Friday, December 27, 2013

The Healing Power of Tango

               Many times I have danced with a woman who was new to tango and thought that she found our encounter a therapeutic experience. It is as if I am some sort of tango medicine man who can heal with my touch. I am not bragging; it is simply a natural phenomenon that can occur when two people, guided by the sorrowful music of Argentina, join together in a sensuous embrace.
               In order to experience the healing forces of tango, a dancer needs to let go of his or her inhibitions. We hear the music with our ears but we listen to our partners with our sense of touch through our physical connection. Engaged thus, we are ready to open up ourselves to the curative powers of tango dancing.
               Dropping our defenses and allowing another human being into our personal space can put us in a precarious position. Thus exposed, a dancer, after completing an unexpectedly successful movement, might experience a spasm of delight that has curative properties. It is also possible that a person might suffer a devastating emotional blow after an unforeseen faux pas on the dance floor.
               At fifty-three, I now see more clearly the effects of stress on my health. I can no longer remember how I felt before I started dancing tango all those years ago. I was like a knotted old oak tree, twisted and bent over by the constricting forces of parenting and the guilt of a good old-fashioned Catholic upbringing.
               Today, I feel ‘clear’ and I can thank tango for that. Along the way to clarity, I experienced emotional setbacks but they were few and far between, especially when compared to the many episodes of absolute ecstasy that I experienced along the way.




For more of the Kayak Hombre, read my book Fear of Intimacy and the Tango Cure or River Tango. Available on Amazon.com in paperback or Kindle.





               

Tuesday, December 17, 2013

Tie Your Shoe!!!!

               In many classes I’ve attended, a male instructor’s shoelace seemingly becomes loose.  It usually happens while he is elaborating on a concept so important that he deems it necessary to ignore the dangling string that keeps the shoe on his foot.
               If you see this happening, keep quiet and watch the drama unfold. The sight of an unraveling cord drives some people absolutely crazy! What could be worse? A person moving, wait…a person dancing precariously with an untied shoe!
               After you’ve witnessed this scenario unfold a few times, you will begin to realize that the frantic student is frequently a beginner.  
               The teacher tactfully cuts off the first warning from the pupil while forging ahead with an illuminating lecture and demonstration. A complex movement by the at-risk educator drives the newbie over the edge and he compulsively blurts out the obvious.
               Finally aware of his predicament, the master dancer, a person who makes a living in his dance shoes and who most certainly can tell when his binding is undone, lifts his foot to his hands and tightens the knot while standing on one leg.
               I’m not sure why this happens and, frankly, I don’t care. I just thought I’d bring it to your attention as just another one of those curious tango phenomena that occur during workshops.
               I’m in Wisconsin Rapids, now, and looking for some new tango venues to explore. There are three tango communities within a two and a half hour drive. I should be able to provide my readers with a plethora of new tango experiences and insights this coming winter…......stay tuned.




 For more of the Kayak Hombre, read my book Fear of Intimacy and the Tango Cure or River Tango. Available on Amazon.com in paperback or Kindle.



Wednesday, December 11, 2013

Watch Those Eyes

               A tango dance invitation is all about the eyes but after the deal has been struck and the couple finds themselves on the dance floor, the eyes become a distraction. The leader needs to scout for obstacles and invariably ends up making eye contact with a bystander or finds himself transfixed by a shiny object, the flash of a thigh or a nice pair of high-heeled shoes attached to a beautiful calf adorned with a devilishly-red, chili-pepper tattoo.
               Each of our senses is capable of processing an amazing amount of information. With a direct connection to our brains, our eyes may be the number one sensory input. In a room full of couples dancing, our visual sensors become more of an impediment than an asset.
               Once, I found myself looking into my partner’s ear. When the light caught it just right, I thought I could see almost into her brain….almost. I had to consciously restrain myself from craning my neck to get a better view before she noticed my distraction.
               Did you hear that? Before she noticed my distraction. That’s right; your partner can tell when you are looking at something that has nothing to do with the dance. This is true for leaders and followers.
               I danced with a woman at the 2013 Albuquerque Tango Festival who scanned the crowd at irregular intervals. Not only was this annoying to me, it did not look good on her. A friend confided in me afterwards that she, and everyone else, could see that my partner was conspicuously glaring at the audience.
               What a person does with their eyes at a milonga affects the overall ambiance of the group. A woman looking around to see if she is being noticed, or a man constantly ogling the ladies, devalues the collective experience.
               I was three years into my tango education before I received useful instruction on how dancers should deal with this dilemma of ocular overload and self-control. It was at a workshop in Summit, NJ, conducted by Diego di Falco and Carolina Zokalski.
               At one point in the class, a male student, complaining about the complexity of leading, opined that, “it would be easier if I had my eyes closed.”
               He went on to say that it was unfair that the tangueras performed better when they shut their eyes but a tanguero had to listen to the music, choreograph movements and navigate the crowd which meant keeping the eyes open was an absolute necessity.
               Diego then instructed us to focus our gaze on the empty space about twelve inches to the left and beyond our partner’s right ear and to rely on our peripheral vision to spot obstacles. This did the trick!
               After seven years, leading is now not such an overwhelming activity. I find that I can quite easily allow myself to observe more with my eyes as I plot a course through traffic. 
               However, I still have to be careful about what I choose to look at. A gathering of tango dancers can be a feast for the eyes. It is up to each of us to try and make the event more like a romantic dinner and less like a bag of burgers from a fast food restaurant being eaten on a park bench. Tango is food for the soul and not something to be consumed in the company of pigeons.

