Tag: American Ballet Theater

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Learning Something About Yourself Through Dance…

Not to sound maudlin and syrupy, but you do. One day at work a while back, I was having a stress attack (which happens not infrequently for me) and needed a breather, so I visited Ballet Talk (one of my many dance ‘breather’ websites) and took this completely goofy “Which ABT Ballerina Are YOU?” test that someone had posted. The test asked you both ballet questions (like which ballets, or which characters, you liked best) and more general personality questions like what’s your favorite color, image, word, how your friends describe you, what you look for in a mate, etc. I worship Alessandra Ferri — think she is by far the most artistically brilliant ballerina in the world right now, so assumed I’d get her. But instead I got Gillian Murphy, an allegro ballerina known for her athleticism, amazing speed, fast fast multiple turns, sky-high jumps, etc. And, in my little critique, it said that I was a great athlete and had boundless energy, and now I just needed to work on developing my artistry a bit! I laughed, thrilled at having got as my ABT avatar the ballerina who is probably, judging by the wild screams in the audience everytime she takes the stage, everyone else’s favorite!

Well, Luis and I taped ourselves dancing our routine earlier this week, and I just got up the courage to watch it. I’m in shock. I screwed up right and left — and there is a lovely shot of me covering my mouth bashfully after whacking my hip into his pelvis on a back cha cha — can I cover ANYTHING up?! And I seem to have this surprised, open-mouthed look on my face the entire time — like I can’t believe I’m actually dancing a Latin routine. BUT, with all the mistakes and silly faces, my body actually looks OKAY doing this crazy-ass, every-other-step-an-insane-trick, lightning speed mambosambachacha dance. Of course I need centuries of practice… but I re-viewed my tape of Pasha and me doing our soft, pretty, slow, romantic Rhumba, and I can’t believe it, but I look better with crazy Luis. I always thought that, with my ballerina-y body — ridiculously long legs and arms, long, thin sinewy, flexible muscles, feet with enormous arches, long goose neck, tiny bird-like head, etc. etc., I’d definitely look best doing a slow romantic dance. Speed-of-light-paced Mambo that requires smallness, not to mention sexy curves, was probably the farthest from what I would think would look good on me. I agreed to do Luis’s routine because — apart from the fact that I’d met him in one of the group classes he was teaching and really really liked working with him — I thought it would challenge me; would at least make my friends laugh if and when they saw me perform it. So, basically, the thing that ended up being a real challenge for me was the thing I thought was my thing. Hmmm…

One reason Rhumba’s so hard for me is that I go way way WAY too fast; Pasha’s always yelling at me to keep the time, count out loud if I have to. And everytime I count, he tells me I’m completely right, so if I can count, I should be able to keep the time with my feet. And yet I can’t — I’m just so impatient; I just want to go go go. And then I realized, that’s how I am in life too — I’ve been known to speed down our office hallway or round a corner so fast, I’ve blown paperwork right out of a co-worker’s hands; I’m always being asked to slow down while walking with friends; I not infrequently smack angry pedestrians with my ginormous ABT dance bag while speed-walking down Manhattan sidewalks; I talk so fast in the courtroom I’ve had judges tell me to stop my argument and start over; I sometimes get so impatient waiting on a subway I want to kill the train conductor by the time the train arrives. I do everything fast — except eat, and that’s only because I developed a swallowing disorder and was forced to calm down, in order to feed myself and to live, basically. I can’t even have a severe headache without jumping around… —speaking of which, I went to my primary care doctor yesterday for a check-up and she read to me the Columbia headache specialist’s report. He said all positive things like ‘patient was well-groomed’ and ‘dressed appropriately’ and ‘spoke articulately,’ but then at the end said, ‘patient somewhat anxious.’ ‘Somewhat anxious’ – -who me? I remember how, in an acting class I once took at HB Studios, we did a relaxation exercise and my teacher kept ordering me to stop moving and relax. I tried and tried and tried, and absolutely could not stop: swinging my leg; tapping my foot; rubbing my knuckes; crossing and uncrossing legs… anything but keep completely still. Why?
Oof, maybe that stupid ABT test was right! Maybe if I had dedicated my life to dance, I would have been a sparkly, piquant allegro, and not a beautiful, lyrical, poetic adagio ballerina, as I see myself in my dreams (assuming I’d made it in the cutthroat world of ballet, of course…). Now in adulthood, maybe a crazy, fast-paced Latin dance is more me than a soft pretty one. Or, maybe Rhumba is doing me some good; perhaps I should learn to take my time more in life: smell the proverbial roses, don’t rush, don’t choke, taste the food, feel the music, feel the character, feel my partner, finish the pretty line, just enjoy…

