Salsa Saturday and Sunday and Monday

It's almost a year now since I started taking salsa lessons at the studio here in Austin. I could never have imagined what it would feel like, and how I would be a year later. I probably would have expected more, quicker, but as it is, there's been steady progress. I've come a long way, I've way, way further to go. But it's been in increments that I can't even really delineate. For months I couldn't spin, and now I can. There are still others much better than me, and plenty worse. I navigate through the classes trying to keep up with the guys who are pushing me, and instructing the others that are getting their feet wet. It's great. Still challenging. Still totally invigorating. And pushing it up to the next level. Some Sunday nights now I head out after 10pm to the local club where others from my studio gather. It takes all my energy to walk in the door. But once there, it's tremendous fun to dance with the familiars. These strangers are strangers still, but we're connected with a kind of kindness and shared interest. In the off moments I steel myself from the humiliation, "Ugh no one to dance with. Why are they all dancing with her? (even though I know the answer to that one...). It's OK to sit and watch. It's OK."

Saturday I went to a two hour workshop in the middle of the day. A room full of women, almost all younger, almost all thinner. And we worked on styling. Owning the look of the dance. Using our shoulders, and arms, fingers extended, body rolls and hips moving. It's hard! It's hard not to feel like an idiot. At the same time, if you don't make the effort, you don't look great. The challenge is to ride out that middle period - before you look good, still working on it. I tell my daughter later, "you could think me ridiculous for trying in this room full of younger women, or you could think, 'this is great my mom is working on this.'" "I think it's great," she responds.

Later in the evening, after The Simpsons Movie with John, I head out again for the monthly salsa social. Each moment these days more precious as the most talented teacher is leaving soon for NYC. I haven't been since December or January. As always, I worry whether I'll have partners. But it's fine. I do. I dance so much the back of my neck and hair are completely wet. It's fun! There are two guys I dance with who know my level, and are sheer joy. With the others, I struggle up and down. The better guys are looking for something I don't exactly know how to follow. The newer, just trying to keep the beat and manage some simple moves. I'm happy to help them through. Back leading when necessary or just following to help them gain confidence. Once and awhile there's a shared glance and respectful distance. I know the guys see me, I try to emote that it's OK they're not asking me to dance. Other times I just stand and watch - digging the more talented. Both trying to learn and just enjoying the show. The star teacher and her partner insanely fabulous. When I head out @ 12:45 I feel invigorated and good. Proud I put myself out there and enjoyed myself.

Sunday I feel warmed up as the regular class starts. Monday, more exhilaration kicks in with Salsa 3, then 2 back to back. I'm trying to soak it all in before this special teacher moves on. Of course yes, there are other talented teachers at the studio but Azucena is amazing, both in her performance and teaching. I'm kicking myself that I wasn't ready earlier to add the On2 classes on Wednesday nights or sign up for the boot camp. I wish I could have pushed up earlier. But it just didn't work out. I had Monday night conflicts, as well as a natural learning curve.

But it's all cool here almost a year later. I'm so glad I started. I'm so glad I stuck with it. I'm excited to continue.

Friday Night Lights HEB style

A Friday night trip to the local HEB totally worth it!. Check out that Texas sky.

Werner Herzog - a genius, a treasure

I'm just crazy about Werner Herzog's work, and really love his voice. Listening right this minute to Terry Gross interviewing him on Fresh Air about his new film Rescue Dawn. We were able to see the film at the Austin Film Festival back in Oct. It's harrowing and compelling with stellar performances by Christan Bale and Steve Zahn. Definitely recommended.

Check out the interview on podcast/streaming if you can. I love hearing him talk about almost anything, but I particularly love statements like this,

"It wasn't that bad, it was fairly bad, but it could have been much worse. We both had malaria and other tropical diseases...but that's OK - you go through things like that."

