I was seeking relief from the anomie that enshrouded me. I sought every tango venue in Indianapolis; sadly enough though, there were not too many. On one occasion, I drove to Champagne Urbana, in Illinois, there were two couples on the dance floor; it was a Saturday night. One fellow left after about one hour after my arrival, stating that he had to be up early for church the next day. That left me with one fellow to dance; the teacher, and organiser of the milonga. I had travelled for almost two hours to dance with two dancers for two hours. It was a long ride home with no good images to sift through and deconstruct.
The days that followed, I combed the internet every night looking for some details that I had perhaps overlooked, something that may have miraculously or capriciously been arranged, no such luck! All the events occur ‘every first Friday, or every third Sunday, or every other Monday that falls on Good Friday! In other words, if I had bought a lottery ticket that week, my chances of winning may have been greater than attending a milonga. By the following Monday, I made my way down to Cincinnati.
All of the main roads and highways in Cincinnati have a minimum of three names, so if you missed one when you read the direction, you had two more chances of missing the street you are looking for. And, they are not too complicated either, Front Street, Main Street, Court Street, Monument Street, Bend Street; and this could have a litany of nomenclature: North Bend Street and West Bend Street, which intersect, by the way, and some of them are even elliptical, so that you could travel in a straight line on one street and encounter another street twice. Even google was confused, most of my directions included making U-turns to arrive back at your starting point to make a right turn (whereas you could have just made the right turn from the point of embarkation).
Sadly, even after this effort, my milonga search proved fruitless as I seemed to have the penchant for showing up right in-between the respite period of the Fourth Wednesday and the Last day of Harvest. Note to self: check the harvest calendar before planning next visit. I decided to enjoy what the town had to offer and noticed that this boasted a list of 128 events at the theatre that were all occurring simultaneously in the week I was visiting. I will do my best to squeeze 128 events into 7 days. The thought exhausted me and so I selected one play to attend somewhere in Hamilton County; a 50 minute drive.
Dead Man’s Cell Phone, by Sarah Ruhl was playing at the Filton Centre for Creative Arts. A commodious and modern building that sports a stylishly dressed ticket seller and a cosy ambiance. Then there is the ubiquitous bar with a garrulous barista who greeted everyone with offerings of wine, coffee, and the usual barista menu. After successfully dodging that, I walked into a dimly lit conference-room type theatre, with an avante garde stage setting, and dinner tables style seating arrangement. White linen covered tables which were adorned with glasses of wine and bowls of chips. For a moment I forgot that I was here to see a play as my mind began to wander to what might be on the dinner menu. Unfortunately, neither wine nor chips were on my list of culinary delights, so it would not make for a good entree. I moved for good conversation instead. Good move, my table was amply supplied with that!
The play proved to be a delightful comedy laced with technological overtures, balmy satire, and dramatic irony. The cast was well selected and fitted squarely into their roles; hats off to the casting director. Sarah Ruhl also did a great job with the script and the banter, but the cast really must be given the credit for so skillfully breathing life into the words….no pun intended here.