Too early

15.August 2014

It seems inevitable that when I arrive too early to a Milonga, I end up wondering what the hell I am doing with my life.

But the Argentine bartender agreed that the wine was too expensive and gave me a discount.

And the one guy I picked out to dance with turned out to be a serious masseuse and fixed the insane tension in my back by digging his fingers into my psoas for three minutes on the pink velvet couch. The Europeans really do a good job with Milonga furniture.

Today I continuing with the project of being poor in an unenjoyably expensive city. Radiccio and bread salad.

“It’s not so bad”, the Swiss say, “we get paid more.”

Silences in history. Silences by code. Silences of fear. You already know that Tango’s silences can be sublime and they can be devastating.

What I do in my blog is use myself as a lens – sometimes a microscope, sometimes a telescope. I try to be as honest with myself and you as words concede. Then I try to find a deeper meaning and imagine a pathway for us.

A blog post can be a fragment, a wisp of inspiration, an outline for thinking. A book must complete and reconcile it all. Now I drag the social scientist to the scene to enumerate the facts of the case, the mystery which brought both stardom and tragedy to my life.