dabble babble
It occurs to me that I have many interests and what you could call hobbies. Basically, I dabble...A LOT. Lately my dabbling has been a source of great comfort as my main occupation physically hurts me right now. I find myself picking up my guitar, singing, dancing, and cooking as means to relax and find comfort. I have also dabbled back into metal work of various kinds (limited by apartment living and a lack of powerful torches...). These activities are not distractions, they are simply a means by which I keep my sanity. I am not very skilled at most of these things.
Cooking...ahem...yeah..I think I'm pretty good at that, but even still it is a hobby. I lost much of my good kitchen supplies in my breakup and am lacking a grill, but I make do with what I've got. I have learned the roots of good techniques and that is really the key to it all. I love cooking for others and have found ways to make decadent tasting food that is actually quite healthy. I used to watch my Mom cook and while we talked about life, she would explain what she was doing and why. It wasn't a sit down lesson, it was just matter-of-fact teaching. As my palate expanded, I realized that the foundation Mom gave me was a wonderful, stable building block. Cooking for people feels like a means to nurture and to provide. I used to barter food for rides for many years. It is my one creative outlet. I am not really an artist, musician or dancer, but I can fucking cook.
The music is something I trained in a LONG time ago and am now re-visiting. It may yield some interesting prospects in the coming weeks. (Dear G-d, what have I gotten myself into?) I am so unsure of myself when it comes to music and I do it just for enjoyment. I am out of my depths when talking to real musicians...
The return to metal work came about as a means to create a gift for a dear friend. I poured my heart into the project, and it reignited my love of working with metal, but in the end, I was perhaps, mistaken in my zeal. No regrets. My heart does what it does and there is little help for it. Getting me to stop or tone down my feelings is simply impossible. Like dividing by zero, I think realities would be overturned if I tried. So, now I know some basic casting methods.
The dancing is for pure, selfish pleasure. It has also yielded interesting things...
Dancing is a complicated thing for me. For years I had to wear my brace to even try to dance. I built enough muscle and stability into my right leg that it doesn't NEED the brace (not exactly, anyway) but between the severed ligament in that leg and the hip/knee issues on the left, my style has an odd syncopation that is born out of collapsing joints. Much like my way of walking, I decided it is better to play up an issue in a stylistic manner than have it limit me or make me look weak. So, I swagger a bit when I walk and I dance the way I do to mask damaged bits. That's the mechanical side. The emotional side is also complex. My love of dancing can be blamed entirely on my Father. He loved watching his sisters dance and so encouraged me to enroll in classes. I stayed with it for him until I had to commit to either dance or sports. I loved sharing that world. Now we watch our favorite dance movies over and over again. Sometimes I wish I could blink him to City Club for just one song to see me move. I can picture his smile... I also remember the first time my brother ever really saw me dance at a club. My G-d! The look on his face...the admiration... Coming from my brother, any approval or adoration was like sunlight for a plant. I basked in any praise he ever gave me. When he saw me dance he grabbed on to me tightly and just shook his head in wonder. It was magnificent! So...there is the family connection to dancing...but also my own personal connection. I have danced all over the place in many kinds of clubs. I like my music best (industrial, synthpop and the like), but I am open to try dancing to many kinds of music. I steal SHAMELESSLY from other dancers. I adapt every move I think I might be able to do. Dance pirate. I have danced with many people over the years, sometime just to one song and then done. I love the connection that happens on a dancefloor. In NYC I used to just nod to people on the floor and then start interacting with them. Funtimes. We sometimes didn't speak at any point. Sometimes people talked with me after. Sometimes speaking led to flirtation. But I kept it innocent. Flirt. Dancing with certain people now if far less innocent. It is amazingly, importantly, hot. It is part of other connections for which I am profoundly grateful. It is intimidatingly, poignantly stirring. What makes it even better, is that when I dance with these people, we barley touch. People who grind "all up ons" have nothing on us! Gratuitous, obvious sexuality is NEVER as hot as implied, tension-wrought sensuality...in public anyway...
Dancing, then is an addiction, a means to so many ends, an end in and of itself. It is worship and release and sometimes, just silly fun.