Anyway, Sunday evening, my former West Coast Swing team had a partial reunion. Here is a photo. One of our teammates, Jackie Draper, gives a cabaret performance at Danny’s Skylight Room in the theater district about every six months, and as many of us as possible try to go — we kind of use her performances as our little reunion time. This one was special, because Jackie entitled her show “Something to Dance About” and she had a little segment where she talked and sang about our team. The team was a really fun experience — probably the best competition experience I’ve had. In fact, Dance Times Square had all of the showcase participants fill out these little questionnaires about ourselves, and one question was what our favorite competition experience was. I put mine was getting plastered with my teammates after finishing our final competition last May at the Grand Swing Nationals in Atlanta, and reuniting with my former teammates every so often in NY. In the vast majority of competitions, the student competes on his or her own with a teacher; very few comps have a team event unfortunately. With a team, you’re all in it together, and you bond in ways that you just don’t bond with, for example, other students from your studio who are also competing with your teacher, and whom you’ll therefore spend a lot of time with at a comp. A team comp is an unforgettable experience. Anyway, we will probably have our next little reunion at, yikes, MY showcase, which Jackie bluntly reminded me was coming up in less than a month. They’re now putting up posters around the studio… Help.

Oooh, just realized I have no underwear for tomorrow… geez, I have been dancing way too much and neglecting my life. Before I forget, here are a couple of pictures of the artwork I bought in Martha’s Vineyard last month when I went out there to see Stiefel and Stars. Okay, off to do emergency laundry…

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Is Dance an Art Form or a Set of RULES? Is It Time For A Re-Release of Baz Luhrmann's Spectacular 1992 Film???

Okay, I must rant. Has anyone seen “Dancing With the Stars” for the past two weeks? Has anyone seen Karina’s BRILLIANT choreography for Mario — last week’s Swingy Quickstep and this week’s Standard Tango mixed with elements of Argentine? What I have always loved about Karina, and the reason I was so ecstatic upon seeing her name listed as a participant in this season’s show, is her brilliant artistry. Though fellow ballroom enthusiasts debate me about her world rank technique-wise, artistically speaking, she is by far the most exciting ballroom dancer today. Everything from her unique choreography, music and costume choices, and just her beautiful stylistics and the way she executes even basic steps — I savor the opportunity to watch her perform like I do no other ballroom dancer. Yet, the judges bashed her both weeks for not staying within the RULES — criticisms the audience clearly didn’t understand. First, even assuming arguendo that there should be rigid RULES that the dancers adhere to, Americans took traditional English Quickstep music, melded it with African-American rhythms, the music became known as Swing, and Americans originated a new dance form to that music. Today, the same music can be used for Quickstep (by the English primarily), or Swing. So, Karina was not off-base, even RULE-wise, by choreographing a Swingy Quickstep routine for Mario; it was simply an Americanized Quickstep. And it was perfect for Mario’s body and his dancing strengths. HELLO HELLO HELLOOOOOO???. This is what real choreographers do in the world of real dance, where dance is considered an art form: they choreograph according to the dancer’s strengths.

This week, I honestly didn’t even understand the judges’ criticisms. Was it that the Tango was too Argentinian and not Standard enough? (Because Tango didn’t originate out of Argentina or anything…) I honestly didn’t understand what RULE Karina’s choreography violated. And, if I, a ballroom enthusiast and student, didn’t understand, how could the idiotic judges expect the audiences to? Do the judges even realize that they are not in a formal ballroom competition setting, blabbering with other judges? Do they realize who the audience is? If they don’t, I will tell them: the audience is comprised of normal people who want to see fabulous, exciting ballroom dancing.

Maybe the problem lies in what ballroom dancing, or DanceSport, really is considered. When I was at the U.S. National DanceSport competion in Florida earlier this month, one judge remarked how wonderful it was that, with the proliferation of shows like “Dancing With the Stars,” people were growing to love our SPORT. Not art. Not that DanceSport is not a sport, of course, with the immense speed required for some of the Latin dances and faster Standard dances like Quickstep, and the strength and flexibility required for spectacular lifts in the exhibitions. But Ballet, while requiring deft athletic ability, is obviously an art as well — it would have to be for it to be watchable. And Ballet is of course meant to be watched. In Ballet, the competitions are merely a means for dancers to achieve a status high enough for them to get a job with a good company, so that they can spend their careers performing; competitions aren’t ends in themselves, as they are in ballroom. Which is probably the heart of the problem. In ballroom, dancers spend their careers competing for world titles; the title in and of itself is the goal. They then spend their post-competition careers teaching ballroom dance to students — both up and coming pro dancers and just people who want to learn how to social dance. So, they never really have performance careers. Until now. Which is why the rules regarding the RULES need to change.

