I don't have it anymore--that feverish need to consume the dance floor at every opportunity, regardless of song, of partner, of venue. I haven't had that drive in years, frankly, and while I know that there is merit in becoming a more selective dancer--in developing my own musical tastes and knowing whom I can connect with on the dance floor--I feel a sort of loss for the mindless, ravenous dancer I once was. I remember with such fondness the many regular nights at Atlantic Dance Hall in Orlando, starting in the summer of 1999. Even though I knew hardly the first thing about swing dancing, the mere idea of it was surrounded by so much energy and enthusiasm. It's as though everyone who went out to the club simply had to dance, or else they might explode. But hardly anybody in that initial group of Atlantic dancers knew how to dance; perhaps that is what drove us all together. Erik was the exception. He was transplanted from California, where lindy hop had already been ...