Author: Tonya

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Gorgeous Latin Guys Doing Big Huge Jumps, Oh My!

Last two nights I’ve been at the ABT — Monday night was their opening night gala, and they performed several smaller ballets and parts of ballets the company is going to be performing this season. What a dream 🙂 Angel Corella is just the king of charisma, and Jose Carreno is so amazing he completely steals the show whenever he’s onstage! And, Marcelo!! And, last night was called “Noche Latina” — they did Le Corsaire, a silly ballet but one with loads of cute guys dressed as pirates and donning goatees doing enormous jumps… And they had all the Latin dancers in the main roles to showcase the amazing Latin talent. But, horrendously, no Marcelo… I guess not enough roles for all of that Latin talent…

I love going to these ballets — and seeing all kinds of dance performances — because I think it is so important for dancer wannabes, like me, to watch the dancers very carefully. You pick up so much just really looking closely at them. But the ABT is so theatrical (I guess, hence their name — American Ballet Theater) and they put on such a show, I tend to get carried away in the spectacle of it all. So, I think it’s easier to focus on the dancers when I go to the New York City Ballet. You can get a Fourth Ring Society membership to the NYCB and sit up in the fourth ring for only $15 a performance, which is an amazing deal. And, if you sit on the sides you’re practically right on top of the dancers — I mean, way way on top, but I find I can see them very well, even without opera glasses.

I love this time of year because both ballets are in season simultaneously, and there’s never a dull moment. But, ugh, I’ll have to tear myself away for a bit soon, because I’m going to …. Blackpool!

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Can it Be — Evil Latin Stilettos May Not Be All Bad?

I had an oral argument in court on Friday morning and was running late, so I just pulled out from my closet the top-most box of shoes that resembled pumps. (I keep all of my shoes in boxes on my closet floor — a trick taught to me by my first real, born ‘n bred New Yorker friend as the best way to maximize closet space). Anyway, I haven’t been to court in a while and these turned out not to be my usual chunk-heeled Kenneth Coles, but a pair of three-inch stick-heeled Banana Republic pumps I bought in SoHo last year only because they were on extreme sale and I needed brown. Afraid as I was of embarrasing myself by wobbling, if not actually falling, in the courtroom on my way to the podium, I didn’t have time to dig more sensible shoes out from the pyramid, so I popped them on and fled. Amazingly, running to the subway I felt my posture actually improving — slight turn-out of hips elongating leg (in Latin turn-out is 45 not 8000 degrees!), shoulders down and back, abdominals tucked in and up — I didn’t feel the least unsteady. Once ensconsed on the subway seat, I thought about my newfound balance and figured it must be the evil latin shoes. Not only has trying so hard to dance in them apparently made me able to walk in the average stiletto, but a simple reminder of dance seems automatically to improve posture!

Funnily, I think I am begining to have a thing with Jonathan Roberts (previous entry) — while sitting in the courtroom waiting for my case to be called, I noticed that one of the appellate District Attorneys (our adversaries) looks just like him! Grrr…

Speaking of Ballroom, I took the first steps toward packing for Blackpool this weekend by digging my passport out of my “important papers” drawer. Actually, I took more than that; in an effort to avoid being lectured ad nauseam by my mom, who is a Planner (ie: literally packs weeks before a trip and is always nagging me, exactly the opposite and thus always having a nervous breakdown the night before), and took out a suitcase and started tossing in things I knew I’d need. Wrong. I have a ticket to the American Ballet Theater’s opening night gala tomorrow night and am sitting in nosebleed section, so just went to retrieve my opera glasses to put in my handbag. I looked and looked and looked; they were nowhere. I panicked — they were $80, I must have left them at the New York City Ballet on Friday night I thought, should I call the State Theater, no they only have a matinee on Sunday and must be closed and anyway someone probably just kept them… I frantically searched some more before finally realizing they were in my suitcase. Okay, no more “planning” — I’ll be waiting til Wednesday night, thank you very much!

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So Afraid to Go Over the Guy's Head!

Very happy that Pasha is now back in the studio after spending the last three weeks traveling around the country with his students doing Pro/Am competitions. So, we discussed how to not look like a spaghetti by: exerting more control over my body; finding my center and keeping it solid; being grounded (instead of thinking about dancing as akin to flying — it only looks that way and humans really can’t fly); thinking about the lines I’m trying to create; and deciding the character of the piece — ie: I am a girl in love, not a swan, so no flapping arm-wings… He also made me feel much better about not being able to developee my leg all the way up near my head yet, telling me it’s one of the hardest things to do in ballet because it requires great strength and control, and not just flexibility, like it looks.