And, what are rules, anyway? The desire for those in power to control someone else? Does that have any place in an art form? Artists — both performers and choreographers – need freedom to create or the art form will die.

Even in the world of competition, the RULE thing needs to take a break. All of the couples at the top levels are in excellent athletic shape and have perfect technique. Shouldn’t they be judged on their artistry too? In ballroom competitions, the same couples tend to stay on top for years and years on end, preventing new and upcoming couples from ever really making it. Which is so unfair to them — and boring for us to watch.

It’s only now, when I’ve begun going regularly to the comps, and have started doing my own student showcases and trying my hand at helping to choreograph my own routines, that I’m realizing the beauty and value of Baz Luhrmann’s brilliantly spectacular 1992 film, “Strictly Ballroom.” I saw it earlier, closer to the time when it first came out, but then I knew nothing about the rigid, staid world of ballroom dance. Now that TV shows like DWTS are popularizing the … whatever (I’ll call it ‘art’ because that’s, in my heart, what it is) of ballroom dance, and the judges are getting booed right and left for their “your broke the RULES whining”, I think it’s time for a re-release — bring back Baz!!

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Nipple Covers, Sore Crotches, Gay Men, Breasts, and Self-Analysis…

Ah, such is the world of ballroom dancing!… Seriously, just when I was going to bitch to high hell about gay men not having any clue as to female needs for modesty, my wonderful teacher, Luis, has redeemed himself and agreed to let me wear for the showcase a cute but covering halter top! Initially he wanted me to wear a bikini top. I told him no way, with all the lifts, dips, fish dives, back bends, rag dolls, upside-down-shakes — there is no way; my boobs will definitely fly out! Definitely. When I explained this to him, he looked at me as if I was speaking another language. I think that because breasts are completely meaningless to gay men, breasts shooting out of skimpy costume tops mid-performance are likewise wholly uneventful… When I stared him down, he finally got it, and said, “Well, if it’s that big of a deal, you can get nipple covers, you know.” No, I didn’t. What are nipple covers, pray tell — does anyone know?? I am so not a real dancer!! Anyway, I showed him various pictures of alternatives to skimpy tops, and he brightened considerably when I showed him one of me in my former West Coast Swing team outfit, the top part of which was a halter. Yay, agreement! No, seriously, I jest: Luis is great! He okayed my new LaDuca shoes as well (pronounced them ‘cute’ even!), which is really cool because, though they’re not standard Latin dance shoes, they are closed-toed, and since I have such high arches, it’s very difficult for me to wear open-toed shoes because my feet tend to slide out of them whenever I point. So, anyway, today I trekked out to my (well, shouldn’t say ‘my’ since virtually everyone in the Latin world uses her) Russian seamstress, Valentina, all the way out near Brighton Beach so she could update my measurements and sketch what I wanted. She did my last competition costume for me, and nothing fell out, so I trust her. Think I’ll still try to get a hold of some of those nipple things though, as well as some serious double-stick tape. You can never be too careful in the oh so costume-malfunction-prone world of Latin Ballroom dance…

Last night, Luis and I went straight through our routine twice, no stops! It was the most intense workout I think I’ve ever had. I told him so and he laughed, “What do you mean, I’m the one doing all the lifts!” Which is true. I try to help, I really do, I swear!!! And his crotch must be extremely sore today — we do this one trick called a “snake,” where I go into a dip, then slide between his legs, feet first, then body, then head, ending up behind him facing sideways, and, I don’t know what it was, perhaps because I was wearing heels for the first time dancing the routine, but I kept whacking my head straight into his groin while trying to get it under. I’ve never done that before! Maybe it was subconscious anger over the skimpy top?! Ha ha ha 🙂 Anyway, poor Luis…

Last night, my friend took me out to dinner for watching her kitty while she was away visiting her boyfriend in Scotland — only to tell me she’s marrying the bf and moving to Glasgow! Which I was of course very happy for her for, though I am going to really miss her 🙁 But, hey man, why can’t I marry a Scottish boyfriend and move to Glasgow???????

