Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

               Last week at practica I had to pull a Fran Chesleigh. Fran runs a practica at Dance Manhattan on 19^th Street in NYC. That’s an understatement but that’s all you need to know about him for now except that he does not put up with leaders who don’t switch partners at his practica. He’s a big guy. He kind of looks like Godzilla with lighter skin…same neck.

               He sits on his throne at the back of the room with Pat Altman and a German DJ who will never dance with me again. Scanning the crowded dance floor and eyeing the sidelines, he seems ready to open his mouth at any moment and spew flames, scorching the offending tangueros to cinders in a single belch. When he can no longer put up with the sight of idle tangueras he stands, stops the music and makes a speech.

               I hate that speech. I hate it mostly because it stops the music right in the middle of me having a great time. I’m having a great time because I’m dancing with a newbie who’s absolutely delighted to be getting so much attention from an experienced dancer. She’s being nice to me because she wants me to stay and I am completely enthralled.

               There’s lots of experienced dancers at Fran’s practica on Saturday afternoons. They come for the same reason I did: veal:-)….. Veal is a female dancer who has just made her first foray into the world of tango. She’s spent 20 years waiting for her man to take her dancing and has finally given up on him. She has taken matters into her own hands and found her way here.

               The event is listed as a beginner’s practica and held immediately after the intermediate practica in the same room hosted by Mariella Franganillo.

               If you’re thinking we’re just there to dance with a woman who is easily impressed with our superior dance skills because she knows nothing, you’re 100% correct! We’re guys, what’d you expect? Don’t answer that, I hate finding out what noble expectations readers have about men who dance tango.

               Anyhow, ‘the speech’ stops the music right in the middle of my hour in the spotlight with a doe-eyed lady from the Midwest or Brooklyn or like-I-care-where. It’s similar to having a car drive by as you’re making out with your sweetie on what you had thought was a desolate country road. If it passes too slowly she’ll come to her senses and button up her shirt:-(

               I can’t remember exactly what Fran says. I’ve only heard the speech twice. Basically, he says the guys had better start asking the tangueras who’ve been sitting for more than one tanda to dance or he’s going to get real mad, maybe knock over the Empire State Building or stomp on the George Washington Bridge with his giant reptilian foot.

               He gives ‘the speech’ because he’s the host and he’s a good one. He’s seeded the crowd with enough aspiring tango instructors and former students to attract a fairly large amount of novice tangueras which in turn attracts quite a few excellent leaders from the previous practica.

               These new girls would not stand a chance at Mariela’s practica. The women at that dance session are experienced tangueras in constant pursuit of invitations: switching positions, chatting up prospects, engaging them in the waiting area and, if need be, slipping into the dressing room to shed their bra, open a few shirt buttons and hike up that skirt just a little bit more.

               Get in your car and drive west for 2000 miles and you will find another, quite different tango scene in the town of Durango, Colorado.

               I am helping out here at the local practica. It was brought to my attention that not enough partner swapping was happening. That’s when I found myself pulling a Fran Chesleigh and delivering ‘the speech’. I’m still not sure what I said but it was pretty much on the lines of, “SWITCH PARTNERS!!!!”  They got the message and everybody was happy.

               All week I’ve been thinking about this partner not-swapping phenomenon. I kind of feel like the guys are getting a bad rap, like it’s their fault that they can’t let go of the tanguera they’re with. After much thought I’ve come to the conclusion that it is not their fault at all but they must shoulder the blame nonetheless.

               Let me explain.

               A single, middle-aged man arrives on the tango scene after a long hunt. He’s tracked his prey across the plains and deserts to the dusty wildernesses of ballroom dancing and the tequila-strewn nightclubs of salsa. He’s swung his arm off to one-step, two-step, three-fish, blue-fish. He’s country-danced with enough cowgirls to have seen all the cows come home.

               He’s learned the meaning of being alone in a crowd; something he never thought was possible.

