I took the day off from work Tuesday and made my annual trek out to the Winter Garden restaurant on the Brooklyn boardwalk to enjoy my little golden pot of red caviar with mounds of buttered bread and Russian white wine whilst taking in the alimentary ocean air and lovely sights of the charmingly vast cross-section of humanity found on Brighton Beach / Coney Island See photos beginning here. This has become an annual tradition of mine since reconnecting over the same “brunch” with a friend from college Russian classes a few years ago after recognizing each other at an alumni event in the city. Except now that she’s gone to Washington DC to do fancy State Department things, I just go out on my own now — kinda my little celebration of the beginning of the summer, which started way late for me this year since work was a total bitch all the way through mid July… Anyway, after my totally dehydrating meal of salt and alcohol, I decided to walk to the other end of the boardwalk and visit the Aquarium, so I could reconnect with my little friends — the happy smiling beluga whale, bashfully adorable sea horses, scary great whites, and my favorite, the leafy sea dragon — the most oddly beautiful little creature who looks like a cross between a fish, seahorse, and, as his name implies, leaf, which he maintains for camoflage. I’d forgotten that the beluga had passed away last year, they no longer had either the leafy or weedy sea dragons, and I missed the bloody shark feeding frenzy, but I did get to see the sea lion performance in the center tank, and plenty of cute wiskery otters and elephantine walruses seemingly trying to rub up against us humans via the glass of the underground tank separating us from them. And there were plenty of little seahorses, although it was really upsetting me that no one was obeying the PLETHORA of “please don’t take flash photos” signs. Sea horses in particular are very shy and easily frightened, poor things. Of course I don’t mind flashing away at a certain bravura ABT dancer doing a dangerous leap during curtain call, but no way will I harm a tiny defenseless fish!

Anyway, between dehydrating myself with food and wine, surrounding myself with sneezing coughing children, and getting caught in an actually quite chilly seabreeze, I woke up in the middle of the night with a horrible sore throat. Ended up coming down with the second of the two bouts of flu I’ve had in only six months. My doctor had offered to send me to get a vaccine this year since there was no shortage, but I said no bother, didn’t get vaccine or illness last year, I’ll be fine. I’m never, ever not getting it again! I was out cold for two weeks in February, and have been sick for five days now. I finally felt it beginning to degenerate into a cold yesterday, but last flu that cold turned into a flaming burning searing sinus infection. And, a few hours ago, I noticed a scratching sensation in my left eye, followed by intermittent bluriness. I changed contact lenses, but after it continued to hurt, I looked in the mirror to see the eye was completely red, swollen, and draining some kind of clear but steady substance. Doctor mom says it’s an infection. I’m gonna call the real doctor tomorrow, but if it is, I’m scared she’s going to tell me I have to wear glasses for a while. I can’t wear them at all, especially in dance. Not only will they fly off during a lift — forget a lift — a simple spin even — but I have no depth perception since I never wear them since I have a weirdly shaped face, which no pair can fit correctly. I’ve been wearing them for three hours now and have stubbed both toes twice on various apartment furniture that appeared much farther away than they actually were, slammed my right shoulder into the wall rounding the kitchen corner, and almost missed a stair on the way out of my building to the corner bodega. But even if I was used to them, they’d never stay put during any low-level trick. What do real dancers do when these things happen? I mean, I’m trying to take good care of my knees and hips now, doing my strengthening exercises regularly and taking Advil and epsom salt baths at the first sign of inflammation, and I’m TRYING to eat well. But I never thought of a flu / cold turning into an eye infection requiring me to wear glasses as a potential problem. And, although my performance is still a couple of months away, now is the time I really have to start getting serious. Luis warned me last lesson now that we’re done choreographing he’s going to start being a total hardass on me. I assured him I was ready; now I might have to cancel my next lesson? The key obviously is to stay healthy in the first place, which, for some reason, the last couple years I have not been able to do. Anyone sneezes within a half mile of me and my throat is on fire next morning. Are there super-vitamins? I was taking Centrum, but that didn’t seem to be doing anything for me. Professional dancers never seem to get sick??? Oooh, hopefully the doctor will give me two days of amoxicillan and it’ll be all over. If I can even call her; my voice is starting to give into laringytis. Could I be more of a mess?

