I've talked a lot about dancing and how much I love dancing, and I've also disappeared from this site a lot because I've been driving 2 hours to go dancing a couple times a week now. So, what is it that I am spending so much of my time doing, you may ask?

 

Well, on Saturday, I did a social blues demo and taught a workshop at a shopping mall with a dude named Chris, with whom I've been dancing for... not very long. (BTW, a "social demo" means that it's unchoreographed and unrehearsed. It's entirely lead/follow.) We have a good connection, but we don't read each other perfectly yet. There are a lot of technique issues that we need to work out because we come from different technical backgrounds, but for people who are just getting to know each other's "dance language," it went great. And the people at the workshop were THRILLED with us, which was awesome. I'm only sorry that we didn't tape some of the dances we did later that night at the party.

 

Ergo, I present to you, blues dancing. If you can find it in your area, or near your area, I highly recommend it.

 

 

 

/www.youtube.com/v/9_JHGi3PYp4&hl=en_US&fs=1&\""> x-shockwave-flash\"" src="\">

I spent Saturday and Sunday with my friends Chris and J at their house, which is a goodly ways from mine. They are currently roommates in what can only be described as a (and somewhat icky) bachelor pad, though J is preparing to move. Chris is 30, and J is 20, though it is often difficult to see any real difference between their maturity levels. I'm not entirely sure if this speaks highly of J, or poorly of Chris, though I suspect it's somewhere in the middle.

 

Saturday night, they played poker while I went salsa dancing. I came back at 2, and Chris, having lost early, was drunk and sleeping on one of the couches in his living room. J, sober and having won the game, provided me with some blankets and a pillow so that I could crash on the other couch. See what I mean? Who's 30 and who's 20?

 

Sunday afternoon, we went for a hibachi lunch at a Japanese restaurant, and trouble was had. Not by me, mind you. I'm sweet. Chris and J ordered two EXTREMELY different sushi rolls, but received two of the same kind. However, they did not notice the mistake until partway through the rolls (um, hello, boys... wake up...), at which point they mentioned this to the server.

 

Oh, dear.

 

At this point, it's the server's job to clear things up, and get it done ASAP. But no. Confusion, confusion, confusion. The server checked the ticket, checked the rolls, brought out the correct roll, and then left. Then he returned stating that his manager had asked him to (get this) TAKE BACK THE EXTRA SUSHI. Um...? For what purpose? It was just going to go to waste, and it was the server's mistake. Seriously? Well, okay.

 

It felt kind of... petty and vengeful, but all right.

 

The ticket came, and Chris noticed the discrepancy between the price on the actual menu (more expensive), the paper sushi menu ($1.25 cheaper), and the receipt (he'd been charged the more expensive price), WHICH -- by the way -- he noticed before he ordered and could ABSOLUTELY have asked about prior to ordering. *le sigh* Being miffed over the mistake, the collected remains of his mistaken sushi, and the perceived injustice of it all, he told the server about the discrepancy and said he wouldn't pay the more expensive price. This is America, after all, people. If we are to be liberated from anything, it is mispriced sushi. Apparently.

 

The server returned from a(nother) meeting with the manager and said that the actual menu was more up-to-date than the single page sushi menu. Chris was now upset over "the principle of the thing" and let the server know that it is very wrong to hand out outdated menu literature. The server scurried off, again.

 

For the love of GOD.

 

Chris was hoping that the manager would come over so that he could vehemently and verbosely express his displeasure with this experience. Never mind that our server had graciously bestowed upon us both an apology for the manager's rudeness and three dishes of tasty sherbet, which we neither ordered, nor were charged for. I was like, "Chris, if the manager comes over, and checks the tickets, he's going to ask for our sherbet back, and charge us for it, and potentially get very angry at our server. Shut up and pay the buck twenty-five. Hell, I will pay the buck twenty-five."

 

Luck was on our side, because we had time to finish our sherbet and give our dishes to the busser before the manager appeared and told Chris very gruffly that he'd adjusted the price, before he seemingly Disapparated.

 

I left a very large tip on my $13 check, and I've never been so glad to get out of a place. My question to you is:

 

Do you often pitch a snot-slinging shit fit at a restaurant? For what reasons? Principles? Money? Where do you draw the line? After you've thrown down and acted like an ass, do you show your face there again?

 

When people think of sonnets, they usually think of Shakespeare and romance. Well, this is a Robert Frost sonnet about immersion, I think. If you take it too literally and apply it only to the experience of running off into the woods, then I think you miss the greater picture. There are a lot of different ways to immerse yourself in something to... fortify, maybe... your identity or your spirituality or a skill you wanted to perfect... some experiences more intense than others. But if you've ever done anything like that, maybe this poem will speak to you. I love the rhyming couplet at the end; I think it's powerful.