               Until he found tango, this man was bored out of his gourd, seriously considering a life of solitude fixing fences out on the North Forty and maybe getting a dog or two. He finds the concept of practice new and exciting. Even more enticing is the repetition of dances with the same partner: no more one and done!

               Along comes a lovely lady sporting three-inch heels, a black dress and enough cleavage to make the Rocky Mountains jealous and this guy gets blamed for not switching partners! 

               Pashaw!!! I say!! 

               Any decent man raised right by his momma knows that woman are made of sugar and spice and everything nice but when she’s looking like that how can we do anything but lose our train of thought. We even lose our will power….because it’s no longer ours to control, it’s hers.

               Speaking for all the men engaged in the sport of tango dancing I announce to the world that we are onto your wiley schemes and flowery devices, ladies! We know we are the victims of your feminine guile………and we LOVE it!:-D We know that without you the scenery is a horizon of sage brush, fence posts and barbed wire. We’ll take that blame with pleasure because we cannot afford for you to go somewhere else. We’re too old to start another hunt and at our age we’re smart enough to know the importance of not spooking the quarry.

                 Is that the end of this post already? Okay, SWITCH PARTNERS!!!!


Note: Check out my new book on Amazon: Fear of Intimacy and the Tango Cure.

 Note: For an in-depth look into the mind of the Kayak Hombre, read his book, available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369366756&sr=1-1&keywords=River+tango

               

What Does A Gal Have To Do To Get A Dance Around Here?

               If you’re like most women you have one question in your mind when you enter a room full of dancers: where do I sit? As with all success stories, the key to a successful milonga experience is having lots of invitations to dance and the key to that is simple: location, location, location.

               For a leader with experience this is not such an important factor in the quality of my experience but for the follower it is everything. This weekend, at the Tucson Tango Festival, I had the chance to observe the impact of seating selection had on the dance cards of the women in our group.

               There are three seating sections to every dance hall: the near-side, the far-side and the side-side. Stage-side is reserved for TOAST (tangueras of advanced social talents;-)

               On our arrival we sat on the far-side. I like to sit over here, especially on the first night of a tango festival. I usually arrive after a full workday and a long car-ride or plane-ride. I need to relax, to allow the vibrations incurred during travel to seep out of my limbs and be replaced by the rhythms of tango music accompanied by the sight of tango dancers.

               The ladies with us did not get many dances outside the members of our own party. I danced with them as well as two tangueras sitting nearby. When I searched for new partners on the other sides of the room I was unsuccessful, too timid or uninterested. I am an unfortunate, nervous and picky person all in the same body;-)

               Sometimes I think the search for tangueras would be better accomplished with the aid of a hunting dog.  It could be useful in flushing out the ladies looking for Mr. Right from the women looking for Mr. Right Now. Mr. Right is always on the top of their list; the wandering Blond Arabian, a.k.a. Kayak Hombre, a.k.a. me, is seldom an obvious pick for an anonymous hookup. C’est la vie!

               The next night we sat in the same place and our ladies’ dance cards pretty much looked the same.

               On Sunday night we sat on the near-side because we arrived, accidentally, very early and there were many open tables. Maybe it was because the pond was stocked with many Free-Range Taxis, maybe the sun and the moon and the stars were all aligned (true, in this case, for two planets and the moon) but I’m fairly certain our seating had something to do with the success our tangueras had in getting dances that night.

               Fishing was so good for our ladies they couldn’t decide whether or not to accept a dance from Mr. Right or the Kayak Hombre. Twice I received this reply, “Yes, uh, wait, uh no, uh……yes, that’s a no.” That’s a woman who’s got Mr. Right on the line, thinks she’s lost him and then realizes she’s reeling him in:-(

               In case you’re wondering what a ‘Free-Range Taxi’ is I’ll tell you. It is a male friend/student/cousin/brother of the event organizer who a.) is a skilled tanguero; b.) is good-looking; c.) has a pony-tail; d.) all of the above. I think there were many of them seeded throughout the crowd and I believe they were taking live bait as well as artificial lures!