Anyway, before coming down with the full-fledged flu, I managed to see a couple performances by the San Francisco Ballet, which just finished a week-long run at Lincoln Center. Tuesday, their opening night, I spotted two “celebrities” — dance writer and former ABT soloist Joseph Carman, and with him William Cubberly, the publisher of the book they put together with photographer Roy Round, Round About the Ballet. I’d met Cubberly before, in Barnes and Noble, but when he asked me, camped out on the floor perusing the glossy photos, what I thought, frustrated from having just been hit on by a very annoying guy, I was kind of rude to him, without of course realizing he was just the author wanting to know what I thought of his book! Now I’m not even sure he’s straight, so I’m laughing even more at myself for having thought he was trying to pick me up Anyway, they passed right by me, but I said nothing — I’m far too shy Then, Thursday, I saw Mark Morris’s Sylvia (okay, I was a bit run-down by then, but I swear, I didn’t breathe on a single soul!), which was okay and better than the Ashton the ABT does (though no one but NO ONE makes a better Aminta than the splendid David Hallberg!) but I was hoping for something a bit more iconoclastic from Morris, even though Playbill warned not to… Speaking of Mr. Tall and Beautiful (Hallberg, of course), I saw his radiant blonde head up in the Fourth Ring. Wasn’t sure at first whether it was him, because he said on The Winger he was going to Mexico for a break and I didn’t know whether he was back yet, but his friend and fellow ABT dancer Matthew Murphy posted on his blog that they saw the ballet that night, so I was right :) He was just sauntering around, in jeans and a t-shirt, like a normal person, not the STAR he is :)

Okay, time for more nighttime Robitussin. I just wanna be well, dammit! Two days ago, I told myself to be glad the Cadbury 5 I’d gained at Blackpool was now gone; now, I just wanna crave a cheeseburger and fries, would give anything to have my appetite back. Even if my eye thing is nothing serious, I’m not going to have the energy to dance…

This is a partial quote on advice to freshman from a senior graduating from my alma mater, that I fell in love with while flipping through my latest alumni mag. The whole quote is:

“It’s easy to be pigeonholed, to fall into a role: the protester, the hipster, the low-level college bureaucrat, the rich New Yorker. Instead, come to Brown and do you.”

So very Brown! And, that’s kinda what I like about blogging. You can really be you — no editor or agent telling you some philosopher is too lofty to quote, metaphors you worked hard on are too long, an image is too disturbing and must be changed, a word a character habitually uses too esoteric, etc. — all of which may well be ‘correct’ by increasing the work’s sales potential, but nonetheless prevents you from having complete ownership of your writing voice and creative work product, you know? Here, you can create your own little space — theme, links, titles, categories — all in a way that suits you… So, there, blogging is very Brown

Anyway, back to the graduating senior: Mr. Elliott Walker Breece. He concentrated (the unique Brown word for “majoring”) in Modern Culture and Media (the unique Brown term for “semiotics“) — my favorite subject (wish sooo much would’ve studied it more…), and, among loads of other accomplishmens, served as editor-in-chief of a student newspaper, “African Sun,” and while in middle school (?!) founded a web development company. Now, he’s just launched a unique online music store called Amie Street. This store, which he describes as “iTunes meets American Idol meets eBay,” is geared toward selling the work of small, independent recording artists, who can download their songs and create their own profiles. Consumers can also create their own profiles in which they can make lists of their favorite music as well as recommendations of artists selling on the site. The price for each song starts out low and climbs with every new buy. Consumers who recommend songs that end up selling well actually get a percentage of the profits! What interests me so much about this is not only its novelty but that it so perfectly puts into praxis what Chris Anderson in his new book The Long Tail, which I blogged about in my last entry, says about the internet-led economy. Anderson writes that, in the “niche” (rather than “hit”)-centric internet economy, not only are artists themselves self-producing more, since the tools of production are now easily attainable, but consumers actually take a role in production as well, by spurring the sale of niche items through recommendation lists (like those on Amazon) and word-of-mouth — or, I guess, “word of blog” if you will. Breece has taken that idea to a new level by allowing consumers to reap a portion of the profits of these underground / “niche hits”. And, like Anderson’s blog-on-the-way-to-a-book, Amie Street has maintained its own blog on the way to a business. It’s very fun to find such connections! And makes me very proud to have gone to this fabulous school that produced someone with such a cool Brown way of thinking, and such a pioneer. Brown rocks!!!

