Cryptic Ember

Bad dog

2008-03-23T11:19:00.003-04:00

Basics of training a dog to come.

Rule #1. Don't punish him when he does come.

People make this mistake with their dogs all the time. Rover, come! Come here, Rover. Dang you, get over here, Rover.

You roll up a newspaper. Rover sees the newspaper and thinks, why, that would be fun to fetch. Maybe she'll throw it.

Come, Rover!

Rover trots over, and WHACK, you smack him in the nose. Bad dog, Rover! Bad. Why didn't you come before?

Rover gets the message. Whatever you do don't come over to this one.

Floating islands

2008-03-20T12:31:00.001-04:00

I danced with F and M last night. I can tell you that one is calm and elegant. I can tell you that the other is experimental and excitable. I know both of them very deeply. I know which tangos they like and which notes they like to accent. I know how they embrace me. I know their scent. I could recognize them in the dark.

I've known them for years.

I have no idea what their last names are. I don't know what they do for a living. Isn't it interesting how close and yet meanwhile how isolated we dancers are?

I work at my job to make a living. It's a fulfilling job. I'm happy doing it.

But my destination is the milonga.

You could say that I work in order to dance. On the other hand, you could also say that I dance in order to work.

Creature in captivity

2008-03-16T16:28:00.007-04:00

I am a creature in captivity.

Every time I enter a milonga, I am a creature in captivity. Never mind that I have already paid my entrada. If I thought that I could listen to music, talk to friends, and dance in peace, that would show how little I know about the transaction that really took place.

Not only am I a prospective customer before entering a milonga, I remain one once I've paid and I'm in the door. I'm a prospective purchaser of shoes, jewelry, lessons, tarot readings, rummage, and cruises. I'm a creature in captivity subject to the mercy of harpies and hucksters. The selling never stops, even though I've already paid.

I'm never sure whether I'm in a milonga or a bazaar.

The New Yorker published a sensational short story by Hari Kunzru called "Raj, Bohemiam" about monetizing personal connections. Nowhere is it more relevent than our world of tango.

You know who you are

2008-03-15T13:16:00.002-04:00

You know who you are, but you don't know who I am.

I saw you then. You found me and we knew that we are actors. We shed the roles we play by day.

We moved together and then we parted.

I saw you last night, but you took on a new role, a character who never knew me. I saw you then, but this time you did not find me.

You know who you are, but you don't know who I am.