Andrew Smith Dance

Just uploaded my photos from the Northwest Blues Recess. Looking over the pictures made me reflect upon the event, prompting me to write down my thoughts.

This event comes at a challenging time in my life. My relationship with Lauren will soon draw to a close, with much uncertainty of whether it would ever resume again. Coming up on the conclusion of an intense, sincere, and rewarding relationship like the one I've shared with Lauren, I find myself feeling a little vulnerable and alone, trying to understand who I will be with her no longer in my life.

It began on an unpleasant note: driving down by myself. With so many people looking for carpooling options, it was a little strange to find myself alone in my car while others were packed in like sardines elsewhere. I knew it was mostly just how the cards fell, but on some level I felt like I was being a lamer and that's why I was by myself.

Friday was no doubt the most difficult part of the weekend. Already not in a state where I could share myself easily to masses of people, I was jarred by the huge number of people at the event, all of them feeling snuggly and wanting to be close. There were a lot of people I didn't know or knew only vaguely from seeing them on the dance floor. I just wanted to be alone or with a few people that I knew well and to spend time with them in a quiet environment. Not exactly mentally prepared for this event, needless to say.

My mood and experience at NWBR improved steadily with time. Saturday was spent outside doing yoga, sitting in the sun, playing games together, and just being chill. Energized by the solar rays and the laid-back vibes of good friends, I was better prepared to go dancing that night.

I make it sound like dancing is a big deal because it is to me, especially with alternative music. A lot of it is emotional, tense, and heart-baring. You have to invest so much of yourself to get something out of it, because you must connect with the pathos of the music. Let's face it, there's a lot of alternative music out there that isn't danceable by any measure other than through facilitating expression and an emotional connection.

Saturday proved to be a magical night. Tucked away in a forest grove, dimly lit with Christmas lights, beautiful textiles hung in the trees, you were whisked away by the experience to another world, one filled with dancers moving barefoot on a clayey surface packed hard with their feet. The music, particularly the inspired grooves of Auditory Sculpture, filled me with the dance spirit in a way that I haven't experience in a long time with alternative music. It was a pleasure to feel it again; I was worried I had lost touch with that side as I have transitioned to a profound love for traditional Blues music.

Sunday afternoon proved to be another relaxing day spent with friends. After much corralling, we organized a group to go to a nearby reservoir for swimming and chilling. Much fun was to be had with many floatation devices and even more people. In line with pretty much the whole weekend, it culminated with us congealing as one giant flotilla/human carpet and drifting in the water.

I didn't think it could get much better until I saw the location for the Sunday evening dance. A small clearing on a tall hill in the rolling terrain of Roseburg, your 30 minute walk from the road was rewarded with an impressive panoramic view. Add in dancers, surrounded by tall grass, and the sun just setting over the nearby ridge, and you have one of the most memorable dances ever. I received the high compliment of being given the closing set at this unique spot. Apparently blessed by the DJ gods, I picked all the right music on the spot to mix the most popular set of the whole weekend. I think the high point was at the beginning, though, when I played the theme to The Boondock Saints, and watched some 80 dancers jumping and running and skipping through the fields and all moving together as one great big community. The song ended with everyone joining in a massive group hug. It actually brought tears to my eyes.

I came into the weekend feeling anxious -- much like a child going to summer camp -- and walking out feeling full of light, friendship, and laughter. By the last night, delirious from food and sleep depravation, drunk on the camaraderie of so many good people, it was hard to believe that this silly, crazy group of people was actually sober. From singing "In The Jungle" at the top of our lungs to me leaving a human voicemail for Orville while he was in the bathroom to schlopping around as an amoeba, these memorable times were a great way to close out the weekend.

Sticking around on Monday to help with cleanup was worthwhile and rewarding. Heard first-hand that I won 1st and 4th place in the DJ contest (whoo!). Got to drive up with Andrew Sutton, which is always a pleasure. We talked over many topics pertaining to dance, teaching, DJing, etc.

Overall, a positive -- albeit initially anxious -- experience. I look forward to Aspen Blues Recess, which will mark a major transition in my life back to graduate school. Who knows what is to come? You definitely can't go into these events with expectations.

A few weeks ago, I went on a trip with Lauren to visit her family at a vacation spot in North Carolina. The adventure promised to be filled with sun, reading, and good food. I hardly anticipated the clusterf**k of misfortune that would beset me preceding the trip.

It begin with water. And a computer. Specifically, me spilling a half-full Nalgene all over my laptop (purchased only six months ago). Let's just say I'm glad no one was home to hear me. This occurred a mere FOUR HOURS before I was planning to leave for the airport. After a hurried trip to the Mac store, the techie told me that it would either cost nothing or it would cost $1200; either way, we wouldn't know until after I returned from my trip.