But something in our dinner conversation ended up starting me on this self-analysis trip. She’s a freelance writer and editor (which is one reason why it’ll be relatively easy for her to relocate out of the country — lucky lucky lucky her!!), and in telling her I was thinking about trying to get into the same line of work, she suggested I begin regularly scavenging the paper recycling dumpster in my apartment building for magazines so I can think up stories. Which I did for the first time upon returning home last night. Found a lovely W magazine and Bergdorf Goodman catalog (the latter of which is almost like a Vanity Fair, interestingly, with all its articles on personalities, etc.). Ended up searching more for fashion ideas for my costume to present to Valentina today than story ideas… But at one point, I noticed something on the backs of both mags was ripped off. On further inspection, I realized it was the recipient’s name and address. Of course I immediately got all paranoid thinking on no, I always leave my name and address on my New Yorkers, Time Outs, Brown Alumni Mags, and ABA Law Journals before tossing them into the bin. What if … And then I thought, what? What if what? It’s interesting that someone did not want people to know that they subscribed to W and Bergdorf. I guess I don’t care what people are going to think of me based on my subscriptions… So I read TONY (doesn’t everyone?) and the New Yorker (don’t a lot of people?), went to Brown (everyone went to school somewhere…), and am a lawyer (it’s not like I’m the only one in this city…). And then I realized I’ve always been weirdly oblivious to what other people think of me. Maybe it’s because my reunion’s coming up, but then I began remembering how when I first started at my high school, I didn’t know anyone since I’d just been transferred from another due to redistricting, and I’d found this great little bench that was perfectly situated in the middle of the three buildings that comprised our campus, and right next to the lockers. My mom would pack me lunch, and I’d sit there on the bench with my little sack and eat while watching everyone. I’m weird — and this is probably why I ended up in New York — but I was just fascinated with watching how people interacted with each other, or didn’t, who rushed frantically from class to class or stopped at their lockers between periods, who sauntered coolly either putting on a false air of bravado or who honestly didn’t care if they were late, how different people dressed and what their clothes said about them, who was picked on, who was ridiculed — either to his or her face or behind his or her back, how the ridiculee dealt with it, who looked nervous, who else was a loner, etc. etc. etc. I loved watching people basically. One day, a teacher rushed up to me, and, tugging on my sweater, cried out, “honey, honey, why in the world are you just sitting here? I always see you sitting here all — ALONE!” And when I looked up at her, confused, she actually had tears in her eyes. She was truly worried about me. It never occured to me that I wasn’t invisible, or maybe not invisible, but just that people didn’t really think about what I was doing enough to be bothered by it or question it. Not long after that, I was reunited with a friend, Kelly, whom I’d known years earlier from elementary school. She was completely different now. She was now a normal 13-year-old girl obsessed with popularity and fitting in. She explained to me what popularity was (because I honestly hadn’t known), whom I should want to be friends with and kiss up to (even though I found their personalities repugnant), and what items of clothing and by what designers I absolutely must have (even if those clothes didn’t particularly appeal to me). High school ended up being the worst four years of my life. And I honestly wonder what my experience would have been like had I not sought out a friendship with Kelly, after that teacher freaked out over my supposed loneliness.

Anyway, I’m blabbering…

A couple of internet thingys I wanted to point out: first, this way cool blog — this woman is a total riot and I cannot stop laughing at the hilarious way she expresses herself, but her rants are also very thought-provoking and her blogroll educational. I serendipitously found her blog, oddly, after my orthopedist mentioned something about Maxalt, my headache med, being taken off the market for health reasons (after searching every nook and cranny of the internet, I’m now sure he meant Methanone). But she’d once blogged on the drug, so it popped into my search. And, after reading her recent entry on names and thus being prompted to think about the inherent racism of John Stossel’s recent 20/20 segment arguing that parents should be careful not to give their children odd (read: Black) names, lest they have a harder time in society, and then performing more internet searches, I eventually came upon this very interesting test, conducted by Harvard University. Take it! Take it! Everyone take it! It’s really interesting and makes you aware of how you think!

