I made my annual pilgrimage to the Dance Flurry this weekend, and, as usual, had a wonderful time. As often happens at large dance gatherings, I left with sore feet and a great many thoughts about comportment in crowds, particularly in crowds of enthusiastic, friendly, tired dancers and musicians. There being little I can do about the feet right now, I am recording the thoughts here, for the contemplation, and, I dare hope, enlightenment of others.

I love the Dance Flurry. I love the energy of the crowd. I love having the opportunity to try new dances, hear new music, and revisit dances I rarely get to do these days (Lindy hop and Scandinavian dances, I'm looking at you). I love walking down a hallway and finding three teenaged boys singing gospel tunes in three-part harmony, then, a few steps later, happening on a spontaneous jam session consisting of a flute player, a cellist, and a guitarist playing English country dance tunes. I love that the dance community consists of teenagers and octagenarians and people in between, and that they mostly find ways to dance together and socialize pleasantly. I love that, at least these days, I can say "No, thank you, I'm sitting this one out," when someone invites me to dance, and not have that person take it as an insult.

There are some things I really don't love, though.

Reflections on festival comportment, including the purpose of doorways, the non-sentient nature of luggage, the purpose of the dance floor, and the effects of vigorous physical activity on one's toilette )