No Chips, Just Salsa and Paint

So as part of my foray into the Moscow dance scene, I went to the Salsa Club at the U of I tonight. Lots of beginners. But I always like learning more technique when re-learning the steps I already know. The instructor seemed to have a lot of ballroom experience and did include a bit of technique in the lesson. However, I re-discovered the frustration in going to something like this alone: the guys tend to come with girls they already know, and the extra girls don’t have anyone to dance with. They did rotate while the basic steps were being taught, but I was really hoping to dance with a guy who actually knew how to salsa when they had time to free dance at the end. No luck, though. My morsel of advice today for the men who are reading this is to go out dancing. You will not be perceived as gay. You can be close to a woman and essentially touch her all you want for five minute increments and then she'll thank you at the end. (Just as long as you don’t recite Romeo and Juliet to her afterward.)

At work, I finished the plumbing for the system in one room last week, and it seems to be running well. No leaks. Hooray! This week, I have been painting wood frames that lay on top of these long troughs for juvenile fish. Number of brain cells killed inhaling paint fumes? I can’t count that high anymore. But it looks like it will be back to more plumbing in another room tomorrow. Who thought working in natural resources would involve inhaling lots of chemicals and skills as a handyman (or in this case, woman)?

Oh, and I have been listening to NPR all week, eight hours a day, while painting and am temporarily the most informed about current events that I have been in years. I had to take a break today because it was making me depressed. I finally understand why my friend said she wanted to cry everyday while she listened to NPR during her commute. Another example of how ignorance is bliss.