I wrote this this afternoon in the Louvre.

I'm in the Louvre right now and I've just seen the Mona Lisa. And on my way to visit her, I started having all kinds of revelations about art and my opinions of art and what art means to me. Because yes, I can walk along these halls and see the Raphaels and the Michaelangelos and whatnot, and I can appreciate how art changed over the years -- the color pallettes, the subject matter (Christ is the most depicted figure in history, I will bet my shoes on it), the shift towards more realistic work and then away again. And I can say that I like Italian sculpture. But so little of this art truly moves me. Largely because back then, I don't think it was allowed to. Paintings were done for a reason to serve a purpose, not because the artist had something to say. Which is maybe what is so wonderful about the Mona Lisa -- the fact that she has an expression on her face. She's tucked away at the end of a long hallway full of Italian depictions of various religious persons, and she's really not all that big or impressive, yet thousands of people pay millions of dollars to see her and take her picture. And she just sits there, smiling at all of them. I walked in the room and said hello to her. She smiled at me and said, "Aren't they all funny?" I said, "Yeah," and took her picture. "It's okay," she said. "I know you get it." "Thanks," I replied. "See ya later." And I went back down the long hallway full of Italian paintings of various religious persons feeling kind of smug. Because how many people actually get to chat with the Mona Lisa?

Paris now. And so far, I'm not in love with it. Maybe it is because of where I'm staying, maybe it is because I still feel a little strange about the fact that my travel companions have all gone home, maybe it is because thse French keyboards are really strange, maybe it is because the club I tried to go to last night was closed, or maybe it is because on my way home last night, I found the Paris "red light district" completely accidentally. But thus far, I am feeling like Paris is like the icky parts of New York, but without the warmth and good energy that New York has.

But I'm off now to see some art and pretend I'm all pretentious and stuff. Maybe once I get down into different areas of the city, I will feel better about it. In the meantime, I apologize for the short entry, but really, these keyboards are screwy.

You know, you hear the stories about the red light district in Amsterdam and you can't quite believe they are true. So you go to Amsterdam and find yourself wandering around and you see a couple of red lights down one little street, so you decide to walk past and see if the stories are true. And you find that they are. And you are mortified. Not because prostitution is legal. Not because you've never seen anything racy before. Because here is a woman selling herself in a window, like a slab of meat or a Smart Car (which I want very badly, may I add -- the Smart Car, not the woman selling herself in the window). And you think to yourself, yes, this is a sufficient way to make a living, but how sad is it that this woman has chosen this as her profession. Even if she is really good at it, she stands in a window all day until some guy decides that he wants to fuck her. All the men who walk past (and half of the women, probably) without looking twice are rejecting her. What does that do to her ego? Or does one have to abandon one's ego in order to go into that particular line of work in the first place?

I don't mean to judge, and I don't think I am. I don't think any more or less of these women for what they do for a living. And it is entirely possible that they think the same of me -- an actor sending out headshots, not getting responses, every missed audition is a rejection based solely on my physical appearance -- so I'm really not in a position to judge. Maybe it's more of a "I know how hard it is" kind of thing, but I don't really, because I've never been a prostitute. I can always hide behind the "there just wasn't a part in this play for me" excuse. What does she have?

If you happen to find yourself in Holland, looking for a place to eat, might I recommend dropping by 's-Hertogenbosch (Den Bosch) and dining at Taste. Actually, no. I will not recommend dropping by. I will ask that each and every one of you go out of your way to go to Taste and have a meal. This is some of the best food you will ever eat in your life. My friend knows the owner (well enough that we were the last people to leave and we got to have a drink with Amy (the chef) and Matti (the owner) after the place was actually closed) and told them in advance that a vegan was coming for dinner. There was bread with an amazing pesto. There was a tomato, bell pepper soup that was a meal in and of itself. There was a portobello mushroom with potatoes and eggplant. Eggplant is a tricky vegetable and it is hard to get it right. I can guarantee you that people who have hated eggplant in the past would have loved this eggplant. I have no idea what Amy did to it (she does all of the cooking herself in this tiny kitchen), but this was the most amazing eggplant I have ever eaten. I found myself sitting there thinking, "This is just a mushroom, eggplant, and potatoes," but I am going to be fantasizing about this meal for the next month. I can't even tell you how amazing the food was, and to have the chef prepare something especially for me...I am so happy right now. My ominvorous friends had filet minion and seared ahi tuna and lamb and all this food that was giving them orgasms at the table, it was so good. So regardless of your dietary needs (though if you are vegan, you may have to have a special "in"), please go to Taste in 's-Hertogenbosch. Reasonably priced, amazing food, lovely little restaurant. And I can guarantee that you will not regret your time there. You'll just have to take my word on that.