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Small Presses, Small Celebrities, and Smaller (But Prettier) Lifts

We changed my ending lift, we changed it, we changed it!!! So excited because Luis gave me a far easier, and I think actually prettier, lift to do at the end of our routine. When I say easier, I mean, HE does all the work 🙂 Now, instead of doing the crazy waltzy one with my butt sticking straight out over his head and at the audience (here’s a pic), he holds me up, my face to the ceiling instead of down at the floor, and I arch my back over him, balancing the small of my back on his shoulder. Then, if I can do it, I’ll flip my body over and end up in a bird position on his other shoulder (balancing on his shoulder now with my stomach, and arching my back and legs up behind me). We did the first part of it and I did fine; we didn’t try the second part yet, I just watched him illustrate with one of the many ballet dancers in my studio. It’s really pretty, and I hope I can do it. I so wish I had a lifetime of ballet.. But if I can’t, the first part even alone is much nicer than the other lift. So nervous though — less than a month now…

Anyway, I had a great, and busy, weekend. Friday night I saw Marcelo! on the subway 🙂 It’s funny because usually I’m not even looking up at people, because: 1) I’m shy; and 2) on the subway I’m usually hysterically reading a response brief, or some other such work I’m hopelessly behind on. But when he got on the 1 train, there was only one other person on the car with me, and I’m always a little nervous when I’m nearly alone and a man boards — well, maybe not always, but I’m working on this nasty rape case so maybe it’s a little worse now… (ha ha, as if HE, with his s.o. would ever, …. harumph, in my dreams… I know, horrible bad sentiment, SHAME…) Anyway, when he boarded, he got on at one end of the car and walked to my end, obviously so he could exit near the subway exit, but it was initially a little weird. And of course when I saw his face, I had to do a double, then triple take. It’s funny how you can’t see a person’s face unless you look into their eyes — the face is obviously much more than just eyes, but the eyes are the person… So, there I was sitting there staring, which he noticed (me being the only other person in the car), and yet did not seem frightened enough by the crazy girl to stop in his tracks and turn around and go back. So, he stood right in front of me, waiting impatiently for the train to stop so he could get out. Is he always so impatient, I wonder? Well, HE’S SO CUTE! And small!! — or at least smaller than he looks onstage… I had to remind myself he’s not basketball-player tall, just tall for a dancer — but still. And I remembered it was the same with Slavik in Florida. Him, I’ve only seen on the screen, and he’s always looked so tall and regal, either when dancing with Karina in the World Champions Show I have on tape, or in Shall We Dance, where he plays JLo’s knight in shining armor at the end sweeping her off to Blackpool where he will lead her to victory… In real life, he was a kid, not so tall and with imperfect skin and a tattoo. Weird. But so great to have seen two of my favorites — from the worlds of Ballet and Ballroom respectively — in person in just the last week 🙂

On Saturday, Kathy and I went to the Brooklyn Book Festival in Brooklyn Heights. They had several panels and readings, mostly by Brooklyn authors (of which there are many, probably more than in any other borough), but what I got the most from was walking around to the bizillions of tables of small presses who are publishing these great authors. I had no idea Tin House, the literary mag, now has a press and is publishing books! As is Open City. I bought a Tin House book by an author named Karen Lee Boren, which was recommended by a writer I like (and fellow Brown alum:)), Sam Lipsyte, and bought a couple of books at an indie Brooklyn bookstore with a booth, Book Court, one an AMAZING collection of short stories, The First Hurt, by Rachel Sherman (also recommended by Lipsyte) which I began reading yesterday and cannot put down, as well as Edmund White’s A Boy’s Own Story, which I have always wanted to read. Poets and Writers mag was giving out free copies of their latest issue, and I realized I’m a complete ass for not having subscribed to it before, it has so much valuable info. And, speaking of Marcelo!, I bought from this international press called Host Books a collection of three contemporary Brazilian plays that are written both in English and Portuguese. So, when I begin my Portuguese classes (in preparation for Brazil Carnival trip!) maybe it will come in handy…

Yesterday, I walked outside my apartment only to see a street fair (!), which of course I had to raid and spend way too much money at… And I finally got around to walking down to Lee’s Art Shop to get framed a print I bought in Martha’s Vineyard three weeks ago now. Why do frames always cost like four times the price of the artwork inside them???? Then, I spent many many hours doing a re-write of the beginning pages of my novel for a possible reading of it — had to whittle them down to their bare essentials to make them the right reading-length, and now I’m thinking they’re so much better. Sometimes I think you need to do that: wait a long time, like many months, before going back over what you have, when you have a clearer, fresher perspective on it.

And, I had to get up early today for an appointment with my orthopedist before work. This time, it’s the left knee. More meniscus problems. Ugh. Have to go for yet more physical therapy. Does it ever end???

