At our workplace we effectively got a reduction in hours what with it turning out that most of the world’s money was imaginary.  Because of British employment law it would have been too expensive to reduce hours and pay because they would have had to engage in consultation exercises etc; so instead the company exercised its discretion over our discretionary bonus to create effectively a 20% pay cut, then gave us loads more holiday to keep us sweet. It’s a bit annoying when you need to get something done and you need two people’s help to do it and one of them is off today, the other is off in two days’ time and you’re off tomorrow, but it’s nice to be able to spend time with the kids (for those of us who have them) or on bathroom projects (for those of us who have them). I basically took off every Wednesday for the rest of the year.

The bathroom project had stalled for three significant reasons:

1) I now had a bath, so the urgency was removed

2) I was on holiday then tired then ill then overwhelmed and having trouble keeping up with the housework let alone major projects

3) My diary had filled up

The diary thing was due to being in 3 bands. The first, I had been told met every couple of months, but over the last fortnight we had two gigs and several rehearsals. The second had been called a one-off but became a weekly rehearsal and actually was the first one to gig out of all the projects. The third is the salsa band that I have been trying to make happen for about 4 years, and finally all the elements came together so there was no way I was going to defer that. That had been taking one weekday evening and all Sunday, every week for several weeks.

So Sunday 4 Oct was all day hosting an open session with the salsa band, Tue was straight from work to salsa practice, wed was spend doing the ceiling with Mum (yay!) thur was straight from work to Leeds for fusion band practice, Friday was straight from work to gig in Otley,  Saturday was gig in York (for some reason I was tired in the morning) and Sunday was 4.5 hours rehearsal with the salsa band followed by pub dinner and chatting till about 10:30pm. Sunday night I was starting to feel stressed having not even had time to check my diary to see what else was coming up. When I finally did, what did I see?

Nothing!

Monday to Fri, all evenings clear, and Wednesday off work!

So this week I have been mostly enjoying pottering in the house, cooking grilled salmon with tasty salad, making thai chicken curry, tidying up, fixing my computer, reading and sleeping! I don’t know if these simple things are only so wonderful when contrasted against the mayhem of the previous week, or if I could simply make a lifestyle out of them…

Yesterday, weds, my day off, I went to Leeds to buy some percussion bits, stumbled upon a posh tile showroom, checked out a non-posh bathroom showroom and carpet warehouse, tidied upstairs and plumbed in the shower elbow. I’m pretty sure that’s the end of all the plumbing work now so the pipe bending spring and pipe cutter can be banished to the loft!

So this cat that has adopted me, or possibly just my premises: we used to call it Lamb-cat because it would leap and gambol around the neighborhood lawns when a kitten. He was very sociable and would often hang out with other cats. One particular wee cat would follow him everywhere. We called him Buddy.

Fast forward a couple of years and Lambcat has grown into quite a lunk of feline ambivalence. He comes around and demands cuddles, but also I saw him the other day go for a pigeon from right across the road. Most of the pigeon flew to safety but Lambcat was left with an impressive flap-shaped pattern of feathers on the lawn. Lamb, no. Lioncat, maybe.

Last week I got home one night, and there was Buddy, lurking on the lawn. While Lambcat has grown to be proud, haughty, fierce, and powerful, Buddy has not prospered. He is skinny, undersized and nervous, has a docked tail (what’s the back-story there?) and is unable to accept petting for more than about 0.5 seconds before deciding you might be a predator and running off again. So he came in, half explored, half had a stroke, then went out again. When you let Lamby out, he strides into the night, ready to take on allcomers. Buddy, however, first tries to look through the door, then around it, and listens and smells, then puts a paw out, then listens, looks and smells once more, then goes, then looks back and changes his mind twice before finally leaving. He also has the most heartbreakingly pitiful “yewp” of any cat I have met.

Last night Lamby and Buddy showed up together so I let them in. Lamby wasn’t interested in getting any downtime on the couch and I could immediately tell that he wasn’t up for sharing THIS territory with Buddy. After ranging all around the house rather than leaping immediately onto the sofa, he pounced on Buddy and gave him a slap on the nose. I let Buddy back out again. Lamby settled down then.

After about 2 hours, it was time for bed so I went to kick Lamby out for the rest of the night, and when I opened the door, there was this poor little scrawny, tailless critter looking up at me and yewping.

Poor Buddy.