One other thing that I really enjoy about Holland -- the mechanism for flushing the toilets. Yes, I am that big of a dork that I notice these things, but to me, it is pretty cool. I don't know if I have talked about my problems with toilets before, but when I first moved into my own place, my big thing was that I wanted a toilet that worked. I have lived in so many places where you have to jiggle the handle or hold it down for so long in order to get the darn thing to flush, that all I really wanted out of my own place was a toilet that flushed properly every time. Well, in England, I had no such luck. Even in public toilets in England, even in the greatest toilet known to man (or woman in this case as it was a ladies' loo), otherwise known as the ladies' room at the Knight's Templar in London (it used to be a bank vault, but know it looks like Greco-Roman baths or something; it's really spectacular), I kept running into toilets with problems flushing.

So now that I am in Holland, I have to remark about the wonderful flushing mechanisms. When I first saw them, I thought they were those dispensers that you will see in public restrooms from which you can get toilet seat covers. Groovily enough, this is not the case. The flushing mechanisms on the toilets here are large metal buttons on the wall that you just push once and there you go. So simple. So convenient. No handle jiggling or holding down for a certain amount of time. Just a perfect flush time after time after time. Plus, it's really fun to push a large metal button on the wall in order to make the toilet flush.

That's it. Kudos to the Dutch plumbers on a job well done. You can all go back to your normal lives now.

If I could figure out a way to stay here...

We're in Den Bosch now, staying with a friend. I thought London was quaint, but this is so much moreso. We now have access to a shower, an honest to goodness shower! And yes, it is snowing, but I'm all kinds of happy. I had all kinds of things I wanted to write about, but they have all left my mind at the moment, as we are trying to make dinner/drinking plans for the evening. I will have lovely stories to tell when I get back to the States. And millions of fantastic memories for the rest of my life. It feels like I have been away forever, even though it hasn't even been a week yet. And it feels like I am going home tomorrow, even though I have a week to go yet.

It is going to be so hard to go back to work and my normal life...

Day three in London. I can't believe it's only the third day that I've been here. No, I don't know my way around yet (at least not as well as I do in Chicago), but I'm comfortable here. My body is on the right time schedule (though a few more hours of sleep somewhere wouldn't hurt me), certain things are starting to look familiar...I could be very happy here for a very long time. Except I would have to do something about the showering situation -- neither of my hosts has had a working shower, so we've had to take baths. Which isn't terrible, but it is a smidge more time consuming and I can't quite tell if I've rinsed all of the conditioner out of my hair.

But yeah, I like London. I wish it was warmer.

We walked around a lot this morning (guided walking tour as part of the exchange) and we saw the Tower of London and the Globe Theater and the Tate Museum and a whole bunch of other stuff, but those three were my favorites and I'll tell you why.

The Tower of London has a really funky energy about it. You can feel the history that is still very much alive in there. We didn't actually go in it, we just sort of walked around it and heard the story about the ravens and whatnot, but I very much would like to go back and actually go inside. Apparently, they have an exhibit of the torture devices that were used on people way back in the day. Call me sadistic, but that stuff is interesting to me. Much moreso than, say, a maritime museum.

The Globe Theater. I know it's not the real one, and that's fine. But it's Shakespeare's theater. It felt good to just be near it. I think one of my acting goals now is to spend a summer in London in a show at the Globe. Guess I should brush up on my Shakespearean monologues, and fit them with a British accent.