Anyway, I’m tired…

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Benign!

As I knew it would be… Actually, as relieved as I am, I can’t help but be annoyed with my ENT (ear nose and throat specialist). He found some extremely small nodules on my thyroid, so small they can’t even be detected by touch without an ultrasound, but he thought just to make absolute sure, even though with the kind I have (many tiny ones as opposed to one big one) and with my demographic (female between the ages of 20 and 70) there’s less than a one percent chance they’re cancerous, that I should have a fine needle aspiration biopsy just to make sure. Question: isn’t there a less than one percent chance that me, or anyone, could have cancer growing somewhere in their body that they’re totally unaware of?? Anyway, this procedure, which he guaranteed me was no big deal, was a HUGE deal. It hurt like all hell, to put it mildly, and was horrendously uncomforable. They didn’t give me a local anesthetic because they said the needle used to deliver that was larger and more painful than the fine needle they used for aspiration of the nodule cells, and said it wouldn’t really hurt, but they were wrong. First, since my nodules were so tiny and couldn’t be detected without ultrasound equipment, this one technician had to push down with all her might right on the base of my throat with the ultrasound wand while the doctor stabbed me in the same place with the needle and left it in for what felt like centuries, both of them warning me not to swallow, not to breathe, not to talk, or else the needle would pierce something major. Ugh. I mean, maybe if the needle aspiration was taken from my leg or arm or stomach or something, it wouldn’t have been so bad, but being delivered to the base of my throat, I really felt like I may choke. I could just see the headlines: “patient asphyxiates while having a needless biopsy to her throat” … Anyway, at least it’s over now — and I’m never doing it again unless my doctor proves to me that there is a very serious chance one of them is malignant. And to make it worse, I couldn’t take any Ibuprofin for my tendonitis for 7 days prior or do any physical activity for 48 hours after, preventing me from dancing for the last couple days… I’m sorry, I’m obviously happy about the cytologist’s report, but it’s just that when you have horrific headaches of unspeakable pain that make you consider suicide for years and no one wants to take them seriously and then you have something your doctor finds by accident that you can’t even feel and even though there’s a tiny tiny chance anything is wrong with it the doctor insists on painful tests, you can feel like there’s really something not right in the world of medicine…

Anyway, beginning Monday, the hysteria officially begins. My showcase is October 16, meaning I now have exactly one month to learn how to dance. Help! Now I get to greatly annoy and alienate all of my friends: “No, I can’t go out to dinner with you, I have to dance,” “No, I can’t go to one hour-and-a-half-long movie with you, I have to dance,” No, I can’t go to an eight-minute dating event with you, I have to dance,” “No, I can’t walk your dog for five seconds while you’re on vacation, I have to dance,” “No, I can’t go to the store and get you chicken soup and Tylenol even though you’re on your deathbed, I have to dance” … I’m sorry, I’m sorry; I apologize in advance 🙂

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Hauling My Saggy Ballet-Withdrawn Butt Off to Nationals…

… and more beach, given that the comp is in south Florida and hotel it’s in right on the beach. Except this time I’m not gonna be sharing a beach with a bunch of rich, older, fellow-saggy-rear-ended people as on Martha’s V., but with a plethora of real dancers. With perfect bodies. Oh well. And I have to wear my bikini so my mid-rif will tan, since Luis is making me wear low-cut fringe-y pants and a very short top for the showcase… But, despite my stupid body image issues, I am VERY excited for two reasons: first, because this is my first time at this one and it’s the largest Dancesport comp in the country, and second because Anna Garnis, my teacher Pasha’s partner, finally got all of her Russian documents in order (her Russian passport and U.S. papers had been stolen in the studio) and, having missed Blackpool and the Manhattan Dancesport comps (since she first couldn’t travel out of the country for the former, then was in Russia getting stuff taken care of for the latter), they are FINALLY going to be able to compete again 🙂 So, many many pics of them to come!

