Every Monday night dozens of dancers pack into a small, dimly-lit tavern on a corner in Northeast Portland. They order drinks at the bar and cluster around tables in the cozy brick interior. Once 9:00 hits, the music-- always courtesy of The Kung Pao Chickens-- starts, and everyone abandons their chairs for a spot on the dance floor. This particular night at LaurelThirst was about two months into my foray into the swing dancing community, and I was absolutely enthralled by the bustling bar filled with gypsy jazz and smiling, sweating dancers. This was also the night someone first asked me "Do you know balboa?" Balboa, I've since learned, is a dancer's dance--which is a nice way of saying, it's not very pretty. It's danced to fast music, with quick steps that don't take up much space. I've always thought Balboa dancers kind of look like two animated playing cards pressed together and hopping around the dance floor. But it's perfect for tight spaces and tempo changes. On this October night, I soaked in the atmosphere packed into this little corner pub. I danced, nursed a gin and tonic, and asked all the people around me to draw sheep. I loved every minute of it. And for some strange reason, I haven't been back.