Putting that behind me (literally: leaving it at Lauren's place to dry out), we get read to go to the airport. As we're walking out the door, Lauren goes to check the confirmation code. "Huh, that's weird," she says. She's looking at an email from Priceline stating that our reservation has either been changed or canceled by the airline. Deciding that we can best resolve the issue at the airport, we depart.

At the airport, the United agent tells us that our reservation has been canceled.

That's right: canceled. Poof. You spend $800 for two tickets and it still could mean nothing. The flight by that point was booked up so we couldn't leave that day. According to the agent, the reservation had been canceled by Priceline.

The agent was kind enough to set a new route that had us flying out at 6am the following morning. While hardly ideal, it was better than missing the entire vacation.

While that's happening, I take up the customer service battle with Priceline. After spending two hours on the phone listening to an insipid version of Moonriver on repeat, we come to the conclusion that it is not their fault and that I should go talk to United.

Next morning, we get on the plane without a hitch. Phew.

The flights go moderately well, all things considered. Lauren's back causes her real troubles, especially when she has to remain seated for so long. Cross-country trips are abysmal; the flying experience has truly become dehumanizing. It is difficult to maintain faith in humans when you're in a cramped seat suspended in the sky 30,000 ft above the ground.

Now, the last leg of our journey would involve a ferry ride to get onto the island where we were staying. Our plane was scheduled to arrive at 10:00pm, it's about a 30 minute drive to the ferry, and the last ferry leaves at 11pm. No problem, we think.

Well, we did think that until we sat on the tarmac for half an hour, waiting for our final flight to begin. Apparently there was some passenger counting error that caused all kinds of trouble (thank you, FAA) that delayed us considerably.

As soon as the seat belt sign turned off in Wilmington, we were on our feet and running down the aisle to beat everyone to the front of the door. Grabbing our bags, we tear off through the airport. "Can we run, Mommy?" we hear some child ask of her parent ahead of us.
"No, honey."
We pass them with bags jostling.
"Why do they get to, then?"

We make it to the car, the driver thinks that we'll make it there with enough time. Phew! We made it.

Then the winds start.

Then the rains start. We're talking buckets of rain, monsoon style. Oregonians just don't understand the meaning of "heavy rain."

It's dark outside, visibility is low, we're on a small two-lane highway in the middle of nowhere. I'm on the phone with United, talking with a customer service agent about what to do next in investigating the issue. Out of my peripheral vision, I see that my worst fear has just materialized on the edge of the van's high-beams: something big and right in front of us.

Much like Douglas Adam's ill-fated bowl of petunias, I only have time for one thought, "Oh no, not again."

WHAM!

The driver, who had the presence of mind to not swerve and potentially kill us all, had proceeded straight into whatever it was.

In a calm voice, he states, "I think I just hit an alligator."

I notice lights on the dashboard flickering on.

"That was the biggest alligator I've ever seen."

I notice the loud noise coming from below the van as we are now dragging whatever it was below the vehicle. An acrid smell fills the compartment.

"My hands are shaking. My hands just can't stop shaking."

Not stopping, not slowing down, our brave driver just kept going forward because, well, there wasn't much else we could do. There was no room to pull over, we couldn't just stop in the road, and if we did we'd miss the ferry. Who knows if the car would even still be running.

As I struggled to remain calm and continue to converse with the United representative (I had waited for thirty minutes already, dammit), I couldn't help but find hilarity in the chaos of it all. Lauren had taken out the drivers manual to investigate to the dashboard lights to see if there was any catastrophic signals that meant we should pull over immediately no matter what. She had to turn on the interior light, further reducing the visibility already much impaired by the relentless rain and darkness. A continuous, piercing beep was emitting from the car somewhere.

Eventually, whatever-it-was fell away from the undercarriage. We limped our way to the ferry, where we made it with a mere three minutes to spare.

Lauren and I sat mostly in silence on the boat ride. There were no words. We were just trying to process everything that had happened.

We never did find out what the van struck. The driver still believes it was an alligator (in which case, it'd be a 7 ft one). Others -- naturally word got out in such a small town -- speculated that it was a fallen log blocking the road and that we were the unlucky ones to encounter it first.

The trip itself was marvelous and completely removed from the terror of the days preceding it. I had a fantastic time and plowed through Ovid's Metamorphoses.

Oh, and my computer is still okay. Phew.

But I'll never forget this day as a reminder of the shitstorm that can strike for no apparent reason. If you have an uneventful day, I count that as a good day. Sure is important to be grateful that, generally, things do work out in one's favor.

Still waiting to hear back from United on the issue. I sent a detailed email to them a few days ago, so hopefully I'll receive a response from their customer service department soon.