I had to go into my office today because I’d stupidly left a copy of my ticket order to the comp in my desk, which I hated to do because I knew no one was going to be working today and I absolutely detest being in large office buildings all alone. I’m always scared I’m going to get raped. It happened to an older friend of mine, albeit in the 70s when NY was much less safe, and security has been pretty decent since 9/11 but still … it creeps me out being in big buildings alone (plus, maybe has something do with the fact that I’m working on a disturbing sex assault case now…). Anyway, I’m very glad I went in because my Winger yoga t-shirt apparently came in on Friday after I’d left. Which is cool because now I can promote the Winger to my ballroom friends and family 🙂 It fits pretty good — normally I don’t like tight-fitting things, but I think it looks okay. Luis will definitely like it because he’s always telling me I need to be less shy and show my body more. Given that being more comfortable with my body is one reason I started Latin (others being learning about partnership and about Latin culture of course), I guess the form-fitting-ness is a good thing 🙂 Anyway, here’s a pic of little miss Modest Mouse in boob-enhancing Winger tee (and click on previous two for back of shirt, and for way fun packaging it came in! — I know, I’m a dork…)

Speaking of modest mouse-iness, my friend and I went to the New York Burlesque Festival at the Supper Club on Saturday night. It was very interesting. My friend LOVED it and is currently thinking up burlesque names for herself (and me). She has battled a weight problem all her life and I think it was a very positive experience for her to see so many different-sized women flaunting their bodies without a care to traditional male-defined standards of female beauty. As for me, it was fun because it was an alternative, gay and lesbian environment. If it wasn’t, I definitely would have been very uncomfortable. I have zero tolerance for frat boys and the stupid women who date them. And zero tolerance for men who can’t take their small minds off of boobs for five seconds… Anyway, some of the women were amazing dancers — there was this one troupe of about six women who did rather amazing lifts with each other. Delirium Tremens did a routine on pointe, and Harvest Moon did some amazing tricks while balancing a full glass of champage on various parts of her body. And there were two men — one who stripped down all the way, which was fun, and another dressed as a cowboy who turned his back the the audience, ripped his pants off, then pretended to get an erection (or maybe it was real, what do I know?!!) and turned around to balance the cowboy hat over it. Very fun night, and I’m glad Kristin Sloan posted a bit about it on the Winger!

I had my last lesson with Luis before missing two weeks (first for comp, second for his vaca), and it was quite frightening. We tried the overhead lift he wants to do at the end of the showcase routine but I’m supposed to support my weight with my arms pushing down on his shoulders, which is very very hard for me since I have ligament damage in my left wrist. I can’t even do normal push-ups with my left wrist; have to make a fist and balance my weight on my knuckles. So I don’t think I’m gonna be able to do the lift he wants. He said as an alternative that we could do one where I grab both of my ankles, but that’s going to require straddle splits, which are hard given my overstretched adductor muscle. A third possibility was doing a cartwheel over his head and landing on his back in a Sylvia-esque position, but that involves the same wrist activity as the first since I have to propel myself up and over with my wrists using his knee as a kind of vault. Ugh. He said those are the only three that will really work with what he wants to do (spin me around and around for several beats); the other ballet-y ones I liked are not geared toward the kind of crazy-ass Latin routine I’ve got myself into apparently. So, I’m supposed to decide whether I want to risk further injury to my wrist, possibly requiring surgery, or tearing my adductor?! Injuries are such a royal pain in the ass!!!!!

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Cronica de una Fuga

Wednesday night I was invited to a very early sneak preview of this amazing film. It depicts the true 1977 story of an Argentinian soccer player who was kidnapped and detained by the military government then in place for being part of a rebel group — charges of which he was completely innocent. It was very Solzhenitsyn, very scary. The beginning was confusing — I couldn’t tell what was going on, just that his family was being threatened, then that he was being captured and beaten by someone for something — and that something I never completely understood. At first, I found this confusion annoying, and couldn’t help comparing the movie to another favorite of mine, In the Name of the Father, starring Daniel Day Lewis. But that story was told from an omniscient point of view (it showed Gerry Conlon getting into petty trouble by the police, then the Belfast pub bombing, and then how the government officials were led, wrongly, to Conlon and his friends as the perpetrators, much of the action to the rhythmic beat of poppy U2 music… maybe it was told from the omniscient p.o.v. partly because of pressure to avoid being accused of IRA sympathy?…) But this film was far less Hollywood, more quiet, more real, and I soon realized, was meant to be told mainly from the main character’s perspective precisely so that we’d relate to him. He had no idea what was happening to him and why, and the audience experiences that bewilderment along with him. Full of disturbing but necessary violent images, it becomes an edge-of-your-seat thriller once the four prisoners we come to know the best plot their escape. It stars Rodrigo de la Serna, who played Alberto Granada in Motorcycle Diaries. Since he played the character opposite Che Guevara in that movie, attention wasn’t focused on him, but here you can really see what an amazingly talented actor he is. The whole film is extremely well acted. And it powerfully drove home how horrible, how frightening it is when it’s the government who’s organizing the terrorism; when there’s no accountability. I don’t want to give anything away, but it isn’t until the tail end of the movie, when you’re told, via text, the final outcome of the men’s lives years later, that you feel safe. As bored as I sometimes get practicing law, it reminded me that where there’s no judicial system, there’s no protection of human rights. It made me feel better — at least momentarily — about being a part of that system, even if I’m just a tiny cog in one wheel of a huge machine. During the focus group held after the viewing, which I participated in, the discussion leader asked what one word people would use to describe the film, and, amidst terms like “thriller,” “suspenseful,” and “intense,” a woman shouted out “relevant.” Totally. There definitely need to be more films like this — about ALL forms of government-endorsed torture.

