The Scoop (Part IV): Crossroads

Oh my ice cream

photo by snowpea&bokchoi (flickr)


It’s been over six months since my last post and more than a year since I’ve stepped into the ballroom.  Now, I’m preoccupied with getting a full-time job and moving out.  It’s probably going to be a while until I make enough to take ballroom regularly again.  Such is life.

I’ll be frank: I think it’s time to shut the blog down.  I have been dancing during my absence, mostly social Latin, and I’ll be embarking on regular Argentine Tango classes beginning this August.  I could blog about this additional dancing, but I cannot find the conviction to do so.  I cannot explain it.  This was a ballroom blog, with a bit of other genres on the side.  It was foundational.  And, I don’t think the bachata team I’m in will last much longer.  Call it a hunch given the specific circumstances around it.  That would only leave Argentine Tango.

I cannot tell all my readers, past and present, how grateful I am.  I went into this needing a platform for writing, never expected anyone to actually read or care.  And it lasted a little over four years.  Such an immense blessing!  It’s been a great ride.

May God bless you all,

Alaina Urbantke


A Dance with Words: Song for the Fallen

Dancing is the poetry of the foot.  ~John Dryden

Hello, friends.  This isn’t about dance.  It’s about poetry, but I do believe the two are related.  What is poetry, if not a dance with words?  I composed this yesterday to honor today: the 15th anniversary of September 11, 2001.


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A Teammate’s Pledge

This is, without a doubt, one of the greatest teams in the world. Photo by Georgia National Guard (flickr)

This is, without a doubt, one of the greatest teams in the world.

Photo by Georgia National Guard (flickr)

I admit that being a team player is a weakness of mine.  I’m a very independent person that’s always preferred working alone.  My reasoning is selfish: If I screw up, I can only blame myself.  There’s also the mantra “If you want to get something done, you have to do it yourself.”  Unsurprisingly, being a part of Kañanazo has been challenging.  My desire to be a leader in the dance-o-sphere compounds it.  Yet, practicing this routine given to us by bachata champions has given me a better idea of what it is to be a teammate.

As a member of the team I pledge…

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Untangling and Settling

*Sigh* It’s been over five months, and I’m writing today because I sure as heck don’t want to make it six.  Truth be told, I’ve been lacking the motivation to write because I have a lot going on in my life right now.  I’m still wrestling with all of it.

This will be a short update.  Please forgive me.

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“Who Knew?”

Long Island Bachata Team

photo by longislandwins (flickr)

Disclaimer: This is more a written therapy session than anything else. I don’t mind talking about my psyche, but it can be exhausting for readers.  Please bear this in mind if you want to keep reading.

To finish my sentence, “Who knew looking sexy could be this hard?”  Dancing Rumba and Bolero gave me an impression, but it really hit me yesterday.  For those that may not know, I’ve joined a bachata team belonging to an independent company called Kañonazo.  My chapter at Arthur Murray is ending after over five years, so I decided to give formation dancing another try.  The fact that it’s an independent company is nice, too.  Everybody is trying to plan outside events where we can chill and get to know one another.  Karaoke came up as a suggestion recently.  I’m totally up for that, but I digress.

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A New Chapter

I feel like they haven’t started properly yet, but life is no novel.  These changes are a drizzle of rain, obscuring the vision of what I hoped to see.  Before I know it, they become a torrent.  Thunder pounds the ears as lightning illuminates the murky sky.  “Why do I want to leave the studio?  This has been the only dance-home I’ve known.  (That rhyme was unintentional.)  I can tough it out until it gets better, right?”  My doubts have their say, but my more logical half interjects.

We’ve been over the reasons already.  Though the torrent is disruptive and even painfully unpleasant, it will recede.  It will return to the drizzle it was in the beginning before stopping entirely.

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It’s Time


photo from Wikimedia Commons


One of the few certainties I had during my college search was the resolution to not attend a big university.  I didn’t—and still don’t like— crowds.  I already knew about dreaded auditorium classes.  Those prerequisite classes that would make me one of hundreds of students.  I’d disappear into the sea of people, and the chances that my professor would know me was would disappear, too.

I needed direct and accessible communication to my professors.  My learning style thrives on feedback and constructive criticism.  The prospect of a teacher saying “Who are you again?” as I walked into his or her office was inconceivable.

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