On the other hand, Luis showed me this crazy overhead lift he wants me to do with him that looks similar to the Bird from Dirty Dancing, but is supposedly easier since I’m pressing down on his shoulders from above and he’s supporting my hips. We tried it but I’m just so scared to go over his head! So, I only went halfway up. He assured me he was strong and told me he wouldn’t do anything with me that he didn’t know I could do and the only thing holding me back was my fear. How do female dancers get rid of those fears?!!! He also wants me to do this cartwheel over his head and land in this Firebird-looking position on his back. Yikes — I’ve been dancing barely two years now and have no gymnastics background! So, anyway, my task over the next week and a half while I’m out of the studio and in Blackpool is to try hard to overcome my fears.

I want to try one of those hand-free fishes, where the girl is in a fish dive and the guy lets go and she holds onto him with her leg wrapped around his back — don’t know exactly what they’re called. No one seems to know what I’m talking about and the way I describe it, they say it sounds physically impossible, which it probably is for me now… But it can’t possibly be as hard as flying over the guy’s head! I’ll have to bring to the studio the picture of Marcelo Gomes and Gillian Murphy doing it in The Ballet Book.

Speaking of which, Monday night is ABT’s opening gala! And next Friday begins Blackpool!! So many exciting things…

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Physical Therapist is Pissed About Pot-Stir

Just got back from physical therapy. When I limped in, my therapist had this bewildered look. “Oh no, what happened?” she said.

“No, nothing to my injury,” I said (I have a partially torn meniscus in my right knee likely caused by unconsiously forcing turnout from the knees in ballet since I’ve developed both tendonitis and bursitis in both hips, making it hard to turn out from the proper place — the hip joints). “My thigh is just a little sore from a new thingy I was doing in my Latin lesson last night.”

“Show me,” she said, frowning.

When I illustrated how I was sitting butt half an inch from the floor, balancing on the ball of my left foot, right foot off floor and pointed, while Luis whipped me around repeatedly, she screamed, “What? That’s totally hard on your knees. Hello, you have a knee injury!”

After lecturing me about dancing at all until I healed, then about ever dancing more often then every other day even after the meniscus healed because of my ongoing tendonitis and perpetually tight IT band (still not completely sure what that is), she finally said I could do the spin if I promised to do it only on the left leg and even then be very very careful and not practice it for half an hour at a time.

But if I limit my dancing to every couple of days, only an hour or two a day and then don’t practice difficult things, obviously I’ll never improve. And I can’t wait for an injury to heal if it’s tendonitis, which never heals and can cause other problems. It really makes me feel for people like Kristin Sloan (from NYCBallet) and other professional dancers who have ongoing or recurring injuries because how are they supposed to limit their dancing time? How can anyone limit their dancing time!!

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Dancers are Really Smart

Oof. Had my second lesson last night with Luis. I learned this flying fish thing where I grab my left foot over his shoulder and extend my right leg out into splits as far as possible and he whirls me around and around and around. Almost threw up. Also almost kicked a lady in the chest with foot of extended leg. Actually, I am becoming known for kicking ladies in the chest. A couple of weeks ago, with Pasha, I was doing a lift and when I jumped and he picked me up and I extended my front leg out, it hit a female student right smack in the chest. Fortunately I was only wearing ballet slippers and not evil latin stilettos. And fortunately she wasn’t hurt and we were able to kind of laugh about it afterward because the lift happened right as Jessica Simpson bellowed over the speaker, “Take my breath awayyyy”, which I guess I kind of did to her.
Anyway, I also learned a “pot stir” last night, which is where Luis is standing above me spinning me, looking indeed like he’s stirring a thick concoction in a big ole pot, and I play the pot, or the gunk in the pot I guess, spinning on one foot. His professional partner, Anya, did like 50 spins in a row with him during the last performance. After half an hour of practicing it, I managed to do 4 rotations without falling flat on my nonexistant butt.

Dancing is so hard!

Luis told me I’d be sore today because the pot stir tends to do that to women, and suggested a hot bath and ibuprofin. But I didn’t feel a thing last night and swore I was strong, he was wrong. Of course I could hardly make it down the stairs from my loft this morning, and it’s only gotten worse throughout the day. Can hardly lift my left thigh up at this point, which means major limping. Guess listening to the teacher is not a bad idea.

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Stand Over Me, Spread Your Legs, and Squat

With directions like this I know I am not in ballet-class anymore…

I have put my frustrations at seeing myself on video aside and am now hard at work on my next showcase, set for October. Am doing another Rhumba with Pasha (similar routine, hopefully A LOT more polished this time). And, I’ve decided to do a Salsa with another teacher, Luis, as well. Actually, since I’ve chosen “Oye” by Gloria Estefan as my music (which, having no sense of rhythm, I didn’t realize was way too fast for salsa — we tried but looked a bit like gerbils), so we’re doing a Latin combo and putting everything into the mix — cha cha, merengue, samba, salsa/mambo (for slower parts), and even paso — which I think is going to be a lot of fun. I think. Luis is all excited — says he’s going to show people a different side of me, that I really can let loose.