               Tangueras, it is important to note that the Free-Range Taxis at the Tucson Tango Festival could have been feral or hatchery dancers but they do not roam at all tango festivals. Don't take your chances on attending a festival where they haven't been spotted. Always check for blogger reviews on a particular city before purchasing your pass.

               Thanks again to the organizers of the Tucson Tango Festival. It was a great time with lots of superb instruction and lots of great dancing! For those of you planning attending a tango festival in the fall, their next event is in September and you can find it here: http://tucsontangofallfest.com/  and keep your eyes peeled for those Free-Range Taxis:-D

Note: Check out my new book on Amazon: Fear of Intimacy and the Tango Cure.

(For a more in-depth looking into the mind of the Kayak Hombre and his thoughts on tango, buy his book: River Tango, now available on Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527 )

I am working on a new book cover. Here is an advanced preview:-)

              

                

There’s Something Between Us and It Ain’t My Finger:-)

                 I overheard two women talking as they danced together as leader and follower, “Wow! You’re so skinny. It’s so nice dancing without that thing poking me." After an awkward silence she added, "...I mean the belly.”

               I’d take umbrage at that remark if I could but I am beyond feeling hurt by such honest and harmless utterances. Yes, I carry a little extra weight around the midsection yet I do not feel remorse for I have been enlightened.

               I’ve gained thirty pounds since I began dancing tango over six years ago. I guess I should be disheartened by this fact but I am not. It is common to gain a little weight when we begin a new relationship and I feel nothing but happy. Tango is a great partner to have on this journey through life and she feeds me well.

               I lost my job two years ago but that failed to impact my general state of happiness. With two kids in college I quickly ran through any financial buffer I had built up and should have been devastated when a storm ripped a hole in the roof of my house. Yet my house, as do I, still stands.

               If I had to offer an explanation for my ironclad bliss you will probably not be surprised if you know me, or have been following my blog, to find that it is tango and river-related:-)

               Once upon a time, when in April the rivers doth flow fast and furious, on the Lower Moose River that drains the western slope of the Adirondack Mountains, at a rapids section called ‘Froth Hole’,  in the middle of a blinding snow-storm, I was working as a whitewater river guide. It was my responsibility to man the safety line for the rafting guests. My boss and I both felt the most appropriate place was on a large rock protruding from the water, six feet off the far bank just above the waterfall that created the angry, foamy depression providing the namesake for this place.

               I kayaked across the river, climbed out of my boat and grabbed my throwbag, a small bag of coiled rope. Without hesitating, I dove into the frigid water to swim out to the nearby promontory and was nearly swept over the waterfall. I was not afraid of being carried into the frothy water. I knew that landing on the sharp rocks inside the drop would break my back and that would be much worse than slowly drowning in the churning river. Hypothermia, I’ve heard, makes drowning a much more pleasant concept.

               This was my second season as a guide on the Moose River and somewhere along the way I had lost the ability to react to my fear. I knew it was there but I ceased to make decisions with regard to my physical welfare. I acted as situations demanded, always moving forward to the next task. Those were long days that ended with extreme fatigue and me slipping into slumber, always to be awakened too soon.

               Reaching out my right hand I grasped the rock above the river’s surface and found smooth, solid ice. A thought went through my mind that I should find another job. At that moment I knew there was no way a whitewater rafting company was going to pay the hospital costs incurred during my rehabilitation from a broken back. The next task, it seemed, was finding a less dangerous environment in which to earn a living.

               It was in this moment that I achieved enlightenment.

               Beneath the water my head ached with intense pain. Instinctively my body attached to the submerged portions of the stone like plastic wrap. Without concern for my next breath I slithered up to the surface, straddled the peak and readied my rope.

               That was the beginning of the end of my career in adventure sports. A harrowing sailboat ride across the North Atlantic on a 40’ sloop through a force nine gale, around Hurricane Floyd and past the false lighthouse beacons of St. Thomas-Cruz Bay in the Caribbean Sea, would lead me to marriage and the safety of family life. 20 years later I would be on the far side of parenthood and looking at dancing my way into old age and senility.