On a weirder note, I don’t know what it is with me and book stores, but I honestly don’t know whether I unwittingly took part in some kind of social experiment this weekend or if this guy was actually hitting on me. Now that both ABT and NYCB are off season, I found myself planless on Saturday night, so, not wanting to sit home, decided to visit the book store. I find books can be great company. I was browsing the discounts, trying to decide whether $7.95 was too much to pay for a copy of Anais Nin’s Delta of Venus, when suddenly this guy walked up.

“I want to compliment you on your color choice,” he said.

I looked up at him; he seemed totally serious. I looked down at my dress. I was wearing this very basic black rayon sundress — absolutely nothing special, no interesting accessories, nothing.

“Huh?” I said.

“I noticed you’re wearing all black,” he continued, “and black is a very good color for you, it suits you well, brings out your highlights.”

I have brown hair, with no highlights; I had no idea what he was talking about.

Then he laughed and said, “Obviously, I’m not really complimenting you on your wardrobe, I’m just using it as an excuse to meet you.” He extended his hand and said his name was Andrew. I wasn’t at all into him, but wanted to be polite so shook his hand, said my name, then quickly looked back down at my book.

“I often come here and get ideas of things I want to buy,” he said, “then go to the library and just check them out.” I kept my gaze on the book. “Do you do that?” he asked.

I harrumphed and looked up at him. “No, I just buy them,” I said curtly, returning to the book.

“Doesn’t that get expensive?” he said.

“I guess,” I said, shrugging, still looking down.

Then, he went into this huge story (I actually remember this conversation word for word because it was so odd): “Speaking of expensive, I went to the store today for some cargo pants. I tried on two pairs. One had a bunch of little pockets, all down the leg, like ten of them, or maybe eight, on each leg. And they were cool. But I didn’t really like them. Too much noise. This other pair was plain but made of really really cool material. I don’t know what type of material it was, but it was cool. I really liked them. Then I saw the price tag. $160. I mean, would you pay that for a pair of cargo pants?”

I must have had a deer-in-the-headlights look on my face because a guy passing behind him just then did a double-take at me. “Would you pay that? Don’t you think that’s expensive?” Andrew repeated.

“I don’t know,” I mumbled, looking back to Nin. How obvious could I be?

Then, he actually bent over, peered around the book cover and said rather loudly, “What did you do today?”

Knowing I wasn’t going to get rid of him, I said I had to go and put Delta back on the shelf.

“Oh, are you trying to keep it light?” he asked, reaching out and actually touching my sleeve. I didn’t even know what he meant. I just said goodbye and started walking away. He walked behind me asking again if I was “trying to keep it light?”

All the way home, I kept looking behind me to make sure he wasn’t following me, and I even walked into a deli to ‘wait it out’ for a while. I looked in my bag worried he may have had a buddy trying to scrounge around for my wallet behind me while he distracted me, then realized that was completely paranoid since we were in a bookstore, not at some crowded tourist attraction. When I thought it over later at home, I felt badly for not being more receptive to meeting someone, but I guess when I’m in a bookstore, I’m really in my own world, or rather the world of the author whose book I’m contemplating, that some guy trying to get to know me is a real annoyance. If bookstores are the new pick-up joints, maybe that’s safer than a bar, but I don’t know if it works for me…