Oh.
He’s already having me practice these huge hair flips and crazy body rolls that begin up at the shoulders and quickly inch their way down the torso to end in a kind of Samba-y butt-sticking-way-out squat (apparently he doesn’t think my lack of butt will hinder my ability to perform this). And the trick that’s mentioned in the title above is actually a lot more enticing than it sounds. I stand, back arched over him while he does this sexy Latin lunge. I have to splay my legs, because it they’re daintily together, I’ll never maintain my balance. Thing is — you have to love male dancer / choreographers: — I can barely do this without losing balance in flat jazz shoes; he apparently thinks I’m going to be able to do it as well it in the insane 3-inch Latin stilettos the evil powers that be who originated ladies Latin shoes force us to wear.

Well, I am game… nothing can be worse than last time!!

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Brown v. Board of Education Re-Do

This has nothing to do with dance, but I just saw the most amazing little film at the Tribeca Film Festival. It was included in a group of short films by very young (ie: teenage) filmmakers in New York. The last one was about African American girls’ standards of beauty, questioning the extent to which they are still defining themselves by white standards. The filmmaker decided to re-perform the study used by Thurgood Marshall in the landmark case, Brown v. Board of Ed. supporting his argument for desegregation. It was so incredibly upsetting to see these African American children all point to the white doll when asked by the filmmaker which doll they would rather play with. These children were far too young to have been “acting.” The last little girl, barely four years old, after choosing the white doll as a playmate was asked which one most resembled her, and her tiny face turned so angry as she shoved the black doll at the filmmaker. That image stayed with me all night. It made me think the study should be performed on a larger scale. It was so amazing to be so struck by such a young director — Tribeca rocks!

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Take That Back, Performance WAS Heinous!

DVDs from the school of the March performance just came out and I saw myself dance. Ewwwwwwwwww! I look like a spaghetti. Seriously. My arms are flapping madly about; I look like I have no skeleton whatsoever. And I was so scared, I had this look on my face like I’d just received shock therapy and my shoulders were hunched straight up to my ears throughout the entire three minutes. And I looked truly horrified whenever I looked out into the audience – -and blinded; now I do remember the lights being so bright, I got really distracted looking out. I’m never ever ever looking at the audience again; if Pasha makes me face front, I’ll still crock my head and focus my gaze on him — I am dancing with him after all. And in our little Romeo and Juliet pose I look like I’m casting a spell on him not looking down adoringly.
A co-worker friend wanted to see the tape, since he couldn’t make the performance (thankfully), but no way is anyone seeing this. I agreed to show him the the still pictures, which somehow didn’t turn out quite as horrid. But when he saw the carryoff lift I told him I took from the Lavery R&J, he said, “Oh yeah, this is after you’re dead, right.”

“No,” I said. “Romeo predeceases Juliet. She takes drugs at one point and he does a quite beautiful dance with her looking like a rag doll, but this isn’t that scene. This is from the balcony scene and I’m being swept off my feet. Are you sure it doesn’t look like I’m being swept off my feet?”

He scrutinized the picture again. “Nah, you look dead.”

Ugh!

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Blackpool!!!

Very excited! I just received an email from one of the Blackpool B&Bs I’d queried weeks ago asking if they still had a room available for the dance festival in late May / early June, and the last one just responded with a “yes!” So, I quickly called the Winter Gardens and confirmed that they still have standing room season tickets available, made a plane reservation to Manchester, and, except for the train tickets between Manchester and Blackpool, I’m all set! Now I can’t get that “Manchester England England” song from “Hair” out of my head… I’m so excited — my first year there! I can’t wait to see the beautiful flowing ballgowns encompass the entire floor during the Standard comp — especially the Quickstep when the dancers are just flying — ah, such a fairytale…

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I Can Never Be a Ballerina Because…

… not because they can do about 3,645 fouettés in a row or chaîné all the way across a football field-sized floor or balance their entire weight on a point about the width of a dime on their big toe. I can never be a real ballet dancer because I can’t sew. Seriously and sadly. Not that I could ever do the other abovementioned things of course, but you’d think sewing would be pretty basic. Not for me. The clerks at Bloch’s honestly laughed at me when they sold me the shoes and sewing kit and elastics and I insisted I’m a lawyer and will never be able to do it myself and please just tell me where I can find a good ballet shoe sewer, assuring me it would be no problem, they had faith, everyone can do it, children can do it for gods’ sakes… I was up all last night with the damn things. The supposedly handy dandy little Bunheads kit did not explain how to thread the needle, make knots, make the closure, and stitch through the tough tough TOUGH leather. It took me hours, and though I did it, I don’t at all trust my work. I’m sure tonight in class my elastics will go shooting and hit some poor student or teacher in the eye or something.