The Tate museum has this installation in it right now that is all just smoke and mirrors and a giant light, but it is fascinating. The mirrors are on the ceiling, so the hall looks twice as tall as it actually is. And the light at one end looks like, well, something out of a Terry Gilliam film. Cool, yet creepy. Everyone was in sepia tones everywhere. And at the far end of the hall, people are lying down on the floor so they can see themselves in the ceiling, making patterns and whatnot. Of course, as a group of lindy hoppers, we had to spell out "Lindy." I got a picture of it. Pretty cool.

So yeah. I dig it here. I feel the need to put on a British accent, but I'm afraid my friends will laugh at me, so I don't.

Oh, and for the sake of those of you who read this blog and mitten's blog, I have to mention our ride home from the dance last night. Picture this: two door hatchback car. Insert into said car three large suitcases, three large backpacks, one large dance bag, one normal sized guitar, and four full sized adults. Then make car drive for forty-five minutes in the middle of the night through the streets of London. Yeah, I was in the backseat and at one point, my left leg had fallen so far asleep that it hurt. We promised the girl in the front that she will feel guilty about riding shotgun that trip for the rest of her life. Not that we'll follow through, but at least it kept us laughing.

Anyway, I should run before my time here expires. I'll update again soon.

I really love London.

Hello.

Just a couple of quick notes from London.

1. I love it here. It feels very comfortable and homey to me. I could be very happy living here.

2. British currency is much more interesting than American currency.

3. British taxis rule.

4. Number one drawback to London = all of the pubs close at midnight.

But else than that, I'm having a lovely time. My host last night was wonderful, the dancing is great and the national cuisine, since it officially became Indian, has taken a decided turn for the better as far as British cuisine is concerned. From what I've heard. The food we had last night...so good! But it is easy to get around here and the people are friendly enough and so on and so forth. I had a few pithy comments to make earlier, but I have currently forgotten what it was I was going to say, so I'll stop for the moment. Wish me luck finding a place to log on wireless to the web!

I know everybody says, "Don't buy anything here -- wait until you get to Europe to do it," but I couldn't help it. I like having things planned out. I booked a hostel for my stay in Paris. I got a train ticket. I haven't bought anything for my ride back to London yet -- I can do that when I'm there. But I like knowing that I will have somewhere to stay and a way to get there. Plus, this will make sure that I go.

I can't believe that in just over 24 hours, I will be getting on a plane to go to England. And then I'll go to Amsterdam. And then I'll go to Paris. And then I'll go to Hamburg. And I will be spending half of that time traveling alone. I'm scared out of my mind, but in that same way I was before I went to Australia. I know I am going to have an amazing time and I know I'll be fine, no matter what happens. It's just kind of daunting, you know? To know that you will be in a country where you don't speak the language for three days without so much as a friend to dine with or to say, "Wait a minute, are we on the right subway train?" I know I'll be fine. I know that financially, I'll be fine, too. Whatever I don't bring with me, I'll get there. It's just...daunting.

Travel really is simple. All you need is time and money. And for once, I have both. Wish me luck!

So perhaps I sang the praises of Western Medicine too soon. I was under the impression that the medications I was given would dry out my sinuses and moisturize my throat (seeing as my sinuses were overproductive and my throat overdry). It seems that they have, in fact, done the opposite -- dried out my throat and moisturized my sinuses. Seriously, my nose isn't that big -- how can it produce this much phlegm? I'm blowing my nose so much, it's starting to bleed. And last night, I was up half the night coughing so hard, I think I broke my throat and perhaps some blood vessels in my forehead.

Here's hoping the European air does me some good.

And you become aware of a hand on your chest, directly over your heart. It is warm and soft and carries within it the very breath you didn't realize you were holding. And it reaches in slowly and takes your heart and caresses it gently. Somehow it knows where all of the little bruises are hiding and it finds each one. It touches each bruise and kisses it and says without words, "It's okay. I love you." And you feel your heart grow and heal and become something beautiful, something too beautiful to contain within the confines of your own chest. And you realize that your heart is in your own chest, exactly where it should be and there was no hand. It was the sound and the vibration and the melody and the voice that healed your every hurt and filled your soul with so much beauty, your own body feels too small to hold it. So you cry, because it is all you have left to do. And you think with your entire being, "Thank you," because you know that if you were actually to say, "Thank you," to the artist behind the sound and the vibration and the melody and the voice, it would sound trite and false. But you know your spirit has been touched and changed forever and that the best way to show your appreciation for that is simply to allow it to happen.