I really thought there was going to be another blackout today in NY. I got on the 3 train about 9:25 a.m. just to stand, gripping the pole, and stand, and stand, and stand, before being told there was a loss of power and thus no local or express trains running on the 7th Ave. line. This news resulted in a mass exodus to the 8th Ave. line where several thousand profusely sweating, hysterically rushing, immensely frustrated people tried to pile into the first car of a C train, just so the train could sit and sit and sit in the station. About 15 minutes later, we were told there was a medical emergency and the train would be held indefinitely. I jumped out, landed a seat on a platform bench, and, deciding to screw being worried over being late to work, pulled out my Chris Anderson book — about which I will say more in a sec. When I finally boarded the next C train nearly an hour later, I honestly wondered if I should get right back off of it, thinking on such a hot day with one power-outage already underway, I may well find myself walking the 8 or so miles from the financial district to my apartment later today, which I did three years ago in brand new, un-broken-in shoes — not very pleasant. I had comfortable shoes on today, but have noticed the past few days a pain now in my left knee, in the exact location where I’d felt pain on my right knee when I was diagnosed with a meniscus tear. I haven’t been dancing a lot the past few weeks and after beginning to sense a jello-y presence accumulating on my lower butt, started myself on a regimen of demi and grand plies, days before I noticed the pain. Can I please bend my knee without injuring myself, for crying out loud!?!? Anyway, it wasn’t nearly so hot three years ago either. Today, it almost hit the 100 degree mark — was probably over that with the humidity. By the time I got to work, two hours after I began my normally 40 minute commute, I was dripping with sweat, and, being from Phoenix, where it’s often at least 110 degrees in the summer, I really don’t sweat on the east coast. I can’t imagine how hot a normal person must have been. If there would’ve been another blackout, there may well have been several heat strokes. We really really really have to do something, as a society, about global warming…

Anyway, I am horribly sad that the ABT has now ended its summer Met season, and am suffering from ridiculously serious separation anxiety. Therefore, I have posted on the photo page some of my favorite curtain-call moments featuring their incredible, world-class cast (because, with a company populated by such “characters,” rarely does the fall of the curtain signal the end of the show:):):). In particular, I find that I’ve developed a stupid little bad crush on baby principal David Hallberg. He’s such a little cutie — in addition to being a charming dancer with a very mature for his age, very regal stage presence, his entries in Kristin Sloan’s brilliant and ADDICTIVE blog, The Winger, are so well thought-out, and he’s quite sophisticated and cerebral, especially for a 24-year-old. Funny, since I’m first and foremost a writer and reader, I tend to develop crushes on dancers not through their dancing but either their books, or their interviews in magazines and books (e.g. Marcelo!) or, now, in their blog posts I also think part of my ABT-detachment issues are stemming from the fact that now I really have to focus on my own dancing since I no longer have my favorites to watch and since my showcase is coming up in just a few months!!! Needless to say, it’s a lot easier to watch someone else perform (especially if that someone is the best in the world…) than deal with my own dance problems!

While not dancing a lot lately, I’ve started reading this book called The Long Tail. Normally, I don’t read a lot of non-fiction but Kristin (see how addicted I am???) posted about attending author Chris Anderson’s book signing party and when I read her link to his intriguingly original book-in-progress blog, then that same day received an email from Borders offering me, as a rewards member, a 30% discount on that very book, have had my nose in it for the past several nights now. His thesis is that the internet has fundamentally changed the laws of supply and demand so that instead of only a few big commercial, mainstream “hits” reaching and thus dominating the public mind, consumers are discovering smaller, alternative “niche” products. Online stores like Amazon and Netflix are realizing that while each “niche” product in and of itself doesn’t sell as well as one “hit,” taken together the “niche” products consistitute a market far greater than the “hit” market — a market the online stores, without the overhead costs of actual stores, are exploiting. This is great news for first-time or avant-garde book authors or filmmakers whose sales potential publishers and production companies find risky because, with online companies selling more non-mainstream products, we actually have a fighting chance of our good actually making it to the consumer:) But I wonder what it means for dance. Online advertising (e.g. Google) has opened up to smaller niche advertisers in the same way as online stores, Anderson argues. So alternative choreographers and small dance companies can better sell themeselves to the public. But dancers make relatively low salaries for the same reason stage actors do, and while a live performance (of which there is no equal of course) costs many many times what a taped one does and a tape has the potential, with the internet, of taking in many times that of a live show, I wonder if DVD is the future of dance. While nothing beats a live performance, I have many dance videos that I treasure and watch over and over again. While Nureyev directed filmed versions of himself and his company dancing, he proclaimed that he was a much better stage performer, as are many of today’s great performers with through-the-roof charisma, like Angel Corella. But, being too young to have ever seen him perform, those taped versions of Nureyev are the only way I “know” him, and, from viewing those tapes, he has become my favorite ever dancer. So, is it so bad if lots of people have access to dance solely on tape? Hmmm, it’s interesting to ponder. I have to finish the book though!