When I called my mom to enlist her help, I could hear her eyes rolling. She’s long given up telling me that my lack of traditional female skills are at least partly responsible for you know what. Nope, I have none and never have. For the past six months Con Ed has been sending me warning notices that my meter may not be properly connected since it shows no gas usage whatsoever. And I remember in grad school my boyfriend was always expressing disgust with the sloppy apartments maintained by both me and my best friend and fellow female grad student. Many of my current female friends – most of whom are lawyers or other professionals – are just as hideously lacking. Yet, the single men I know, not so much. Not at all really. Do we just not have the time for such trifles, or are subconsciously acting out against a stereotype that’s really pretty much defunct now anyway.

And, now that I think of it, at one ballet studio I go to, most of whose patrons I think I can assume are professional women, I regularly see shoes with only one side of the elastic sewn, the other dangling, causing the foot to lift out of the shoe and the student obviously to lose balance, or one side of the elastic sewn horrendously crookedly, one end attached mid-foot, the other at, like, the heel, etc. You definitely don’t see such things at, for example, Broadway Dance Center. And, one of the reasons I like the first studio is that the students are like me – i.e.: not professional dancers, unlike those who, for example, take Ballet for Absolute Beginners at Steps, either for practice, or to freak out people like me. But, as I’ve always been told from the time I first began applying to college, it’s largely your fellow students who will make your education.

Ugh, so I guess if well-sewn shoe equates with real dancer, I will have to overcome my probable subconscious-reaction-against-a-now-defunct-stereotype. There’s a time for learning everything…

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Wait, Melanie LaPatin Was on What Show!

After sending out an email about my not completely horrible performance in Long Island and my excitement over being able to wear Melanie LaPatin’s dress, one of my smart-ass former West Coast Swing teammates wrote back that she was on some show called “What Not to Wear” where they criticize your wardrobe? I don’t have cable since if I gave myself any more reason to watch t.v. I’d get even less done than I do now, so I had no idea what he was talking about. I asked him what they criticized her for and he said he didn’t remember but thought it was for wearing too much black. Which is of course the color of the dress I wore… Well, hey, I mean, this is New York! If we wore any other color, it’d turn black anyway from taxi and bus exhaust and newspaper ink left on subway seats, etc. etc. etc. etc. etc. Anyway, I’m standing up for my sweet, short, sexy, ruffly-bottomed champion-worn borrowed dress!

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Performance Was Not Heinous!

Yes – I did it. I performed in front of three people and I didn’t fall! No, seriously, there were more than three people there and I did lose my balance a bit at the beginning, on a completely easy step, though I didn’t fall. I think it was because of the lights – they were so bright. It always looks like performers are looking at you – how do they do that? Even though we had a dress rehearsal with the lights, I was still a bit disoriented, and I lost my footing on a step that required me to face toward the audience, rather than Pasha. Thankfully, he was holding on to me. And it was at the beginning, before all of our lifts and tricks, so hopefully people didn’t remember 🙂 After that, I just tried to focus on Pasha, even when I was to face front. Everything went okay; it wasn’t my best run-through of the routine, but wasn’t my worst. And I think my nerves about performing were overtaken with nerves about the dress working out. But very very cool thing: because the studio co-owner felt badly for me because of my costume fiasco, she ended up letting me wear one of her old costumes. So, I got to wear a dress formerly worn by the 1995 national Latin champion! Sweet end to a screwed-up ordeal!

Oh, and I realized the coach was right when he reminded me that the audience is largely comprised of regular people, not professional dancers. We got applause for all of our lifts – even the ones where I couldn’t hoist myself up as far as I wanted to or forgot to point my toe or didn’t get my back leg into a perfect attitude position – basically had a problem with each one, but still cheers… And, we got applause for my dip / spin / lift thingy that I worked so hard to do properly and wanted in the routine so badly – well, dancer Karina Smirnoff’s dip / spin / lift thingy. And many many many thanks to Pasha for letting me practice it over and over, seeing as how it’s hard not to knee the guy on your way toward him and into the trick. Anyway, this whole thing taught me that maybe I have a choreographic sense of what audiences like – even if said audience is just being nice to the dancer me by applauding my screw-ups. I wanna be a choreographer now! Although since I wasn’t a real dancer first, maybe that wouldn’t work too well… I’d be asking dancers to do things that were physically impossible or something…