"Be still my love
Open up your heart and let the light shine in
Don't you understand?
I already have a plan
I'm waiting for my real life to begin."

-- the sound and the vibration and the melody and the voice

The complaints that I have about myself are complaints that I am willing to bet you will never hear another woman say about herself. For instance:

My hair has too much body. I wish it would just hang straight.

My nose is too small. Seriously. I think that's why I have sinusitis -- when my mucus membranes get inflamed and grow, they don't have very far to go in order to cause serious problems. Don't get me wrong, my nose looks fine on my face. But it is, in fact, too small.

I keep finding myself going out with two guys at once. I have two groups of guy friends who I have gotten into the habit of going out with on an almost weekly basis and it just occurred to me that in both situations, it's a group of three friends going out for drinks and I'm the only girl.

Either I was never supposed to be a girl in the first place, or I should just stop complaining, huh?

You've probably gotten the impression from this blog that I'm not necessarily into Western Medicine, yes? Which is perhaps an odd statement coming from someone who works on the administrative end of a hospital and medical center, and from someone who is blown away on a pretty consistent basis by her surgeon friend and another friend who is about to begin her journey to doctorhood. But you know how certain people, after working in a restaurant and seeing how things really work there, vow to never ever ever eat at that restaurant again? Well, it's kind of the same here. I get to sit in on the meetings where patients are identified by their disease or insurance carrier or ability to pay. They're not people, they're numbers and potential income. I sit in on the meetings where the higher-ups mandate things like each doctor has to see four patients an hour and so on and so forth. Its enough to make you sick and start searching for other curative methods.

But today, I must sing the praises of Western medicine in general, my doctor in particular. She is what a doctor should be. She takes the time to explain what's going on and what needs to be done to fix it. She takes the time to talk to her patients and know them as people, not as insurance policies. I went in there with a sore throat and a desire for it to go away by next week or tomorrow if possible. She looked around, asked some questions, and found the problem -- sinusitis. And then she scampered off into the other room to get me some sample medications so I wouldn't have to go get a prescription filled. And yes, she does scamper. She's adorable. I love my doctor and will sing her praises to the end of the earth. Though I probably still won't give up my homeopathy entirely.

I get so torn sometimes about what I am doing with my life and whether or not it is what I really want to be doing with my life. I was reading some cases for school this morning, one of which succeeded in proving that a horse is a bird. Seriously. A guy shot his horse because it broke it's leg and he was sued for shooting it under the Small Birds Act. The argument was that...I can't even tell you. It was ridiculous, but in a weird way, it made sense. It proved that this horse was covered under the Small Birds Act. And I think to myself, it is one day going to be my job to come up with bullshit like this, and to try to sell it to people in perfectly pressed suits in stuffy courtrooms. And I am forced to ask myself, "Is this really what I want to be doing with my life?"

I think the problem with the American judicial system is that it is a common law system. Meaning the more cases are tried, the more laws and rules and regulations we have and therefore, the more people have to work their way around such laws and rules and regulations in order to feel that some sort of justice has been served. I know that other countries are ruled by a series of statutes and whatnot and the whole case law thing doesn't figure in, and in a way, that system doesn't strike me as quite right, either. I think that as times change, it is okay for laws to change, too. Because as I have said a million times before, there is an exception to every rule and every situation should be examined on its own merits. But to live in a system where a man is sued for putting a lame horse out of its misery under the assumption that a horse is a bird and it is illegal to shoot birds...I think that's taking things a smidge too far, don't you?