Very excited because I sent off for my Blackpool seat tickets today! True, the dance festival doesn’t happen until end of May 2007, but the cut-off deadline for seat ticket orders (standing room only tickets are available until about a couple of weeks before the event) must reach their England office by July 28th. So, if you think you’re gonna go, and you want to be guaranteed a seat, go to their website, download an order form, and fax or fed-ex it right away!

I cannot for the life of me memorize my choreography. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Luis and I have our Latin combo Cha Cha / Samba / Salsa / Merengue routine almost finished, except for the “series of overhead lifts and tricks” (yikes…) he has planned, which we couldn’t choreograph yet because we need the big studio with the high ceilings (double yikes…) for that. I spent all afternoon Sunday watching and re-watching and re-re-watching the damn video I made of us, and I thought I had it all down, but when he turned on the blasted music and we were actually going at it, I forgot everything! David Hallberg posted a picture on The Winger of a bunch of little kids, by the looks of it not more than 6 years old, tremendously excited about having little roles in ABT’s Le Corsaire last week. He commented how he could have never remembered his choreography at that age. And it made me think, ‘geez, I am dumber than a 6 year old kid…’ — just like when you’re in a foreign country trying so hard to learn the language and some little local kid comes along and blurts out sentence after sentence after sentence in perfect fluency and you feel like the greatest idiot…

On top of learning this choreography and mastering these crazy to-come lifts, I have a new worry over my head: money. Ballroom dancing is getting really expensive. I mean, I want to practice practice practice until I’m as perfect as possible — because how are my routines possibly going to look good if I don’t? But that’s hard when I have to pay a lot of money for every 50-minute lesson with each of my two teachers. I’m going to practice on my own as much as I can, and kill myself with far less expensive ballet classes for overall dance technique, but I can’t really practice lifts very well on my own. And you can’t really practice much in ballroom alone — ballroom by definition takes two. At the studio last night, one of my fellow students, who competed in a local pro-am competition last weekend, was all upset because her husband came unglued over her I won’t say how many thousand dollar credit card bill last MONTH. Unfortunately, it is so believable to me that you could rack up a several thousand dollar bill in only one month on this kind of dancing. Gowns are around $1000 at least, competition entry fees well over a thousand, teacher fees in the hundreds, likewise studio fees, and the bizillions of private lessons you need to get yourself ready. .. it’s breathtaking, really. And this was in Brooklyn, so there weren’t even any transportation costs. I jokingly told her to tell him, “please, dear, it’s necessary to my human development,” but I felt like she’s really lucky to have a husband who can afford it in the first place! I certainly don’t; and am struggling to afford it myself as it is…

Anyway, to try to calm myself down, I went to see The Devil Wears Prada. Mad great wicked fun! Of course I sat in the raucous-with-laughter ‘gay man section’ so that might have (greatly) helped set the mood for my viewing… Very campy in a “Valley of the Dolls” sort of way and somewhat satirical like “Heathers” or “Clueless,” and the genius screenwriter both gave Meryl Streep and Stanley Tucci some nastily cool lines and re-wrote the plot to make it sweeter and with more heart than the book. At one point, in explaining to protagonist Andy why Streep was really going out on such a limb to hire her — “the smart fat girl” — Tucci exclaims that size 4 is the new 2, 2 the new 0, and 6 (Andy’s size of course) the new 14! Very wickedly funny movie, and far better than the book.

On one last note, I want to bring attention to Doug Fox’s new blog, Dance That Matters, which will deal with how dance informs and speaks to the compelling social issues of our time, such as global warming, genocide, and wrongful incarceration, and will log what dancers and dance companies are doing to help improve their communities. As someone with a keen interest in both social justice issues and dance, I am really hoping this takes off. Go Doug!