This is me = Transition Anxiety

This is me. From Oprah's August issue by Martha Beck:

Emma is a poster girl for Newton's first law of motion: Once she starts doing something, she just keeps doing it until acted upon by some external force. Each day when Emma's alarm clock rings, she drowsily hits the snooze button several times. The shower, when she finally gets there, is so steamy and fragrant, she lingers twice as long as strictly necessary. She dresses hurriedly, only to check the mirror and change. And so it goes: Coffee savoring takes 15 minutes; lipstick experimentation, five minutes; car key searching, another 10. Emma often arrives at the office late—but that's okay, because once there, she works into the night, until an external force in the form of her frustrated husband calls to see if she's alive. Emma stays up late to offer compensatory companionship, ensuring that in the morning, when the alarm clock rings, she'll be too tired to get up.


People either think Emma is an inconsiderate laggard or they shrug off her chronic difficulty making transitions, give her lavish time cushions, and judge her based on anything but punctuality. There's a key difference between people who become irritated with Emma and those who share Emma's inability to segue from one thing to the next. (continued)

Who knew there was a name for it? I realized years ago that it wasn't just that I tended to be late or couldn't keep track of time. It's that I'm usually happiest wherever I am. The next thing is less important. I'm just not restless that way. It's more of a Be Here Now. And isn't that the zen goal? That's the rationalization anyway. In practice, it's a real mixed bag.

Errol Morris - great new blog/essay on truth and photos

Erroll Morris is one of the most gifted minds of our generation. His films are in a class of their own. Check out this first in what's going to be a NYT series entitled Zoom: A Filmmaker Uncovers the Hidden Truths of Photos.

July 10, 2007, 2:14 pm

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire

By Errol Morris

Pictures are supposed to be worth a thousand words. But a picture unaccompanied by words may not mean anything at all. Do pictures provide evidence? And if so, evidence of what? And, of course, the underlying question: do they tell the truth?

I have beliefs about the photographs I see. Often – when they appear in books or newspapers – there are captions below them, or they are embedded in explanatory text. And even where there are no explicit captions on the page, there are captions in my mind. What I think I’m looking at. What I think the photograph is about.

I have often wondered: would it be possible to look at a photograph shorn of all its context, caption-less, unconnected to current thought and ideas? It would be like stumbling on a collection of photographs in a curiosity shop – pictures of people and places that we do not recognize and know nothing about. I might imagine things about the people and places in the photographs but know nothing about them. Nothing. (continued)

Thanks to Anthony Kaufman's always interesting blog for the tip.

How Many Producers Does it Take to?

My good friend Anita writes:

Can I ask you something? We were watching Entourage tonight and as always we joke about how many producers there are - executive, co-executive, associate, etc. etc. Is that a joke they do or for real?

I love this - that she actually thought it could be a put on. After I explained it to her - all the various roles that producers can play, whether it's bringing dollars, or the deal, the idea, or the physical logistics. How TV is even more of a producer's medium, therefore enabling even more producer credits. She responded:

Well my kids will be impressed that I actually will be able to answer the question about the producers. The list goes on and on and then it finally says "Produced by..." as if all the earlier producers didn't actually do any work. Who knows.

Funny to hear the feedback from the lay world - although, it's not as though we're not sitting there counting them up ourselves, wondering who's really doing all the work.

Bastille Day, my daughter turns 20

On Saturday my daughter turned 20. That's 20 years for me as a mom. While the passage of time has always been notable, the birthday celebrations have not. I probably have too much of my own birthday baggage. Slumber parties gone horribly wrong with crying fits from jealousy and social insecurities. For years I did throw her parties but I don't remember them being that much fun. The memories are of stress and relief, not joy. Although it was amusing to let the girls camp out in the Split Screen RV one year when it was parked by the house. Then she was often away at sleep away camp. Last year she was working. The year before grounded.

This Bastille Day, light years away from any other in terms of personal learning curve and growth, she originally planned to throw a bbq at her new place. Starting later than expected, we decided instead to have brunch before I treat her to the food shopping. Kerbey Lane for migas con queso w/ verde sauce on the side. We take our time, the three of us (including the live-in boyfriend) having too good a time to do anything else. We end up back at the house, hanging with Dad and bro w/ some of his friends, relaxed, happy, good to all be together. After a short break, we re-convene for dinner at Dona Emilios for delicious food and pitchers of Mojitos. John leaves us, G's girlfriend takes his place, and we crack up at Maestro - the comedy improv competition show at the Hideout. It's funny to be at this little event at my daughter's suggestion, comparing where we laugh and don't. A moment for me to tag along in their life together. Then out for after drinks at the Elephant Bar - meeting up with a graffiti artist pal of the bf. He has a totally cool look - black hat, fabulous strong graphic tee. We admire his newest badass tattoo. Listen while the guys talk about "back in the day." I'm seeing my daughter in her life. Enjoying it all.