Amusingly, the loft got a lot easier to navigate again once the ceiling was in. Why amusing? Because it felt vastly safer (”caution!” as opposed to “OMG you’re going to die!!”) whereas it was actually only marginally safer. It was still only safe to step on the beams, but the plasterboard concealed the drop so it felt easier to stick to the beams. This indicates that the unconscious mind conflates risk and reward. Not only that, but it doesn’t care about the facts, only appearances. Being suspended over certain pain is much less scary when the certain pain is concealed. I wonder if contestants in a quiz get better / worse when the prize is on display whereas perform more steadily when the prize is not known. I guess this is why motor racing drivers crash on the final bend. The sudden appearance of the goal brings the unconscious’ voice more to the fore, clouding the rational judgement required to keep the car on the track.

Mum came for a visit today to supply moral and physical support. I had a plan of “seeing whether a full size piece of plasterboard will get up the stairs”. Because I didn’t know whether one would or not, I ordered two for delivery—enough to do the ceiling—reasoning that if I couldn’t get them up the stairs I could halve them downstairs and fit them nonetheless, but if I could get them upstairs whole it would do a better job. And if I couldn’t get them upstairs whole, I would order smaller pieces for the walls in the next phase.

Before attempting this, however, I had to put noggins in where the board edges would need to be screwed in. A couple of hours later, after much chatting and putting the world to rights, as well as sawing and nailing, that was done:

That earned us a pub lunch.

Then was the moment of truth. It turns out 4 foot by 8 foot is quite big, especially when the stairs have a bend at the top and the bottom. My intuition was that it would technically not fit but actually would fit within the extra error margins that reality affords via such strategies as Brute Force And Ignorance, and Pushing Your Luck.

That was exactly right, as the plasterboard jammed part way up the stairs, but had enough give in it to be able to bend around the corner just enough to clear the obstructions. Some scoring and cutting, some manhandling, propping with bits of wood, and even expert shoving with a broom by Mum, and we got the first piece in.

The next piece was much easier, as we no longer were interested in the question “can a full size piece of plasterboard get up the stairs?” so I cut the board downstairs and it was easy to carry upstairs single-handedly. A repeat of the heaving, propping and screwing, and piece #2 was done. Mum swept and tidied and I refitted the bath, as well as popping into the loft to replace the insulations, and I now have a bathroom with a ceiling, and a house that is capable of keeping some of the heat in!

Well. I’m very excited!

Was invited to a murder mystery dinner at the weekend. I only knew the host. Cocktails were provided and I was cast as Jimmy Open, small-time crook. Driving was out of the question, so I hopped on my bike and, dressed in striped jersey, flat cap and fingerless gloves, and wielding a huge sack, headed out at dusk. The setting couldn’t have been more perfect. The rozzers didn’t get me but I think I was made by a little girl who was walking across the stray with her mum. Mum was busy on the mobile phone so I can picture the conversation later on.

I have never felt so furtive in all my life as when I was looking for somewhere to park my bike. Except for possibly moments later when I was looking for the house, wearing the additional black mask.

Woody Guthrie, on escaping from manhattan after fleeing an audition at the Rockerfeller Center in the 1940s,  and having just ambled through a NYC suburb playing his guitar to the people in the neighbourhood.:

I walked along, the day just leaving out over the tops of the tall buildings, and sifting through the old scarred chimneys sticking up. Thank the good Lord, everybody, everything ain’t all slicked up, and starched and imitation. Thank God, everybody ain’t afraid. Afraid in the skyscrapers, and afraid in the red tape offices, and afraid in the tick of the little machine that never explodes, stock market tickers, that scare how many to death, ticking off deaths, marriages and divorces, friends and enemies; tickers connected and plugged in like juke boxes, playing the false and corny lies that are sung in the wild canyons of Wall  Street; songs wept by the families that lose, songs jingled on the silver spurs of the men that win. Here on the slummy edges, people are crammed down on the curbs, the sidewalks and the fireplugs, and cars and trucks and kids and rubber balls are bouncing through the streets. I was thinking “This is what I call bein’ borned and a-livin’; I don’t know what I call that big high building back yonder that I left.”

—Woody Guthrie, “Bound For Glory”

Wednesday I attempted to get started on the bathroom again, but couldn’t get my head straight and spent the whole day wandering about unproductively and getting pissed off. Thursday morning I woke with a horrid sore throat. Ah, thinks I, this puts a lot of stuff into perspective. I took a day off sick to get better and spent most of it lying in front of the telly. Hooray for the Topfield, as the daytime telly offerings would probably have made me iller. Fight club was a good watch, which now bears watching again. Can’t remember what else I watched but I do remember deleting it before it finished. Also reading Bound For Glory by Woody Guthrie, wot is an interesting read, especially where he goes to audition at the Rockerfeller Center.  I need to refer back to the book but there was a particularly great paragraph all about fear and truth that struck a chord with me. But all that reading about the Great Depression and just how hard life can be didn’t make me feel much better about our current worldwide situation. Amongst it all I managed to spend an hour pulling tiles off the final bathroom wall, and I tell you, that made me feel better than anything else that day, apart from maybe the garlic, chicken, and carrot sandwich I had for lunch.