               So here I am with my big belly bouncing babes off it like Bambi bumping bumble bees with his bovine-esque beak. My big Buddha belly. Ho, ho, ho, time to tango:-D  

               Though some may say this stone can’t roll and is growing moss, I hear them not. I am a body in motion and enjoying the movement in spite of my size. It is fairly safe here. The only danger I face is having my feelings hurt or a poorly executed turn on my bad knee.

               I realize women would rather dance with a perfect specimen of manliness but we come to this dance with the bodies we have, not the bodies we wish to have. In the grand scheme of things maybe it is necessary for me to be fat. It keeps me humble but it also allows some of my partners to shed their feelings of inadequacy. These women easily open themselves up to a state of relaxation that is necessary for them to move to the music and find whatever it is that they so desperately need.

                Karma has many forms and one of those forms is me. Don’t worry, be happy….and dance with me!

             
(For a more in-depth looking into the mind of the Kayak Hombre and his thoughts on tango, buy his book: River Tango, now available on Amazon.com at http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527 )

Why Women Buy Tango Shoes

               At practica a woman remarked that she only wanted to dance tango until she was skilled enough to buy tango shoes. I told her she could do that right away and thought it was a frivolous comment. Dancing with another woman I mentioned the remark and she agreed that it was best for a woman to hone her skills before buying the shoes. She added that buying the shoes might compel her to become adept at tango movement.

               Talking to another tanguera she likened the shoe purchase to wearing the ‘cylinder’ hat in dressage. She said wearing the cylinder while riding infers the rider has advanced skills and that to wear it without ability would leave the rider open to ridicule.

                There is something special about tango that piques a woman’s curiosity enough to compel her to engage in an endeavor that may take years to satiate her intellectual appetite and possibly her spiritual and emotional appetites as well. It is an awesome force indeed that inspires a woman to buy a pair of carrots to motivate her to pull her cart forward towards dexterity.

               During the course of practica tangueras will often sit and contemplate life while staring unconsciously at something that catches their eye. Sunday night there were not many as our small crowd was gender-balanced. When I followed the gaze of the few I did observe, it ended up in the same place: on another women’s high heels.

               My initial reaction to a woman’s obsession with shoes was that it was positively silly. The feeling is akin to watching a lady throw a baseball: she throws like a girl! Arghh! LOL!

               After six years of tango I can tell you that I don’t think that anymore. At a milonga I look to the shoes to find an experienced tanguera. If I dance with a woman who has great heels and find that she can’t even walk in them then I think she is a slut, only here to get laid.

               This is not the case at practica. A woman at practica is familia. I treat her like a sister and do everything I can to help her find her balance in these strange contraptions she’s strapped to her feet.

               Mostly I write as an advisor for men entering tango but today I offer my advice, worth what it costs, to the tangueras out there. It is my belief that men react instinctively, negatively, when exposed to a woman’s attraction to high heels. Though we may skoff and/or ridicule, know this one fact to be true: we absolutely, positively LOVE to see you wearing them! At a primal level, seeing a lady in the shoes turns us on; so buy the shoes and don’t worry about what’s playing in men’s brains. If you could see inside our heads you wouldn’t know if you were reading our thoughts or watching the nature channel.

 Note: For an in-depth look into the mind of the Kayak Hombre, read his book, available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369366756&sr=1-1&keywords=River+tango

Those Annoying Hardons

                I published this one without advertising but I feel the need to let it out to cyberspace in case someone who needs to know might find it useful.

               One time a beautiful tanguera confided in me that every time she danced with one particular man, he always got aroused. She said she found it very annoying and most disrespectful.

               Five years later it occurs to me that her annoyance did not prevent her from accepting his invitations over and over again:-D



Note: Check out my new book on Amazon: Fear of Intimacy and the Tango Cure.

 Note: For an in-depth look into the mind of the Kayak Hombre, read his book, available on Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/River-Tango-perri-iezzoni/dp/1453865527/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1369366756&sr=1-1&keywords=River+tango