Into My Own

One of my wishes is that those dark trees,

So old and firm they scarcely show the breeze,

Were not, as 'twere, the merest mask of gloom,

But stretched away unto the edge of doom.

I should not be withheld but that some day

Into their vastness I should steal away,

Fearless of ever finding open land,

Or highway where the slow wheel pours the sand.

I do not see why I should e'er turn back,

Or those should not set forth upon my track

To overtake me, who should miss me here

And long to know if still I held them dear.

They would not find me changed from him they knew--

Only more sure of all I thought was true.

If you're a teen and you're easily offended, skip this post, because I'm gonna rag on teenagers. Or maybe you want to read it, because I'm gonna rag on teenagers, and you feel like defending your demographic.

For awhile I was tutoring a 16 y/o young lady in geometry so that she could raise her grade up from failing to a C, in order to be allowed by her parents to get her learner's permit and eventually her driver's license. (This was a steep task considering she did not understand basic algebra.) She was the daughter of a friend of a friend, so I felt it was my duty to assist this young lady. And hey, I was on my school's varsity Mathcounts team in junior high, so I was actually good at math at one point in my life.

She was a stereotypical teenager. She texted the entire time she was in my company, with the exception of during the actual hour of tutoring, during which I forced her to put the phone on silent. (She still checked it multiple times.) When I picked her up from school, she texted. While I was driving, she texted. The one time we went for a walk after tutoring for "exercise" (her idea), she texted. She told me her friends were exactly the same way. They basically text their way through school, waiting for the day to be over, and then they chat their way through the evening --- unless of course they work, in which case they also text their way through their jobs. I cannot even begin to imagine what earth-shattering conversations they are having via these deep and meaningful virtual media.

I suppose this explains why I can't get decent service at restaurants anymore or why my coffee is always cold. It's too tough to be on top of refilling my water or making fresh coffee. Texting the jackass guy from geometry class who's contributing to your failing grade is more important. By the way, I have waited many tables in my life, and I NEVER used a phone when I was on the floor.

Why are teens (and young adults) so incapable of unplugging and being UNAVAILABLE for a few hours a day? It's like they don't consider their time precious. They can't take control of it and deal it out in small doses. Why can't they stop obsessively checking and responding for a bit? They look so desperate. Hey, I'm always here, waiting for you, just in case you want to talk to me. Yep, still here. Just checked 3 seconds ago, but you didn't text me then. Maybe now. Okay, maybe not. How about... NOW. Damn. Honestly, it's kind of equivalent to being an easy lay. The person who isn't always available tends to look more... respectable? less... pathetic? Besides which, being unavailable renders things to talk next time that a person IS, in fact, available.

Sometimes it's really important to say NO, rather than saying YES all the time. Sometimes it's good to ignore your phone or chat for a little awhile. Sometimes it's REALLY important to be the person who says goodbye.

It really wasn't until I was running one day that I realized how anti-teenage texting I am. I was crossing the street, where I had the right of way, when I was almost hit by a girl who was texting with both hands and not looking at the road. Sure, she was only driving about 1 mile per hour pulling up into the crosswalk, but it's the principle. Her passenger yelled something, and I think it scared the bejeezus out of her. But whatever, I'm sure she didn't actually learn anything.

At that point, I really had second thoughts about helping my mathematically-disinclined student get on the road. Seriously? Do I want this walking blind spot on the road? I mean, COME ON, if teens can't put down the phone for 20 minutes to get from Point A to Point B, they should not be allowed to drive. Somebody should invent a device that turns off their phones when they plug in the keys.

With all this talk about the Redhead Gathering at the Dublin Irish Festival, it got me thinking about how much I love festivals. Festivals of all shapes and sizes. Art festivals. Wine festivals. Music festivals. Produce Festivals (grape fest, apple fest, etc). It doesn't hurt that a lot of these festivals have 5Ks and 10Ks for me to run and sunshine and places to dance and things to eat and goodies to browse. How can you not enjoy a festival, unless you're one of those mole people with the translucent skin who permanently parks it in front of your computer eating ramen all day? (GET OUT, person. There's a whole other world outside of your laptop screen.)

But no other festival I've ever gone to (or will probably ever go to) will compare with Burning Man. I just don't think it's possible. Bonnaroo looks pretty cool and has awesome music, but I'm pretty sure that involves mosquitos, and you have to pay for showers. At Burning Man, there's a water truck that drives by each morning and people just run out of their tents naked for a rinse. Meh, seems cheaper and saves water.