OK this was a helluva journey for me. And helluva long post for you to read

Got to bed about midnight on 2nd Sept in England and up again at 1:30 to pack and catch the cab to the train to the plane to the other plane to the bus to NYC. 18.5 hours later (3pm Wednesday.) I checked into my dorm, and went for a meal including a somewhat too-strong margherita which went straight to my head. 5:30pm saw me staggering drunk around manhattan for a bit, then off to Frankie Martinez’s level 2 class at 8pm and club cache after being awake for 22.5 straight hours. Met a bunch of people from the salsa forums in Club Cache and had a great, if somewhat wobbly, time. Took a couple of phone numbers.

Then had a tough couple of days … there was no water on my floor in the hostel (swiss1291, which is cheap and friendly but is a hostel and seems a little broke!) and I couldn’t contact any US numbers (my jetlag-addled brain didn’t think to just look it up on t’internet) so I ended up missing a forums meetup and dinner on Thursday and was sooo disappointed. But went to Eddie Torres’ regular class (actually, Maria’s class) and had a ball, then went for a rest while the performances were on then headed down to get to grips with the ballroom.

The DARK SIDE was very strong: It was forbidden to bring drinks, e.g. bottles of water, into the hall and sodas were $6 (and small) and a mojito was $12.50. Now this is after you paid a couple of hundred bucks for your “VIP” pass and a further $200+ per night for your room at the Hilton. Lots of power-dressing, power-dancing, multi-billion-spins dances right where there ought to be a thoroughfare, etc. This kind of urgent showing-off is what I expect from a Fri and Sat at a congress, but like everything else in NYC, it was x10 what it would be anywhere else! Enjoyed the band but couldn’t find anyone I knew in the heaving crowd. After the band the DJ played a great tune so I started just generally filming the whole of the dance floor to capture some of the atmosphere and record the song for later identification.  A security guy told me to stop filming, and after my mojito was swiped with $6 of drink still in the glass I decided to call it quits and get some sleep.

Friday I had to flush the DARK SIDE out of my system so I hired a bike at central park and pedalled up to East Harlem. That was great! Went to Casa Latina music shop and bought some percussion bits, researched the salsa museum (it closed down years ago), then trundled back down Madison Ave, checking stuff out. NYC’s the only place I’ve been where you get passed by a car blaring out salsa music. It just doesn’t happen in the UK.

Once I was checked into the Hilton, things started to go a little more smoothly. Being able to take a shower without climbing some rickety stairs to compete against several other people for the communal bathroom was good. By the time I was settled in and fed, it was 8pm and there was a 1-hour blank spot on the schedule at that point. So I put on the TV, blinked … and it was 1:45 a.m.! I showered quick, jumped in the elevator and saw the second half of New Swing Sextet’s show, which I enjoyed. The live music was one of the major pluses of the trip for me. Then back to bed in case my body clock went back to UK time and I found myself coming alive at 4am and ready for lunch at 7am!

Saturday I got to a few classes, hung out a bit, and also finally got the phone sorted. Thus rested and connected I managed to hang out with the forumites more and that really made the whole trip for me. A great bunch of people, not taking things too seriously. A snack dinner, some larking around, and I got to dance with some of the forumites at last! Yay!

Sunday I was finally on US time and with a decent energy level. My second trip to the laundry (I pretty much got through my entire wardrobe every two days!), and I headed out to check out the Brazilian independence celebrations. It was great! The streets were as crowded as the congress. Took me most of the afternoon to wander down and back up about 10 blocks. A trip to Jimmy Antons rekindled the salsa flame for me and after dinner with an old friend, I managed to hook up with the SF Jedi at last, and the Sunday night effect was in full force. More space, more joy, more relaxation on the dance floor.

Eddie Palmieri’s band was tight and tasty! The songs were too long for the dancers but perfect for my listening ears. 4 brass, 3 percussion, 1 flute, bass, piano, 2 soneros… and some great percussive details embellishing well-known songs. Really enjoyed it!

Late into the morning, everyone off the forums danced with everyone else, pretty much. I didn’t really get my groove on at all, though I did manage to chuck in one of the moves from Frankie’s class. I would’ve liked a second go with a couple of the girls as one dance is only enough to start to read a person. A matter of some regret.

