having fun.

wishing you were here.

The Professor had his way with Maryanne tonight. 2 sets of dances, 4 in each set, back to back sets. My brain couldn't register where my water bottle was when he was finished with me.

"Keep your hips parallel."

"You're flaccid."

"You're over thinking."

I kept my eyes on his chest the entire time, my concentration never wavered. I still fucked up frequently. Every once in a while I got him to smile.......like the one time I commented "You don't get paid enough to do this." The Professor is a boon to some of us in the Argentine Community. You have to be tough, smart and really really really wanting to learn this dance in the shortest time possible to appreciate him. Argentine isn't about egalitarianism. It isn't about having fun and being half-assed throwing your energy around willy-nilly on the dance floor. Argentine can appear misogynistic, rigid, too much like a strict ballet class to warrant driving across town at the end of a long day....and calling it "fun".

I realized something today. The epiphany began earlier during my rehearsal with Ken Beare (the tenor). I thrive on very steep learning curves. I love being intimidated, but only if I really really really want to learn whatever it is I'm going after. During rehearsal Ken was expounding on his burgeoning love affair with golf - something he's been doing for 3 years now. I expounded on how I gave up golf because it brought out the worst in me: I'd lie, cheat, steal, swear (well.....okay, I do that anyway), wrap clubs around trees etc. BUT I conceded that IF I took it up again I'd stick to the driving range, the putting range and the practice chipping green for at least 6 months, with a teacher, before hitting an actual course again. I approach the things I'm driven to kill......I mean LEARN, the same way I approach Music: Single mindedly, no hostages.

At the end of the second set of dances this evening, I managed to eke out a compliment from The Professor. I started to respond by thanking HIM for being such a great teacher and then I stopped and told him I was taking the compliment because I worked hard for it.

"So did I" said he.

Ken Beare (the tenor with whom I do Winterreise) and I began rehearsing again today. We grilled Marek Harris' piece "5 Secular Songs" and ran Ravel's "5 Greek Songs". You know, I have a thing for Ravel like I have a thing for Bach. I never caught the Debussy or Saint Saens bug but Ravel makes me drool like Homer Simpson, even over "Bolero" - which, btw, he felt garnered an inanely over the top response from the audience, much like Dukas felt about "Sorcerer's Apprentice", probably much like Bobby McFerrin feels about "Don't Worry, Be Happy". All three of these men are brilliant composers who are known for their most trivial pieces in their repertoire of composition.

I've been humming Ravel's opening to his Piano Trio in a-minor all afternoon. It's a piece inspired by his Basque roots. Get this, Ravel's father was a Swiss engineer, his mother was Basque. I have a friend who's father is Norwegian and mother is Cajun. I feel the same way about Ravel that I feel about my friend: How in the hell do you house that combination?

Recently a very young composer emailed me, asking me to look at his scores. I loved his sincere courteousness, his openness, his drive. I was not immediately taken with his scores; too many notes, no discernible content that spoke to me.

This morning I had a conversation with my friend from Wisconsin. We got to the bit about this composer after rehashing "4 Minutes" - his favorite music movie. Friend pointed out to me that I am a miner. I am mining for gold in these scores. Friend slipped and phrased it "you can sit around waiting for obvious genius to come to you or you can dig in and do the work when your hunch tells you it might be there but your ear can't hear it". I needed to hear that.

This young composer's output won't be the first time I wrestle with something based only on a hunch that has nothing to do with the acoustics of the score. Brent Weaver's piece "Legends" was like a bad marriage. I fought that thing and cursed it and was everything an abusive spouse is toward it..........but I stayed in. And it panned out beautifully. It's a genius work but I had to mine hard and stay with it.

And truthfully, Winterreise did not overwhelm me initially. I'd like to make the cliche statement that the good stuff grows on one, but Milhaud's Sonate was immediate, as was Poulenc's Sextet, as was Svoboda's op. 124 and 126.

Yesterday I did a 10 mile hike in Eagle Creek with a couple of friends of mine. The ensuing insomnia was something to behold. The day before I painted my ceiling and hallway (I love the color, and the new primer and paint all in one from Behr rivals Devine). Then I Contra-Danced. The ensuing insomnia was a beautiful thing. The day before I can't remember what I did but I'm sure it resulted in insomnia. Today will be a continuation of the pattern.

I love summer and sun and heat. The only down side is the over generated energy, making it difficult to ratchet down and sleep.