                


It's still not too late to order a copy of my two books, River Tango and Fear of Intimacy and the Tango Cure, both available on Amazon.


Saturday, December 7, 2013

A Farewell To Fargo

               I’m almost out of here, out of Fargo.  I’ve got a new contract lined up for work in Wisconsin and I leave this Friday. 
               I haven’t danced tango since the Albuquerque Tango Festival at the beginning of November and I’ve been unable to work out my stress through dancing or jogging.
               The tango community in Minneapolis is just too far away, especially considering that a snow squall could force me to miss work.
               I haven’t jogged since the beginning of October when it started to get cold. This coincided with the heat being shut off in my building and I just couldn’t break out of my warm nook to force myself to go for a run.
               Another thing deterring me from outdoor exercise is the stench from the Fargo Landfill. I didn’t mind it at first but now I detest it. It is very noticeable from at least three miles away which encompasses most of the town of Fargo.
               It’s been below zero degrees here for a week and my theory that the stink will freeze has been proved wrong.
               I’ve been here over four months and I feel qualified to give an honest report on the town and its people.
               Demographically speaking, most of the inhabitants are Caucasian and trace their roots to Germany or Scandinavia. There is a sizeable Muslim community here, comprised mostly of Somalians and peoples from India.
               The Nordic people can be very large, guys and girls, and have platinum blond hair. This is in stark contrast to the Somalis who can be so dark as to be almost black. The white people dress in greens and yellows, the colors of their favorite football team, the NDSU Bisons. The Africans dress in solid colors, mostly black, blue, red and green.
               The Swedes and Germans migrated here because they were looking for a place as cold and desolate as their homeland but with the opportunity to own land. Devout Lutherans, they took it upon themselves to bring as many Somalis here as they could in order to save them from a dire situation in their home country.
               The Indians are here because Microsoft has a huge manufacturing plant here. It’s a very big facility located on the southern side of town. I found it on one of my many quests to find a decent supermarket.
               That side of town is growing at a phenomenal rate. There is so much construction of new buildings that it reminds me of New Jersey.
               Here’s something pretty cool. Some of the Somalis look very Italian. They also have Italian names, like Lorenzo and Marco. I guess that’s because part of this country was Italy’s only colony during the Colonial Period.
               After six weeks of idleness, I got bored and joined a recreation center called the Family Wellness Center. It’s a great facility with modern equipment, comparable to Durango’s Recreation Center except Durango’s is much larger, much better and not so crowded.
               The first weekend I went, it wasn’t so packed but that changed on Monday when the temps dropped down to zero degrees at night. Then there was a waiting list for all the free weights and weight machines. The indoor track got so crowded that it was impossible to jog around or maintain a steady pace without bumping into slower traffic.
               After work, especially so now that the temps are so low, there is nothing to do except walk around the Westacres Mall. One complete circuit of every store is two miles in length.
               It feels good to get back into a regular exercise routine. I’ve been idle for too long.
               Since I’ve been here, I’ve written a book, devised an extensive marketing plan and executed it. I’ve reached the end of the internet and have rediscovered that there is nothing on TV except the Weather Channel. I can’t wait to leave.
               Fargo is not a bad place. For me, it was anticlimactic after living Durango, CO, and Farmington, NM. The people here are good people. They come in spite of the cold for employment and opportunity. To give you an idea of what kind of people we’re dealing with here, let me relate a few recent discussions I overheard while I was out and about.
               I was seated at a bar one day, studying for my Cisco Router certification. A loud-mouthed man next to me was engaged in the usual barroom braggadocio when the subject of Obamacare came up. He berated the President for a couple of sentences then his talk quickly became more extreme. When he used the N-word and threatened the leader of our country, something amazing happened: everyone around him got up and walked away.
               These people here aren’t afraid of harsh language. I was at a mini-mart/gas station the other day when the cashier opined that she felt awful.
               A large man behind me blurted out, “And you look like fucking shit, too!”
               The cashier and another lady laughed heartily and then cooed about the man’s honesty. The vulgarities didn’t bother them in the least and they both continued to engage him in flirtatious chatter.
               This just goes to show that the people here place a premium on honesty. Life is hard here and I guess it’s difficult to survive if a person tries to live in a fantasy world. This is probably one of the reasons why I find this place so conducive to writing: it inspires honesty.
               This is not a restaurant town unless you are a fan of restaurant chains. The best place to get good old American food is at the Super Buffet Mongolian Grill on 45th Street. There’s a good salad bar at Hornbacher’s supermarket on 13th Street South and that’s about it.
               One final note: the people here don’t have an accent but they do have a way of speaking. When talking to strangers, they show very little emotion. When talking to fellow Fargonians, they are very animated but the conversations seem to be limited to talk about fishing, hunting, football, hockey and alcohol.
               People from Minnesota have a very pronounced accent and are prone to saying, “Sure, you betcha.”
               I look forward to leaving. The prospect of a change in scenery has brightened my spirits considerably. I am glad I finished out my contract with my current employers to the very end but I am ready for it to end. It has been a long two years, full of amazing journeys and contrasts in landscape and peoples.
               So long, Fargo, it’s been real and it’s been fun but I can’t say it’s been real fun. I am a better man and a better writer for having been here but I won’t be coming back.

Yours truly,
the Kayak Hombre and Capitan Frog,
a.k.a.  perri iezzoni