Andrew Smith Dance

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.

My travels have finally come to an end. After finishing with an excellent stay in DC, where I taught and DJed at Capital Blues, I returned home briefly before flying back out to Mexico with the family. I'm returning to Portland tomorrow.

Home, sweet home.

The adventures have been a blast, but I certainly look forward to being home again. I miss my friends and my scene in Portland.

My next dance trip will be to bluesSHOUT!. I'm in Austin from Thursday, April 15th, to Tuesday, April 20th. I'd love to work with anyone interested in taking a private lesson while I'm there. My schedule is wide open right now.

After a two-day recess, it's back to traveling and teaching. I had the good fortunate to stay with a family friend in Frederick, MD, for the past couple days. It was a pleasure to relax, sleep comfortably, get some work done, eat well, and not move around much for a couple days. I grew up in Frederick, so we even visited my old home where I lived until I was seven.

I've returned to Pittsburgh to visit CMU and consider its graduate program. Most of the school activities end by the afternoon, so my schedule is open after that for teaching lessons and hanging out.

Trip up to Boston went marvelously. It began with a rough start where I had 15 minutes to shower, pack, and get out the door. With no time to eat breakfast, I was left to my own devices -- and my own food back -- to sustain myself for the next eight hours. Unfortunately, the best I could do was bread and peanut butter. By the time I arrived in Boston I was famished and desperately wanting greens. At least my body knows (in a general sense) what it needs.

I was uncertain whether I'd stay in Boston for Friday, depending on the number of private lessons I could schedule. Much to my pleasant surprise, a lot of people were interested in taking lessons, even without prompting. I think I taught six or seven lessons over 24 hours. It was rewarding to work with leads in the community. I don't get to do this often -- especially at dance events -- because I'm mostly soliciting privates to follows I'm dancing with. I was excited by the opportunity to seed good habits among leads to make our partner's experience more enjoyable.

I was impressed by how may people wanted to learn and refine their dancing. The class at Blues Union was well attended. I ran them through a variety of solo movements. By the end, their sways were beginning to integrate and their fish tails looked … fishy. Been a while since I taught that solo moves class, it's changed a lot since I did it in Portland. Incidentally, I think it made good advertising for my private lessons because it highlighted technical knowledge and movement quality, concepts that many students appreciated.

Friday evening (following private lessons) went quickly as we went to BSC for linty hop and then out for drinks after. Surrounded by good friends and good conversation, it's times like these make me wish our brains were better equipped to permanently imprint memories. Perhaps my favorite moment from that night (not taken verbatim):

Julie: (talking about a cheesy song being DJed poorly in the past, speaking sarcastically) "Of course, this song is excellent of its own virtue. In a vacuum, it's great."
Andrew: "Exactly, because in a vacuum, you can't hear it."

Physics jokes, FTW.

Now it's back to Pittsburgh to visit Carnegie Mellon University on Tuesday, then on to DC to teach on Thursday. It's hard to believe my trip is rapidly coming to an end: it's going so fast.

I’d like to open this post by saying that Philadelphia’s scene rocks my socks. For serious. I have not yet seen such a large group of excited, humble, eager dancers that want to learn and dance and socialize and be happy. They had around 30 people for the lessons at Powerhouse Blues, which made about 30-40% of those in attendance at the dance. Such a large portion of dancers that want to take lessons is truly impressive.

People here are not afraid to solo dance. Imagine that! It’s the first scene I’ve encountered where I lead a breakaway and people act just as comfortable in solo as in partnered. As I learn more vernacular jazz movements and the history of Blues dancing, I increasingly appreciate dancing in solo. It is, after all, the origin of Blues dancing.

Thanks to a warm reception in Philly (and interest in hanging out + taking lessons), I’m extending my stay here until Thursday, March 11th. Let me know if you’re interested in taking a lesson on Wednesday, as I’m currently free most of the day.