And then, on the other hand, I have a page on the IMDb. I know it's not really all that exciting, but it's almost like a first step has been taken towards recognizing me as a legit actress. I am in the Internet Movie Database, the website everyone refers to as the ultimate authority on film. If you want to know anything about an actor or a film or a director, you can find it on the IMDb. And I'm on there. It's just kind of bizarre. I mean, there are even discussion boards there so people can discuss me if they want to. I have discussion boards! My own discussion boards. Granted, there's nothing there, but I have discussion boards. How did I get discussion boards? Certainly not by sitting around reading cases that prove that horses are birds.

I can't wait to go to Europe. I need some time away from all of this crap. Though I'll still be doing my homework while I'm there. Though somehow doing homework on a train between Amsterdam and Switzerland doesn't sound so bad.

I know it is really old fashioned, but I love buying CDs. I love going to the store and looking around and making a purchase and unwrapping the discs and reading the liner notes as new and foreign music hits my ears for the first time.

Yesterday, I was going to make the pre- and post- show CDs for my gig on Friday and there are a couple of very specific songs that I wanted to be able to include on them. Songs that make me happy. Songs that make me feel like playing music. And I thought to myself, "I could get those songs on iTunes for a dollar each, or I could go to the store and by the albums." I went to the store and bought the albums. I know, I know, so cost inefficient. but I found myself thinking, "What if there is a song on the album that is even better than the ones that I know? I'll never find it if I only listen to the 30 second preview available on iTunes. And I won't have the lyrics or liner notes in front of me as I listen to these songs, ever." And it is actually a good thing that I went to the store because one of the discs I bought was a special edition 2 disc set with six bonus tracks. And I found a really old disc that I kind of liked two songs on for two dollars, so I got it, too.

I did end up downloading four songs from iTunes, too -- one that is only available through iTunes, and three that I have heard before and I have heard parts of the rest of the albums they are on and I have not been too thrilled with those albums. So here's me, not only being legal about my music aquisitions, but old fashioned and ethical, too. Sweet jebus, I'm a square.

But I like my new CDs.

So apparently, I have a page on the Internet Movie Database website. Seriously. go there and look me up. I feel like I should give them more info and send them a picture to make the site more complete. And because I'm not sure how to deal with this odd tidbit of information other than to treat it like it's no big deal.

I know I am not the first person to say this, but you can't help who you are going to love. And you shouldn't have to. This is the number one most important thing that I learned from fucknut. He was totally not the right person for me to love, nor the kind of person I should love. But I couldn't help it, so I did it. I just loved him. And I learned a lot from that. So to hear someone say that he or she would cut him or herself off from loving someone because of what his or her family would say or what society might say...it breaks my heart. When you love someone, that person becomes your family. Not necessarily your family through blood, but your family through spirit, which I hate to say, is more powerful. Perhaps more important. And there are those with whom you are family through blood who you are not family with through spirit and it is usually those people who we try to please by doing things contrary to our own nature. Love isn't about making outsiders happy. It is about being happy with yourself and some other person and with the two of you together, regardless of what the outsiders say.

So does it matter that I love someone a thousand miles away? No. What matters is that I loved. What matters is that I had that feeling again. That instantaneous, "Wow. I need to know him," moment that I thought I would never have again. Because it means that fucknut is not the only one for me. It means that someone more suitable is out there somewhere, and he will come with that electricity, too. It's probably not this most recent encounter, and I may not meet my actual partner until I'm fifty. But he is out there. I've felt it twice already; I'm sure I'll feel it again someday when the timing is right. And when that moment comes, I'm not going to "should" myself out of it. I hope he doesn't, either.

A while ago, I posted a list of traits I would like to find in a partner so that I could read them regularly and try to manifest such a partner. I have a couple more things I would like to add to the list. Things that should be elementary, but I am realizing I need to add to the list so that I focus on them, too.

I would like to be with a guy who is geographically accessible.
I would like to be with a guy who doesn't already have a girlfriend.
I would like to be with a guy who loves Owen.

That's it for now. I'm sure I'll come up with more later.

My heart hurts.

I got my host assignment today for the London Lindy Exchange. This means it's really happening. I'm really going to Europe in just under two weeks. Wow. Yay!

