just pull the plug

is it just me, or does this blog seem to have gotten all boringly sentimental and personal?
hurrumph.

well, i stand by the word that blogs are meant to be Long and Boring. that’s why they’re called blogs. they’re also destined to be fearfully wishywashy. just make sure you pull the plug when i start posting pictures of animals.

hair cut

i’ve also had a haircut (finally!) so i don’t quite look like those little pictures any more. short. it’s short. and i love it. i’m sure i could tell an amusing anecdote about my trip to the apprentice hairdresser, but i don’t have time. though i will say, it was a pretty close thing at one point. i was just reading the trashy mags, obvlivious, when i look up: aaaarrrrgggghhhh!!!! i had horrid, long, straight 70s hair. that shit that’s tres popular with the young kiddies at the moment. i had to cut in on the hairdresser’s enthusiastic blow waving and straightening and say ‘i’m sorry, but i can’t do this hair. it looks nice, but it will drive me nuts. can we make it much shorter?’ and then i had to salve their egos and they were all worried i was shitty, and i had to reassure them that i wasn’t, and then i looked through some mags and basically got the same short hair cut i’ve had for, oh, about a million years. well, since i stopped shaving my head, and after i got o
ver my big 60s hair stage.

but i like it. short, curly-ish, dark red. it’s all a win.

first night dancing

Last night we went to the Austrian club to see JW. My first night dancing since i’ve been back (and it’s been about a week since i last danced – feels like a couple of days, though, owing to the weirdo travel thing). The Squeeze brought his excellent digital camera and took some wonderful photos of the band. i had a play and took some nice photos of my friends. they’re a bit grainy because it was quite dark there, the shutter speed wasn’t quite quick enough (i think – i don’t really know about this stuff), i don’t use flash (because people look horrid and washed out, though The Squeeze has introduced me to the notion of fill flash. hm.) and they were a bit far away.
This is a picture of doris and corinne. aren’t they pretty? this is an edited version (i cropped for framing). i’m still learning, so be kind.
also, i’m having some troubles with mt uploading my files. so the link to the popup might be broken. check the archive for a better copy if you want to save a copy. please keep in mind that these are photos i’ve taken myself, and you should (if you’re any sort of decent person) credit me. if you want to use any of these photos in your own publications (including websites) please get my permission or at least credit me and link to my site.
ta.

Continue reading “first night dancing”

increasing silliness

As the only person in this block of accommodation I feel it is my duty to see just how loudly I can play my music before I reach my own auditory limits.
But miles is just too adolescent. And ella is too twee.

I am so un rock n roll.

flying home

There’s something strange about being the only person in a block of apartments after spending two weeks in the constant company of at least 200 people. Especially when those 200 people are almost always in constant physical contact with each other.

The second camp – Camp Savoy – is over, and I’m taking an extra night in the student housing to recover before I fly out of Heathrow tomorrow night. The weather has been utterly wonderful: very warm, very sunny. This could be a university campus anywhere in Australia. Though the food marks it as singularly British. Otherwise, there are very few English accents about – this being a university campus and all – and I’m really quite enjoying doodling about on my own.
Could do with a bit of company, but still
how could I complain about such a long, glorious evening with such wonderful warmth and cooling breeze? And after all this sitting about on the hilly lawn under the student accommodation, reading The Guardian (which I’ve missed) and beginning to think again, I’ve a lovely clean, dry bed with sheets and no early morning missions ahead of me.

The last two weeks have been incredibly intense. Herrang was the perfect exercise in indoctrination: intensely, physically demanding days with round the clock dancing, where doing a beginners class in aerials at 12midnight (midday Herrang time) seemed perfectly logical and plain black tea was a precious commodity to be traded illicitly and only between friends. I have surely joined a cult, and am in dire need of deprogramming.

Living with constant physical exhaustion, sleep deficiency and irregular meals have taken their toll and my health has once again dropped. The Herrang bug has been hanging about in my sinuses since late last week, and pushed me into naps every afternoon. Expensive classes with world-class lindy hop egos be-damned. There’s rest and recuperation to be done. My lungs are beginning to fill and the Horrid Cough has returned. I predict much wailing and gnashing of teeth when the plane takes off.