In 2007, I was living with a (slightly batty) young lady about my age who had a pretty dreary outlook on life, shall we say. She was lonely, and I did my effing best to find this lady a gentleman friend. So, I took her to a blues house party in the city with me and introduced her to a guy I sort of knew. Well, she felt ass over tin can in love with him. Unfortunately, they had not.one.thing in common.

He loved social dancing. She had to be dragged off the couch to go.
He loved gardening and cooking. She despised dirt and getting messy in the kitchen.
He loved hiking and camping. She was lazy.
He loved Burning Man. She didn't even know what it was and had no interest in finding out.

 

But I did!

We were all hanging out at his house one night, and he mentioned Burning Man. I was fascinated at the idea of an entire city being erected in the desert for, like 10 days that purportedly leaves no trace when it's gone. No exchange of money? No bartering? Free gifting without an expectation of return in kind? Radical self-reliance and self-expression? Civic responsibility? Immediacy? Ideals that everyone who goes buys into. Dude, this was what I needed in life right then --- something to challenge myself and my identity. And... crazy costumes? I WANTED TO GO. My roommate was horrified at the idea of sleeping in a tent with playa (ply-uh, not play-uh) dust between her toes. As my roommate drifted off to sleep on his couch (yeah, I know... weird to me, too), he and I talked about it. He was willing to let me stay in his camp for a weekend of Burning Man experience, since I didn't have vacation days from work. Sweet.

I won't go into tremendous detail about what happened there, because I have so many stories. It involved a lot of sunscreen, sunglasses, a dustmask (totally necessary), a crappy bike, heat, tiny clothes (and more sunscreen), a LOT of darkness, some fear, lots of dancing, great music, an Irish pub in the middle of an alkali desert, a bike-powered monkey zoetrope with strobe lights, watching some large things burn, spending burn night in with three super-fun people, and letting go of a lot of the shit that had been going on in my life. Oh yeah, and being completely humbled by all of the insanely amazing and talented people around me.

 

People told me ahead of time that I would be blown away, so I was kind of expecting to have fun, but it was so much more than that. I will simply say that what I saw, experienced, and felt really changed how I view myself and how I view other people. It also taught me that Utopian societies based are kind of... a fantasy. What makes the Black Rock City (what the BM city is called) work is that the people who go buy into the principles heart and soul. You can't make it work if everyone doesn't buy into it. It's an opt-in community. People who don't believe that everyone should both rely on themselves for survival in the desert and yet will support others who are in need and give of themselves freely... don't go. But if you tried to force the Burning Man principles on an entire nation of people, it would fail. You can't force people to have the exact same set of principles. The people who suck everyone else dry and the people who can't give without expecting SOMETHING back would ruin the experience for everyone. So, while I loved living that way while I was there... it's just not reality, and I've found a goodly number of other Burners who feel the same way.

I will also say that the most surreal and joyful experience for me was having an entire CROWD of Burners simultaneously break out into the song "Reunited" when I picked up my lost car keys at lost and found. We're talking a city of close to 50,000 people. Getting my keys back was, like, unfathomable to me. When I got to the front of the line, and there they were, in a huge box of TONS of car keys, the guy manning the table said, "You found them? Hey, she found hers!" Then the people behind me started singing, "Reuinted and it feels so good, reuinited cause we understood..." And then everybody joined in. Not even joking. In that moment I went from "ohmigod, I'm stuck in the desert, I'm never going to get out of here," to "ohmigod, I love my community SO, SO much right now. I think I'm gonna cry."

Those of you who have talked to me know that I dance. I used to dance a LOT. When I lived in the SF bay area, sometimes I danced four or five nights a week. I had dinner at work, ran 7 miles and showered at the office, put on comfy clothes, and was out till 11 Monday through Thursday. Lindy hop, club hustle, blues, and a random assortment of waltz, polka redowa, schottische, and vintage dances. Come Friday night, I was driving home from SF at 2:30am with the windows down, music blasting, smacking my cheeks to stay awake after 4 or 5 hours of blues dancing. Super-safe, I know. (A lot of the time I carpooled with some of the guys from the peninsula who went, so that was better.)

Why do I like dance so much?

Well, I mean, I love the music. And it's fun. More than that, social dancing (any unchoreographed, improvised dance between a leader and a follower) is like a reflection of how we communicate in our interpersonal relationships. It's fascinating. Every dance and every person you dance with is a chance to communicate with and relate to another person physically without the risk of catching an STD or getting pregnant! SCORE! And again, it's so fun.