I have to say that the knowledge that I am going to Europe in a couple of weeks made it a lot easier to say goodbye to my friends last night and today. Because I know I will see them again soon. They really are wonderful people and I love them very much. I hope they know that.

My stepmother's mother is not doing well. She is not a woman I know very well since my stepmother didn't become my stepmother until I was about 20 or 21, but the from few times I have seen her, I can tell that she is a good woman. And essentially, her heart is on the way out. She was taking blood pressure medication for years which started taking it's toll on some of her other organs, so they switched her medications and the new ones aren't working very well or some such thing. Basically, the options are to keep her on this medication that will send her into some very painful kidney failure or something like that, or to wean her off of it which will wear her heart out a little bit faster. They have decided to go for option #2 as it will be the less painful way for her to go.

I can't help but think that this is a really odd situation. Nobody is upset about the fact that she is dying and that't not the odd part -- she is 88 years old; this has been coming for a while. But to know that your heart is going to give out within, say, the next month, is a very strange bit of knowledge. She's not scared. She's ready to go. And when she does, she'll just fall asleep and not wake up, so it will be peaceful. How would you feel if you knew you were going to die a very peaceful death in the next month? She is alert and coherent and very aware of everything going on around her. I truly wish she was documenting this experience in one way or another. Keeping track of the physical feelings and their associated emotions. Is there ever a little moment of panic? What does it feel like to have your heart slow down and then just stop? I wish I could know these things, if for no other reason, so that in the future, I could comfort someone else in a strange position. Because yes, it is sad for us that she is dying, but what an amazing experience. She is getting a chance that I'm not sure many people get and I hope she is fully aware of and able to enjoy the whole thing.

Man, does that sound weird. Well, I told you it was an odd situation.

Here's a weird one for you. I've been enjoying being a girl as of late. What does that mean, you may be asking. Well, most noticably, it means I've been wearing slightly more girly clothing. Not to say I'm wearing pink ruffles all the time, but pants that fit and cute tops. Things that accentuate my figure (of which, I'm kind of proud right now -- I like the way I look). And I think I'm okay with my need to do girly things every now and again. Like rock out on sappy love songs. Or feel completely irrational emotions for brief periods of time. That kind of thing. It's not a huge change, but it is a change for me and I'm kind of enjoying it. That's all.

I have discovered the next generation of crack cocaine and it's name is Tings.

Seriously, have you had Tings? They are the vegan equivalent of Cheetos and oh so yummy. I have to stop buying them or my whole work-out-get-fit thing will be right out the window.

Oh, and a question for you. Why is it that I am only attractive to men who live very far away?

I actually have more to bitch about on this topic, but I have some work to do and I think I should go do it while I'm still on a sort of caffeine high from last night. Normally, I don't drink caffeine. I've cut a lot of the sugar out of my diet, too (except for the last couple of days, but even then, I haven't been going overboard). But yesterday, after getting very little sleep the night before and waking up feeling like total ass, by break time from class (7:35pm), I was hurting, so I had a soda. Man, it's amazing how not taking a drug for a really long time will make it have an impact on you again. I was hyper all night. I had a great night of dancing and a really good conversation with my German friend. And I think I'm still kind of buzzing from it, so I'm going to get my filing done while I still can. I'll bitch about boys later.

It was just a breast. It was a publicity stunt to promote album sales. It was not the end of the American system of morality (and yes, I am aware of the oxymoronic nature of that phrase). Get over it.

This is yet another reason why I love listening to WXRT in the mornings: yesterday morning, the morning show guy was talking about the whole incident and followed up his commentary by playing "One Headlight" by the Wallflowers. This morning, he said something to the effect of, "It was a publicity stunt. And it's a good thing we're not letting her get away with it." I love WXRT.

I don't think there is anything wrong with loving someone who can't/won't/doesn't love you back, as long as you don't let your love for that person consume you.

I have a lot of little random tidbits on my mind today, so please bear with me.