On the menu for today: Bringing back to the practice schedule Marek Harris' work for tenor and piano in addition to the usual suspects. Also - must cut in the hallway and start the high gloss white on the doors and baseboard.

If I had not become a pianist, I would have become a painter of interiors.

Once again, Argentine Tango was heavenly tonight. Although I did not have a private lesson, I did attend the beginners class and followed it with 5 sets of dances - 4 in each set. I once again got to dance with last week's dream leader. I also scored 2 sets with one of my favorite dance professors.

I'm going to miss Argentine next week. I scheduled the first rehearsal with the woodwinds on the Milhaud and the Poulenc at the same time as Argentine.

Sometimes it sucks to be me.

I was driving around with a friend the other day. Friend is extremely bright, funny, opinionated, and constantly engaging his mind - learning Spanish or Electrical Engineering or Classical Physics....... We were discussing religion. He grew up in an American Conservative Fundamentalist church (don't remember which one). He also grew himself out of that sect. He carries the seeds of discontent toward all brainwashing religions. Enter the Catholics! Oh boy, I heard an earful.

Now, I have a friend in Milwaukee, Wisconsin. Friend is extremely bright, funny, opinionated, and constantly engaging his mind - learning cello, different ways of teaching in the classroom, Education Theory - AND applying all this. This friend is a staunch practicing Catholic. Always in a state of Contrition because.........well........he's a 6 foot 3 Sicilian, with a mouth that always gets him in trouble. He is also one of my few real life heroes. He teaches music in the Milwaukee Public School system, the worst school system in the country. He is housed in inner city schools relaying unbelievable conditions and daily shit going on amongst the kids. He has turned out programs under these conditions that would rival El Sistema in Venezuela. Before this life he went out and championed and commissioned real music for electric guitar. Music that was written (so that we don't have to try and lift Hendrix's solos). I have given him the ultimate compliment: That I feel genderless when conversing with him.

So, while driving with first friend, talking about second friend, first friend pipes up "Why don't you ask him whether he agrees with the Pope about women being ordained in the Church being a sin equal to alter boys being fucked in the ass?"

Y'know...... If I cared about hierarchical structures, maybe this whole issue would piss me off. I care more that there is a hero out there changing the world in more ways than one.

My Argentine Tango partner is out of the state attending a family funeral. It came up suddenly enough that I was left with attending solo a private lesson for which I'd signed up both of us. ATP (Argentine Tango Partner) is my courage. WAS my courage. ATP is a Viennese Waltz junkie and Argentine does nothing for him. Argentine scares the hell out of me, mesmerizes me, seduces me, messes with my head and a couple of hundred other things........none of them bucolic.

So last Wednesday I met with my Argentine Tango instructor at 6pm. The room was frigid with air conditioning. I was glad I layered. Five minutes into the lesson I was dripping sweat. I was glad I layered. Argentine reminds me a lot of Ballet. It's extremely controlled. Every part of the body engages, hence the brain is busy managing about 5 kazzillion muscle movements simultaneously. My lesson lasted one hour. My brain lasted about 45 minutes. My instructor is so damned good that I forgot to be afraid, or else my brain decided that the energy it took to fuel my fear was better spent focused on my feet which refused to do anything but an ugly hard core ballet turnout (which is lovely in ballet but absolutely hideous in Argentine).

After my private lesson I stayed for the beginners group class, another hour. This time I could ratchet down a bit and really concentrate on walking backwards, relaxing and letting my partners (in the class) subtly shift weight. No doubt, I salivate over the great dancers. I am hell bent on achieving enough mastery over my body and the form and flourishes of this dance to be able to be sought after by these great dancers. As it now stands, I feel fortunate that some of them even attend these beginners classes and give us a taste of what a great leader feels like - and I thank them often.

I stayed and danced 3 sets with 3 different partners. Each set had 4 dances. It is proper etiquette to dance all the dances of the set with the same partner. I am not a fan of traditional Argentine Tango music. In fact, I hate it. But, in the arms of a great leader, which my first partner was, I forgot totally about the music and remembered how truly sexy this dance is. I momentarily confused infatuation with brilliant dancing. I momentarily lost myself in a forward ocho when I slid my cheek across his, turning my face to rest my forehead against his cheekbone so that I had a bit more balance. I could feel his skin radiating heat just a hair's breadth away from my lips. I've always said this dance is a game of chess. I almost lost my Queen.