Beginning dancers assume that the role titles "lead" and "follow" indicate that one person gives directions and the other person takes them. But in the world of social dancing, where dances are not choreographed ahead of time and partners are dancing for each other's enjoyment, this is patently false. It is more similar to a conversation where each party has some degree of input; it is not a lecture where the leader talks and the follower listens. Nobody wants to go to a lecture on a Friday night.

I had a long discussion about this with a blues dance instructor with whom I'd had a little fling, where our dancing connection went ridiculously south after we'd hooked up and subsequently ended things (amicably). I met him at one of my lindy hop venues; he was there doing a blues dancer demo, and he asked me to dance. I'd never done blues before,but I said okay, because I've done practically every other kind of dancing in the world. I can follow just about anything to some extent.

It was awesome. I loved it. It was so different. Closer hold, intense music, sensual, and very improvisational since there isn't really a basic step -- which made it very exciting. It put me in a very zen place: ready for anything, expecting nothing. At that point, I was hooked.

So he asks me if I want to take a free private lesson. Yeah, I know, right? I'm totally naive. My dance friends are like, "He's so hitting on you," and I'm all, "Whatever, dude, he's a dance teacher, they don't do that." (Um, blues dance teachers apparently do a lot of that. Just FYI.) So I go take this private lesson and we dance and it's awesome and he hits on me, and it turns out we have all these things in common. Anyway, we go dancing and things are great. Our connection is great and I follow him and it's nice. And other guys at the venues are all excited because there's a "new follow." (Blues dance is kind of notorious for having more guys than girls, and also attracting kind of sketchy older guys.)

Then the blues guy and I talk, and he's leaving to go teach out of town, and he suggests we do an "open relationship." Hmm. This doesn't work for me and here's why. He goes out of town and gets to skank around with out of town girls, then come back to the bay area and be with me. Meanwhile, I'm stuck there, and I don't get to skank around with anybody 1) because people know I'm kind of dating him, 2) skanking around in the dance community is kind of poor form, and 3) it's a little hard to skank around in the bay area because of the prevalence of nerdy guys who don't know what they're doing on a date much less ANYWHERE ELSE, if you know what I mean. This somehow doesn't seem fair to me. So we decide it's probably best to just be friends.

Next time I dance with him, when he gets back from his trip, I realize I'm having a hard time following him. He's a little pushy, and bossy, and he doesn't listen when I'm asking for breathing room to do my own thing. Like, I hear this great break in the music and I want to slow down and do a little something with my shoulders to accent the music, and he's ignoring me! Dude! Just the whole dance we were off. We get done and we're kind of like, "Well, um, we'll try again later." No dice. I dance better with other guys. And then I realize that it's because they respect me. As a follower, they respect me. They listen, they respond and even follow my improv; they appreciate my input.

So I talk to my former fling a bit later, about the ratio of lead to follow input. He's all, "90:10." Um, wow. That's the problem. When I first danced with him, I kind of submitted to his will. As I grew as a dancer, I learned to express myself and my creative insights. I guess what I like is a partner who wants my input in the conversation and wants me to get involved in the dance. I really don't like being someone else's puppet. Apparently other girls there agree with me. We all rail against pushy leaders who ignore us when we want to improv which sucks because our sense of musicality is better. GIRL POWER.

A month or so later, after another one of his trips, the blues teacher guy came and told me he wanted to amend his opinion. He felt that it was a little more along the lines of 85:15, or even 80:20 :) He was working his way down, he said. I danced with the him again, and it worked a little better, though I will admit that I am stubborn and probably a bit obstinate toward him now as a leader, even though I am fond of him as a person. It's a constant tug-of-war now, which is fun for no one, so even when I go back to the bay area to visit, I don't dance with him much. We chat, we hug, but there's not much dancing. Ha.

What does my dance life reveal about me? I like the excitement of dancing, but as a follower, I like putting a styling on everything. From this, I think we can deduce that I don't like being told what to do, and sometimes will want to have the last word. :D I don't like being manhandled. Overly physical guys are scary, on the dance floor and elsewhere. There is a beauty to gentle men who lead quietly and with... subtlety, but who can be powerful for well-led dips or lifts, if that makes sense. I love the flirtation that's involved in an improvisational dance between two people, but it certainly doesn't always mean anything, and it's unfortunate when guys assume dance chemistry automatically means off-the-floor chemistry and start stalking you... I am extremely independent. I want to be respected. If I feel like a guy has disrespected or endangered me by trying to show off, it's very hard for me to sort of... forgive and move on from that. I don't generally give second chances to creepy or dangerous leads. Same thing with creepy or dangerous regular guys. Lastly, I don't like being held tightly too close for very. I get suffocated very easily. Seriously. Close dancing, poems, flowers. These things work on other girls. For me, they lead to redhead-girl-shaped holes in the wall.