Flying with feet as sore and mangled and swollen as mine were last week resulted in a pain so spectacular I would have bawled like a baby if I’d not been so tired I fell immediately into a sleep that defied even take off. While the effects of constant dancing haven’t quite worn off – there are some disturbingly numb spots on my toes and recurring bouts of pins and needles – I’m hoping these couple of days of rest will make flying a bit more comfortable. I’ve regained some higher brain function and have managed to stay awake all day, though I’ll probably find myself all awake and twitchy at about 1am, looking for some dance floor action. But for now, it’s 8:34pm and I’ve not napped today. I must be getting better. There’s also been no dancing, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Over two weeks of dancing every day for at least eight hours is kind of addictive. I’m in endorphin withdrawal, I’m sure. How will I cope with Melbourne’s dark and horrible winter?

Pft. It’s such a lovely, warm evening, it’s hard to imagine Melbourne’s crap weather. For now, while I’ve borrowed from Lionel Hampton, I think Miles Davis is the only possible musical alternative for this evening.

shoe reportshoe report

The dance shoes are not coming home with me. They have failed to go the distance. Massive holes in the sides, rubber sole coming away from the sides. Never being completely dry has done the expected damage. But the sueded sole has stood up to the task. But they’re only 8 months old
and making an incredible olfactory contribution to my luggage. Alas, poor dance shoes. I loved you well

My feet are still numb and pins and needles in alternating bursts. Sitting upright for any serious amount of time results in very uncomfortable numbness and tingling. And cramps. But definitely better than they were – pain killers are no longer necessary for sleeping.
But some mild concern about looming plane epic.

Dance shoes are not to blame. Excessive dancing is.

Seeking a suitable dance shoe alternative. The ked, while a wonderful shoe, is perhaps not the best option. Need a wider shoe. Though the padded ked was almost enough support. I need more support, but light. And not too thick a sole. Hm. Thorough investigation of all alternatives is in order

Hiking boots: still rawk. Still the best shoes ever.
Should have bought those cheap flippers in London: I long for thongs.

laundry report

My backpack full of clean laundry, care of Eva’s washing machine and a night break between camps, is now more a mixed bag. I am down to the non-dancing underwear (where the dancing underwear seems to have largely disappeared: I’m sure I’ve lost knickers in the Herrang laundry. Despite Grace’s best efforts) and once again wishing I’d brought some thai fisherman’s pants with me. But who’d have thought loose, cotton nappy-inspired trousers would be the perfect garment for a dance camp in Europe? Note to self for future reference, I guess.
The wedding clothes proved just as irritating as I’d thought: sure, I could have dressed up for the blues nights at Herrang (one can never be over dressed for blues night), but then I’d not have felt as comfortable as I did. Ah well.
I’m going to have to hunt for something clean for flying in. Something I can bear to wear for 24 hours straight

Future Herrang visits: more trousers. More loose, comfy cotton trousers. More thai fisherman pants. Ten tshirts is enough. Bring bike pants to manage inevitable Chafing Issues. Never too many pairs of underwear or socks. Bring only machine-washable, quick-drying clothes. Care not for crinkles. Swimming costume an essential for shy-bies (not that I had the opportunity to see if I was shy). Sheets. Say yes to a sheet. Hat. Sarong – another essential.

How will I manage Melbourne’s winter weather and fashion requirements? Especially now I’m at least a size smaller than I was before I left. Goddamn this super-responsive metabolism. It adores exercise. And dancing truly is the best exercise there is.

brit hop revisited

I subsequently met the young fella from London who designed the London Lindy Exchange (LLX) Brit Hop tshirts. He was in Herrang. He was young, cute and a lovely dancer. I know it’s wrong to be patronise, and I do try not to. But he was.
And it was a brit pop joke.
Eeeexcellent.

shoe report

well, i wish i had my sandals.i almost brought them. or thongs. absoutely essential here. otherwise, i wear my dance shoes almost all day, and they never have the chance to dry out. so they smell really good. they’re also breaking. my hiking boots also rock – they’re good for tramping through the swedish countryside between classes. especially as it’s rained so much here.

learning in herrang

class_tent.jpg

this is one of the places we learn – another tent. there are two tents (savoy ballroom and roseland), where we do our classes. we also learn in the hall upstairs, and in the dance banaan, outside, which is a sort of pagoda thingy.
we also learn in the gym:

tap_lesson_in_the_gym.jpg