Dropping me off at home (after Claudette's sums up my mothering: "Your mom's great! Doesn't say anything about the fake ID and the drinks out, but she's complaining about the open glass of water in your car!" - which was dead on - I was appalled at the open glass in the console, filled with water. Hadn't they ever heard of water bottles? But I digress....) dropping me off at my house, while the bf steps outside to pee, my daughter gives me a hug and says, 'This was the best birthday ever!" I'm touched, and humbled, appreciative and grateful.

Sports Names making us laugh

I'm not a sports follower for the most part, save the NBA finals and getting caught up in some local football now that I live in Texas, but today John pointed out this site which really made me laugh. He was talking about it spurred on by a column in today's Statesman about how there are no nicknames in sports anymore. Apparently, this broadcaster Chris Berman (ESPN) has been making an effort for years. Here are a few favorites but it's worth checking out the entire list.

Rene Kook Arocha
Jesse Belly Up to the Barfield
Bobby Bad to the Bonilla
Jeff Dedmon Don't Wear Plaid
AJ Touchy Feeley
Jay See Me Feeley

Check it out:

Glamour empowering women filmmakers via rookie celebs

I knew Gwyneth Paltrow had directed a short film but didn't know (or more likely remember) that it was for Glamour Magazine. Anne Thompson blogged about this today, linking to her more thorough Variety article. It's an interesting initiative, all the most interesting because it seems to be working to expand Glamour's audience while it's giving women directors practical hands on experience. This time readers were invited to submit essays. The selected winners provide the material for the celeb rookie directors. Women directors will also be invited to apply for a filmmaking grant. It's not the first time a corporation has attempted to tie in with the glamour (pun not intended but it works...) of filmmaking for it's own ends, but this seems to strike a strong balance on both sides.

Anima Rising - so what!

From one of my favorite Joni Mitchell's songs, "Don't Interrupt the Sorrow." (unfair to excerpt, it's so great), -- "Anima rising - So what!" echoing in my head as I feel my own anger rising. Christine Northrup, in the very beginning of her introduction to "The Wisdom of Menopause" writes,

In the year or two before I actually started to skip periods, I began to experience an increasingly common feeling of irritability whenever my work was interrupted or I had to contend with a co-worker or employee who was not as committed to accomplishing the job as I was. Looking back, I recall that when I was in my thirties and my children were younger, their interruptions when I was in the middle of writing an article or talking on the phone were only mildly irritating to me. My love and concern for their welfare usually overrode any anger or frustration I might have felt.
But as I approached menopause, I found myself unable to tolerate distractions like my eighteen-year-old asking me, "When is dinner?" when she could clearly see I was busy."

It's not a work thing so much for me, but clearly a rising intolerance aimed at those closest. For years I've been on the receiving end of that. The outburst of anger. Odd now to be the instigator. Maybe I should know better. Maybe it's unavoidable. This morning John asks, "So what about summer travel? Where would you like to go all things being equal?" And I become furious. Because in my view, things are not all equal. We've still got a 17-year-old at home, how can we pretend we have the freedom? But then of course I know what comes next. He'll start calling others, make some plans, will take off (which he can because he doesn't have to worry about leaving the son alone), and I'll be pissed off. Not exactly pissed off that I can't go because leaving a 17-year-old unchaperoned (even a great one!) isn't a great idea, but pissed at the charade that I had a choice.

In another instance I lashed out at a friend who I thought wasn't telling me the truth. He probably perceived it as a white lie. But to me that's the dividing line between those closer and less close. With the close, you're more straight, the honesty is the essence. In my code, white lies are for acquaintances. Yes, I'm aware that some others might see that exactly the opposite. But not me. Not right now.

It's going to be a challenging phase.

"Anima rising
Uprising in me tonight
She's a vengeful little goddess
With an ancient crown to fight"