Previous generations of my family lived in northern Ohio (Cedar Point, anyone?) and were farmers. My redheaded grandmother is the best farm cook ever. I never bought a jar of jam until I was in college because that's all I ever got for birthdays. I, on the other hand, have never been able to grow anything.

Until now. (I hope.)

You see, I love food. I love cooking. I generally prefer "real" foods made from "real" ingredients. Fresh veggies, fresh herbs, fresh proteins. You know, stuff from the outside edges of the supermarket as opposed to frozen stuff, packaged stuff, canned stuff... twinkies. Yes, I am a Michael Pollan fan, and if you haven't heard of him, check out In Defense of Food.

When I lived in California, a few of my work colleagues were "gardeners," which I thought was odd, considering I didn't know many people with expansive backyards. But evidently they used these things called EarthBoxes, which are sub-irrigated  growing containers that make watering kind of fool-proof. I really didn't look into them so much until, a few months before I moved back to Oklahoma, I moved out of my expensive apartment and in with my favorite married couple of all time: my work colleague girl friend and her husband, who was in my lindy hop troupe. (Seriously, best married couple ever. If I ever get married, it will be to have THAT kind of marriage.)

Dinner with them was kind of awesome. She would say, "What should we have for dinner tonight? Let me see what we have in the garden." And then she'd make something involving whatever it was she found in one of her... eight-ish(?) Earthboxes: herbs, peppers, tomatoes, beans, squash, zucchini, etc. She was like a mini-subsistence farmer. Anything she didn't grow, she bought at a farmer's market or Trader Joe's.

So when I moved home, I realized that I'd kind of taken produce for granted. Wal-Mart Supercenter is such a let-down when you're used to getting real, fresh, good, diverse veggies. This past fall I endeavored to make pumpkin soup and pumpkin pie from real pumpkins. Not from a can of what is purported to be pumpkin but is actually some other kind of squash MASQUERADING as pumpkin. (True fact. Also true? People will try to convince you that it's nigh impossible to do make a pie from a pumpkin, but it's not hard. It takes time, but it's SO worth it.)

To my utter horror, I could not find an "eating" pumpkin. Regular "field pumpkins" (for carving) are not good for eating, and a lot stores don't carry "sugar pie pumpkins." I guess they assume that fresh, pumpkin cookin' is a lost art. How freaking sad is that, fellow human beings?

I ended up getting three little pumpkins at two different natural food stores, and then felt a little bad that I'd bought every pumpkin within a 40 mile radius. But holy pumpkin, Batman, that was the best pie I've ever had. And also the best pumpkin soup AND the best pumpkin pancakes. (I froze the extra and made them a few weeks later.)

So this summer, I've set up my own sub-irrigated container garden. I've got four Earthboxes (tomatoes, eggplants, cucumbers, beans, strawberries, okra, and onions). And I've also built some homemade SICs for butternut squash, acorn squash, sugar pie pumpkin, and spaghetti squash.

Time will tell if I've got a green thumb or if I'll end up sad and disappointed and driving 40 miles to the natural food store again. But I've got my fingers crossed, a couple of gardening books in my shopping cart on Amazon, and some podcasts cued up. It's on.

About four years ago, one of the most popular girls from my class in junior high posted a status update on Facebook that she had just gotten her first botox treatment. Given that I am currently 27, this would have made her TWENTY-THREE at the time. Now, this chick has dark hair and had been a tanning bed junkie, but God's little green apples, seriously? Botox at 23 seems... um, wow. I didn't even know what to say about that. I don't think I would have admitted that.

 

Redhead skin is kind of a pain, yeah? We sunburn easily and have a higher likelihood of developing dangerous skin cancers than our darker-skinned friends. A lot of us allergic to metals, and I personally cannot tolerate wool. But hey, as a result of this, I've been so careful to take good care of my skin that I DEFINITELY didn't need botox at 23. I'm pretty sure I don't need it now. I fairly certain I won't ever get botox.

 

As a redhead who spent a lot of time in the sun as a kid, I spent a lot of time in sunscreen, hats, and sunglasses. I still pretty much always wear sunscreen, particularly on my calves, shoulders, and face. I still never go outside without a hat. And sunglasses keep me from squinting, so boo yah, to crow's feet and frown lines.

 

Do you guys protect yourselves from the sun?