Two of my new friends danced, both male, one a compact latino and the other a powerful black guy and we split our sides too much to be able to operate a camera. Watching the follower’s face cycle through surprise, delight, terror and composure every few bars was hilarious, as were his flailing feet when the leader executed a smooth judo-chop of a dip and literally swept him off the floor. The dancing stopped at about 5am which we followed with an impromptu jam around a piano with a coke can and a couple of empty water coolers. Then out into the Manhattan dawn to find a nightcap, and bed at 7:30am.

Monday started with low blood sugar, which led to high blood pressure as the “all star salsa cruise” shambled into existence. There were people with tickets, people with no tickets but with reservations, and people with neither, and the line quickly turned into a scribble as people were redirected from window to window based on rumour and hearsay. I contacted some forum buddies by phone and left the line to go get some food, returned, ate it, chatted for a bit, then rejoined the line in the exact same place. We got aboard HAVING OUR BOTTLED WATER TAKEN OFF US FIRST. We were directed downstairs, asked what we were doing there, got sent back upstairs again, and found some seats. The buffet looked OK but then we discovered it was $10 for a buffet ticket. And no returning for second helpings. There’s probably a politer way of saying what a crock of shit but… honestly.

But the company on deck watching the view saved the trip. After the cruise, a few of us headed to Baila Society’s class, a thoroughly enjoyable and uplifting experience.

In summary: New York is great, the congress was less so — throughout the congress it felt like the organizers wanted to do their best to piss you off before you arrived at the part where you should be enjoying yourself; whereas Frankie Martinez’s class was fun, funny and challenging, Maria Torres’s class was friendly, fun and very clearly taught, BaSo’s class was enlightening and inspiring, Club Cache was buzzing and upbeat and Jimmy Anton’s social was nourishing and joyful.

The hospitality of the New York forumites and friendliness of the forumites from out of town really made the whole thing worthwhile! Of all the things I’ve learned this week in my dancing, number 1 is that salsa is not technique, repertoire, or musicality. It’s PEOPLE.

Last night left me rather grumpy with a lot of rules and inconveniences like a $12.50 drink being cleared away only half-drunk, nowhere to put my bag, no filming allowed on the dance floor etc. etc. Today I decided to get some air and see East Harlem to Casa Latina music shop and the International Salsa Museum, which had achieved mythical status after I saw a youtube of it but couldn’t find and substantive information about it on the net… except an orphan website with a phone number that gets answered by a guy who says he hasn’t had anything to do with the place for years but still gets 5 calls a day about it.

A friend had walked to Harlem the day before and said it was OK but he got to a point of feeling a bit uncomfortable as a racial minority and couldn’t see any taxis. So I hired a bike from a Malian guy at the south west corner of Central Park and headed through the park to about 90th street then headed up Madison Ave to 110th street (Tito Puente Way) and on to 116th for the shops.

Casa Latina’s ace! The front half is full of CDs and the rear has all manner of percussion. I got some sticks (6 pairs for $24 as opposed to UKP5.00 per pair in Britain)  and a replacement for my Salsa Guidebook, which none of my friends are admitting to having borrowed.

I asked about the mythical International Salsa Museum and heard that it had closed several years ago and it had never been run right in the first place… seldom open and no information about opening times. Ho hum.

Heading south again I stumbled upon another Puerto Rican fan-shop with a similar format. Front half with CDs and rear full of percussion. Had to resist buying MORE COWBELL but afterwards I remembered I’m actually entitled to a whole other bag on the plane! … hmmm …. tempting …

Checked into the Hilton today. Something of an improvement from the Hostel (bloody should be at $240 a night versus $70 at the hostel!) A hot bath and a lie down have hopefully put me in a better state for handling tonight’s onslaught of [anti]social dancing!

As soon as I got my bath reinstated, then it became a lot tougher to do anything that removed the facility again. I still have to sort out wall 4, and clean up the ceiling ready to take plasterboard. In the meantime however I have caught up somewhat by cleaning the car inside and out, tidying the house (though that lasted about a day and a half) and mowing and weeding the front garden. Oh yeah, and buying actual groceries and eating actual meals I cooked myself in my actual kitchen.

I currently have a conundrum to solve, to whit: how to fit the shower outlet. It seems to be designed to screw directly into a wall plate elbow, but there doesn’t seem to be any way of dictating which way up it will be when fully screwed home.  It’s clear that I’m missing some key piece of information that will probably have me tearing out the bath spout as well in order to re-fit it in the correct way.