[Tango-L] what vs what?

[astrid]

This time, I agree with everything you say. ; )

> anyway, with all the writing going on, and i assume an equal number
> of hours spent dancing, how does anyone get anything done like
> laundry, food shopping, bill paying and the like?

Yes.
>
> having spent the day doing all of the above i have realized that the
> time i spend dancing has taken away considerable time from these
> necessary labors.

Oh, yes.
>
> because of tango i eat out and take out more, my laundry basket takes
> on monolithic proportions, and the grime on the surfaces in my loft
> often equal  what is sifted through on archeological digs.
>
> i am curious how tango has effected others' lives.

Well... my studying has suffered, my job has suffered, my family has
suffered...
>
> diverting  from the current contentiousness with jake (whoever u r, i
> missed ur entrance)  i wonder as to whether there is such a thing as
> too much tango as there is in too much arguing about it?

that I am not sure

Are the
> aching feet (which i also tend to ignore the care and maintenance of)
> and the loss of important hours of restorative sleep signifiers that
> we are out of balance in our priority making?  is chasing that 'tango
> moment' out of desperation to re-experience it again and again, out
> of an attempt to fill the emptiness in the heart as gavito once
> described?

yes
 Or is it a sane and compassionate way to order our lives
> so that we can do something that inspires us, makes us each smile
> (metaphorically and literally) and the laundry be damned?

yes

It is all of that, Andrea. Read what Cherie Magnus wrote about her first
visit to BA in her article on the web ago
 http://www.the-vu.com/solotango.htm :"During my stay, I didn't shop,
sightsee or sleep more than an occasional nap. I lived on caf$B'[(Bs con leche,
little croissants called medialunas, chicken empanadas, and vino tinto, all
on the run. At midnight I would wrap my feet and pad my toes before stuffing
them into spike-heeled pointy-toed tango shoes, and then hobble down the
hall to the elevator. I suffered until blessed numbness set in an hour
later. Then once the music began, I would float on air across the hard
cement and tile floors of the tango halls. After one milonga closed, I went
to another one, and when it closed, I had breakfast. Then I soaked my bloody
feet in the huge lavender bathtub of my room at the Hotel Continental,
throwing in as much salt as I could beg from the kitchen. I fell into bed
each day at 6:00 a.m., smelling of men's cologne. I was deliriously happy.

Go for it, girl ! Life is short.
And that is my punchline excuse every time someone asks me why I am doing
what I am doing. = )

Cheering my fellow addicts
Astrid

P.S.
I have a friend who dances ballet, and when I told her of my suffering feet,
she said:"When some professional ballet dancers come off stage, and take off
their pointe shoes, their feet are always bloody." "And they just go on and
ignore it?"I asked. "Yes, they just go on."