Symptoms

  • There are strangers who know your name when you enter a milonga
  • In a room of 100 people you recognize everyone's face and can comment on their dance level.
  • You have tried to teach tango to your family members.
  • You go through withdrawal without at least one tango-high per week.
  • You think good navigational skills is more important than looks.
  • You have invited complete strangers to your house for overnight stays and trust them just because they can tango.
  • You realize you are being swept away.
  • Your descriptions of tango have shifted from unbound enthusiasm to you wouldn't understand...
  • Your friends are secretly plotting to kidnap you for a week of serious deprogramming.
  • You know who Carlos Gardel is.
  • You've stopped saying sorry when you screw up - you just tango out of the trouble you got into.
  • You keep a pair of dance shoes in your car.
  • You wish you paid more attention in high school spanish class.
  • You've sold or moved most of your furniture to give yourself practice space.
  • You make sure you never run out of breath mints.
  • You no longer freak out at the prospect of leading a boleo.
  • You cross state lines to tango.
  • You've had the big tango-fight with your partner.
  • You listen to tango music when you're not at a practica or milonga.
  • You bring your ankles and knees together all the time.
  • You plan the rest of your social life so it doesn't conflict with tango nights. (Until there's nothing else left to conflict with, then you don't have to worry about it)
  • You own a bootleg copy of Tango Bar
  • Your wardrobe is predominantly black.
  • Ocho is more than just a number.
  • Your fantasy travel destination is Buenos Aires.
  • You are unable to schedule major surgery without compromising tango commitments.
  • You now view the world in terms of people who tango and those unfortunate souls who don't.
  • You've progressed from the practice hold to full contact tango.
  • You have to work hard to maintain non-tango friendships (if you have any left).
  • You've been dancing a year and still don't get bored talking tango.
  • You have developed the ability to turn any conversation to tango within 2 minutes.
  • You no longer have parties at your house; you host milongas.
  • When you look in the mirror, you are usually looking at your feet.
  • You've figured out how to find the hidden tango sections in any record store.
  • Tango never fails to energize, no matter how tired you are.
  • Before traveling, you check out the net for tango events in that area.
  • You are willing to spend twice as much time driving to a milonga as you actually dance.
  • Your computer passwords at work are always phrases related to tango.
  • Your ear has been trained to recognize the tango possibilities in all forms of music.
  • Subtle moves have begun to reveal themselves (without lessons).
  • You maintain a phone list of the hardcore tangueros in your area.
  • You have at least one Kristine Hansen tango poster framed and hanging at home and/or work.
  • You bring your own tango CDs to wedding receptions to insure that your requests will be played.
  • Tango has diminished, if not ruined, the appeal of every other dance you ever did.
  • Little else in your life gets done compared to your pre-tango days.
  • Your passion-index is much higher compared to your pre-tango days.
  • What pre-tango days?
  • You have become nocturnal.
  • You have been spotted dancing tango in parking lots.
  • You automatically do something Tango-ish whenever you navigate through a crowd.
  • "Love me for how I dance" started to make more sense than "Love me for who I am".

(from Tango-L (http://pythia.uoregon.edu/~llynch/Tango-L/1998/msg00268.html))

Emmeline Chang

As soon as we began to move, I could tell that this dance was different. His lead was smooth and balanced, I knew exactly what he was asking me to do. We moved with invisible harmony. I closed my eyes: everything disappeared except for the music and the perfect connection between us. I turned; I swiveled; I balanced on one leg while he turned me in a circle. I did things I had never done before - things I could not repeat with anyone else. All I had to do was focus on the subtle shifts of weight; if I paid attention to that, and only that, I could do anything. The dances blurred into each other. When I opened my eyes between dances, I could barely recognize the room.