It struck me the other day as I was reading some Oscar Wilde on the train on my way in to work that reading poetry for the sake of reading poetry when you are no longer in a high school or college is a little bit odd. I got to the end of a nice, epic poem about a man who is hanged for killing his wife/girlfriend/lover-type person and I wanted to discuss it with someone. Examine the ryhme scheme and themes and repetitions and the importance of usage of certain words and so on and so forth. And I looked around the train and was smacked in the face by a very large grouper, telling me that nobody else on the train had probably ever read that same poem. Or even heard of it.

I don't know. Somehow reading poetry is different than reading prose, I think. Just like plays are not meant to be read, they are meant to be performed, I think poems are meant to be analyzed and studied in large groups. Poems are not a solitary art form, at least not for the audience. And after I had been hit by the grouper, I couldn't focus on the second poem in the book.

I'm sore all over. And I probably shouldn't have had that last shot of vodka last night. Especially considering I won't go to bed until probably 2am again, but it was all worth it. Completely worth it.

I am feeling better about myself again. I took a lot of the workshop this weekend as a lead, which, funnily enough, made me more confident about my own follow. As I was going around the room, I was kind of shocked at the number of women who weren't getting the whole "only follow what you are given" thing, and by how many women don't understand the concept of being responsible for their own weight. My right arm was getting tired from trying to hold all of these women up and forward so that I could move them in the first place, and then having to pick them up and move them. There were so many who would break their form or purposely not follow a lead or something. And I always find myself torn in a workshop setting between calling them on it and keeping my mouth shut and altering my lead. I usually opt for altering my lead, and I'll tell you why. I'm not the instructor. I always ask my follow how things feel to her to see if there are any adjustments I can make to ensure that my lead can be made clear to anyone. I want feedback. There are a lot of women who don't. And there are a lot of women who are unreceptive to such commentary. Hell, there were a couple of women in the rotation over the weekend who made it very clear that they did not want to be dancing with another woman in the first place (which was surprising to me because I thought we all got over that about three years ago). So how will those women take it when I say to them, "I need you to line your heart up with mine and put your weight forward, or at the very least in a neutral place so that I can move it forward or backwards as necessary. If I let go of you, you should not lose your balance. And when I start bouncing, using my whole body to make yours move up and down, you should start bouncing, too. I'm not doing the choreography right now; I'm just kind of screwing around with you to see what it takes to make you move. Then I can figure out how to do the choreography with you, but until I can make you move your feet without breaking your frame at your hips, I can't do the fun suspended frame stuff on my end." And the really sad part about it is that some of these women are instructors themselves. And some of them have taken private lessons with some of the best instructors out there and they still have no concept of frame. I'm sorry, but ultimatley, when I'm leading, and I step up to my partner, I would like to feel her frame in her shoulders even though I'm not touching them. I would like to lead someone with strong fingers and strong wrists and strong forearms and strong biceps and a strong heart and strong abs and strong hips and strong knees and strong toes. By "strong" I don't mean "muscle-bound thug." I just mean I want my follow to know where her body is, what her body is doing, and how to best communicate through her body with me. Is that too much to ask?

When we were first learning to lindy hop, a lot of us developed this bad habit called the "tick-tock." On the one-two, we would bounce our lead hand first to the left and then to the right as we would draw our partner in to us. I remember going to a workshop wherein we were lambasted for this practice because if your hands are doing the talking, your follow's heart can't hear what yours is trying to say. That probably only makes sense to the other dancers out there, but it is the only real analogy I can come up with. If my follow's frame is weak at any point, be it as seemingly insignificant as the tip of her index finger, my job as the lead is going to be a bigger challenge than it would be if my follow's frame was strong all around. Dig?

That being said, I know I'm not a perfect follow. I know there are times when I depend on my partner too much. I know there are times when I don't listen to what he is telling me to do. And I know there are times when my frame slips. And I will be the first to admit that I have no style. I try hard to fix those things, but at least I'm conscious of them, you know? I would almost like to go back to every woman who I danced with over the weekend and say to them, "Okay, here's what I need you to do as a follow. And if you can do all of these things, you will be able to follow any lead doing anything." But I missed my chance. I should learn to speak up more in workshops.