Tango on the Brain

No matter what I do, tango is never far from my thoughts. Whether it is enjoying an evening of classical music under the stars at the Hollywood Bowl (as we did tonight), or shopping for clothes, or watching a play, my brain has a way of converting it into a tango fantasy, such as dancing across the great band shell to Beethoven or Mozart, or designing a fabulous tango ensemble from a $5 rag in the bargain bin.

Years ago I ceased buying clothing or shoes that cannot also be used in those highly improbable but not completely impossible situations where I might be crossing at a busy city intersection and suddenly hear a tango playing through an open window, just as someone (who is clearly also a tango dancer) is crossing the same intersection towards me.

Thus, my closet is stocked with very sleek (and not always office-appropriate) attire and (mostly) impractical footwear.

Most nights, as I fall asleep, I lie a while in a wake/dream state, creating tango movements with a dream partner, delighting in discovering new footplay, and developing anxiety over not having a regular partner with whom to work out these imagined gems. The few dreams I remember usually have a Tango score, or have sudden and inexplicable apparitions of bandoneons or peep-toe, ankle strap shoes, or are lit in that dim but meaningful milonga-specific way.

Though I now "only" go dancing once or twice a week, tango has never been stronger in my heart and soul. I do believe it is a component of my blood, like an extra oxygen molecule. Whether I am at a milonga or not, tango is inside my entire life.