I must have gone plumb mad in my late forties. I was living a luxurious life on a modest income in paradise, watching the whales blow by, when I felt my life was being wasted, so I decided to get rid of my possessions and move to New York City to become a dancer. I have been ridiculed ever since, except by the dance community. I thank my lucky stars that I am a so-called dumb dancer, for I can state unequivocally, without presenting an elaborate argument to prove it, that dance is the foundation of all the arts. This little book recounts my experience with dance in Manhattan and Miami Beach, and it includes an unfinished novelette I wrote as a student under master teachers.