited. But the surface of the running track at Doughboy Park in Woodside was so much fun to slide around on. And Terrasonic on KGNU, Jan 17 show, was a joy.  At one point I was in the middle of the basketball court dancing on the mid court maple leaf symbol of the park. It was a giant leaf! And I was Jack, climbing the beanstalk, stopping for a little soft shoe. I had just told the girls a story before their bedtime tonight about Jack climbing the beanstalk, and how he curled up on a leaf after getting rid of some pesky black birds, because he was so tired. And here I was on this leaf, and I imagined laying down there and going to sleep, in the nurturing, alive rain. 

Sunday, January 11, 2015


At the Unisphere at Flushing gardens. Incredible dance.

Got some nice images too.

Here are the tracks of my ASICS going into the great ear. The great ear was on an amazing dance floor, see below. First of all there was so much to look at in the dance floor, etchings like this one. Second there was still some snow and ice on the dance floor so I could slide around.

Men in suits with the bomb. Terrifying!

Woman with snowman skeleton puppet on her arm. Too true.

Sliding across ice.

"to braid to Sunset myself " Hoa Nguyen.

And the perfect dance floor!

Meanwhile my family was in here doing activities.

I met up with them afterwards and saw this terrific picture of Louis Armstrong. I would have loved to have heard what he was playing on that African horn.


This morning I started out hung over and listless, keeping myself propped up while cleaning dishes by listening to Part 3 of the Hardcore History podcast series on Ghengis Khan. I really felt for a moment what it must be like to kill mercilessly, to feel bloodlust, to be part of an efficient and disciplined military machine, but also felt even more keenly the other side, the sadness, the seemingly endless sadness for those who suffered.

Later I tuned into 99 and Barry's Afternoon Sound Alternative on KGNU.  A sad Mongolian folk song came on in the mix. I thought of the Khans again, and the millions slain and raped and tortured by them. I realized that I must have this blood in me too, bits of it, from both sides of the battles, this genetic memory. I feel an infinite sadness down deep in my bones. I could fully feel it in the music, all of it. I took my phone and plugged it into the speakers for Lucia to hear too. We danced to the music. I swung her around and around, slowly.  Lucia has a bit of a Mongolian look to her, especially her eyes, from her mother's side. At one point as we were dancing she told me she was a princess. I could totally see her as a Khan's daughter. Her life would have been full of insecurity and pain back then, even as a princess. Now she is a princess of a much luckier kind, a sci-fi princess of the future, and at least, for awhile, she can relax and dance with her father to the old music of the Steppes in relative peace. The perspective of time is a trip. I was there, now I'm here, voila.

Thursday, January 8, 2015


My dancing shoes are getting stale. And feeling very prosaic this morning. Taking a break? Or dying? Or both? I'm imagining one of those graphs that slowly goes down hill off the chart, with a few spikes here and there. Working for 1001 dances, less than a third of the way there. So I faced down 15 degree weather this morning. But DID break through to internal sunshine, if only for a moment. 


Ah, got my asics on and danced my heart out up Roosevelt, listening to Terrasonic's year end wrap up. World music on a world street. 

Thinking how I can magnify all of this in the future. But also reflecting on how I magnified it in the past...

Last night was the last night of salsa at the D Note. We helped start the night 12 years ago with Joseph Snowhawk and it stands as one of our proudest accomplishments. Because we were the go to place for Salsa in Denver on Sunday nights we had an international crowd that came through, some of the best dancers in the world, and I loved watching them grace the dance floor. They showed me what it meant to take living to the next the level, the fluid and efflorescent relationship that can form between dance partners when lead by music. Far more exciting than any roller-coaster, more intimate than any conversation. On the best nights, when there was 2 to 300 people dancing, it was magic. It felt like you were in a club on the beach in Ibiza, replete with a Mediterranean breeze coming through the French doors to cool down the dancers. Most of all I loved being there with Genevieve George, Jeremy Degraff, Matthew DeGraff, Adam Ferrill, Lisa Genke and the rest of the family. A real dream come true.

    Apron for mama san

    Still life on Roosevelt 

Current shoe pile