My pics from the Manhattan DanceSport Championships are now up on the photo page. It was a lot of fun — I always like this comp because, being in Brooklyn Heights, it’s in an area easily accessible by public transportation and near courthouse-area parks and Montague Street eateries, and, since it’s local, I end up knowing lots of people and reconnecting with old dance friends. Expectedly, Jonathan Wilkins and Katusha Demidova won the Standard, Tony Dovolani and Elena Grinenko the American Rhythm, and one of my favorite couples — Maxim Kozhevnikov and Yulia Zagorouitchenko won the Latin (current US champs Andrei Gavriline and Elena Kruychkova didn’t compete for some reason; I didn’t see the American Smooth comp). The only grumble I had was, on Saturday the 3rd, after finishing watching my friend compete in Pro/Am Standard, I ran to the hotel bar to catch the second half of the World Cup game only to see, horribly, Brazil lose. And all of the crazed Standard dancers watching with me cheered wildly when France won??? Ugh, evil Standard people! That never would have been the case had the Latin comps been underway at the time! Actually, it well could have been the same. Almost all ballroom dancers, Standard and Latin both, are European and likely root for European teams. Plus, I think I am the only person who actually takes an interest in the culture from which these dances emerge. . .

Anyway, backtracking a bit, I went to the ballet (ABT) on Friday night to see Marcelo! and Julie perfom Swan Lake. The ballet is not one of my favorites, but Marcelo! is. This year marks Julie’s, I think 20th anniversary with the company, and during curtain call, Marcelo! did a Nureyev and bowed down to her, and on one knee, took her hand and dramatically kissed it:):):) Of course Fonteyn scolded the boy Rudik, telling him it made her feel like an old lady. Julie seems too sweetly down-to-earth to say the same though. Earlier, when Marcelo! came out alone, someone tossed a bouquet onstage, and he caught it mid-air with one hand, just like a football (American football of course). Gia Kourlas of TONY said of Julio, after removing his ballet shoes and placing them atop Giselle’s grave during his last ever performance of that ballet a week ago, “Bocca may not be a ballerina but he certainly knows how to act like one.” Well, Julio was Marcelo!’s little-boy role model so… Although I think Marcelo!’s a much more interesting ballerina — a big, brawny, 20-foot-high leaping, football-catching, leading-lady-worshipping one! Marcelo!’s inner ballerina rocks!!

On a more serious note, included in the ABT’s Playbill this month was a survey form that they asked be filled out and deposited in a box in the opera house or mailed in. The survey consisted of interesting questions such as which are your favorite full-length ballets and what do you like about them, and who are your favorite choreographers, both contemporary and classical, and why. It made me think, and I started to answer. Then, at the bottom of the form, it asked for the survey-taker’s salary. It listed many ranges, but extremely specific ones, starting from ‘under $50,000′ and going up in less than $10,000 increments, ending at ‘above $175,000′. I found this interesting. I’ve definitely seen surveys asking for the person’s general income-level, but in $50,000 increments, so the testers basically wanted to know who their demographic was. But this form was too specific for that, they seemed to want to know your exact salary, as if the degree to which they intended to take into account my choice of ballets and choreographers was based on what level of patronage I could give them. First, I think that’s rude to be so obvious, and second, don’t they know that the wealthiest people in New York are living off of trust funds and don’t even have salaries? They would have been better served asking what’s in people’s bank accounts or investment portfolios. I don’t even really like most of the ballets they put on; I come for the dancers. They nicely offered first-time subscribers discounted orchestra tickets, so I’ve been sitting either in the orchestra, for performances that are either part of my subscription plan or for matinees which are less expensive, otherwise in the balcony. Friday night was almost sold out, and they only had family circle tickets left, so I sat up there. And I realized that, unless you’re in the first couple of rows in the orchestra, you can see almost the same from the family circle as you can from anywhere else. I also encountered lots of interesting people up there — there were several giggly teenaged girls who were obviously dance students and would burst out laughing whenever the dancers did something impossibly great. I honestly felt like I learned something just listening to them. Next to me was a large, burly construction-worker-type who resembled Herb Ritts’ Vladimir without his makeup on, sitting, interestingly, alone, and, judging by his howls during the curtain call, was a fellow Marcelo! fan. And behind me were several elderly couples watching with mesmerized looks on their faces, as well as a young mother trying to explain to her two little daughters the beauty of the ballet. I honestly found family circle patrons a much more interesting bunch than the people who sit in orchestra and, although I understand a large ballet company’s need for financial support, family circle patrons’ interests should not be taken lightly! Anyway, whatever bad taste ABT’s management left in my mouth, happily, my fellow family-circle spectators and Marcelo! cured