These dabblings make my life more full. They make me happy. They remind me that we are limited only by what we choose to let limit us (mostly). There are other things I do, but these are the things that make me excited to be alive right now. These are the things that I CRAVE. These are the tings that round out my life and make it what it is.
Cooking...ahem...yeah..I think I'm pretty good at that, but even still it is a hobby. I lost much of my good kitchen supplies in my breakup and am lacking a grill, but I make do with what I've got. I have learned the roots of good techniques and that is really the key to it all. I love cooking for others and have found ways to make decadent tasting food that is actually quite healthy. I used to watch my Mom cook and while we talked about life, she would explain what she was doing and why. It wasn't a sit down lesson, it was just matter-of-fact teaching. As my palate expanded, I realized that the foundation Mom gave me was a wonderful, stable building block. Cooking for people feels like a means to nurture and to provide. I used to barter food for rides for many years. It is my one creative outlet. I am not really an artist, musician or dancer, but I can fucking cook.
The music is something I trained in a LONG time ago and am now re-visiting. It may yield some interesting prospects in the coming weeks. (Dear G-d, what have I gotten myself into?) I am so unsure of myself when it comes to music and I do it just for enjoyment. I am out of my depths when talking to real musicians...
The return to metal work came about as a means to create a gift for a dear friend. I poured my heart into the project, and it reignited my love of working with metal, but in the end, I was perhaps, mistaken in my zeal. No regrets. My heart does what it does and there is little help for it. Getting me to stop or tone down my feelings is simply impossible. Like dividing by zero, I think realities would be overturned if I tried. So, now I know some basic casting methods.
The dancing is for pure, selfish pleasure. It has also yielded interesting things...
Dancing is a complicated thing for me. For years I had to wear my brace to even try to dance. I built enough muscle and stability into my right leg that it doesn't NEED the brace (not exactly, anyway) but between the severed ligament in that leg and the hip/knee issues on the left, my style has an odd syncopation that is born out of collapsing joints. Much like my way of walking, I decided it is better to play up an issue in a stylistic manner than have it limit me or make me look weak. So, I swagger a bit when I walk and I dance the way I do to mask damaged bits. That's the mechanical side. The emotional side is also complex. My love of dancing can be blamed entirely on my Father. He loved watching his sisters dance and so encouraged me to enroll in classes. I stayed with it for him until I had to commit to either dance or sports. I loved sharing that world. Now we watch our favorite dance movies over and over again. Sometimes I wish I could blink him to City Club for just one song to see me move. I can picture his smile... I also remember the first time my brother ever really saw me dance at a club. My G-d! The look on his face...the admiration... Coming from my brother, any approval or adoration was like sunlight for a plant. I basked in any praise he ever gave me. When he saw me dance he grabbed on to me tightly and just shook his head in wonder. It was magnificent! So...there is the family connection to dancing...but also my own personal connection. I have danced all over the place in many kinds of clubs. I like my music best (industrial, synthpop and the like), but I am open to try dancing to many kinds of music. I steal SHAMELESSLY from other dancers. I adapt every move I think I might be able to do. Dance pirate. I have danced with many people over the years, sometime just to one song and then done. I love the connection that happens on a dancefloor. In NYC I used to just nod to people on the floor and then start interacting with them. Funtimes. We sometimes didn't speak at any point. Sometimes people talked with me after. Sometimes speaking led to flirtation. But I kept it innocent. Flirt. Dancing with certain people now if far less innocent. It is amazingly, importantly, hot. It is part of other connections for which I am profoundly grateful. It is intimidatingly, poignantly stirring. What makes it even better, is that when I dance with these people, we barley touch. People who grind "all up ons" have nothing on us! Gratuitous, obvious sexuality is NEVER as hot as implied, tension-wrought sensuality...in public anyway...
Dancing, then is an addiction, a means to so many ends, an end in and of itself. It is worship and release and sometimes, just silly fun.
These dabblings make my life more full. They make me happy. They remind me that we are limited only by what we choose to let limit us (mostly). There are other things I do, but these are the things that make me excited to be alive right now. These are the things that I CRAVE. These are the tings that round out my life and make it what it is.