Anyway, not to be facetious given the gravity of the film, but Rodrigo de la Serna is cute! And, funnily, I kept seeing male ABT principal dancers in the movie too. Horribly, the murderous power-hungry leader of the detention house kept reminding me of Marcelo, albeit ten years older and with a 70s Village People-esque moustache, and I kept seeing Herman Cornejo in the bravely insolent prisoner who sets the escape plan in motion… And, using another dance metaphor, as someone in the focus group remarked, the escape was really well choreographed. The men are all completely naked, since they’ve been stripped by their detainers, so the climbing down walls, swinging on ropes, sprinting down streets, etc. seems like it would have been difficult without exposing too much… yet it was really well done. And the cinematography was interesting too — I normally don’t notice things like that, but in the early scenes, where the men are blindfolded or beaten senseless, the director shot the captors and insides of the house at an angle, so you were cocking your head all about trying to make sense of what you were seeing, much like one of the prisoners. It was a gorgeous film; I don’t know how long it’s going to be until it comes out, because they usually don’t have the focus groups if the film is nearly done, but when it does open, GO SEE IT!!!

Speaking of movies: my friend Nicole found this article about the short film I’d posted about earlier that I’d seen at the Tribeca Film Festival. Made by this preternaturally sophisticated teenager, Kiri Davis, it’s entitled “A Girl Like Me,” and deals with young African American girls’ internalized self-hatred; the young filmmaker astutely performed the same doll test as Dr. Kenneth Clark that Thurgood Marshall used in the landmark anti-segregation case, Brown v. Board of Ed. I’m so glad to see she’s getting more exposure for her amazing film! Go Kiri!!!

Perhaps ABT dancers were on my mind when I saw Cronica because I just spent LOADS on my subscription to their fall City Center season. Ugh. But I did save 27% by buying my tickets all together (they give you a discount for a purchase of three or more performances), and so of course I used this savings to justify getting orchestra seats, where I find I can get the most out of the performance… They’re setting up at the theater now — there’s a huge poster of Marcelo lifting Julie outside 🙂 And more pics inside, in their lovely brochure: Herman looking very dapper in Twyla Tharp’s Sinatra Suite, David in The Green Table, the guys in Stanton Welch’s Clear, and absolutely gorgeous pictures by Fabrizio Ferri of the principals — I don’t think anyone has photographed them so well. Particularly David — he really brought out his strong Roman bone structure, delicate light skin and beautiful light blue eyes; and Jose — he shot him from below, so he looks all powerful, like the hunky badass NY actor Franky G., albeit half the size and likely possessing four times the strength 🙂 If Ferri wasn’t Alessandra‘s partner, I’d think he was gay. Not that a man (a male artist anyway) needs to be gay to appreciate male beauty but… Anyway, I’m very excited about ABT — will be a good thing to come back to after returning from my big ballroom / beach blast in Florida. As will — not to be goofy and I’m totally not a TV-head — Dancing With the Stars, starring Karina Karina Karina! Ooh, don’t they look adoooorable?!?

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Saggy Butt is the First Symptom of Serious Ballet Withdraw

And I have it big time. I’d tried on my bikini for my Martha’s Vineyard trip in my home mirror, but only viewed myself from the front; didn’t look at my lovely derriere until I got out there. Yikes. Alyssa told me to shut up and wear it to the beach anyway, as she was wearing hers and was suffering from the same problem, except hers was induced by withdraw from 20+ mile marathon-running, power yogalates, gymnastics and hiking all over such places as Bolivia and Egypt. Alyssa is the consummate amateur athlete, making my dainty ballroom dancing look like cheesecake in comparison. Still, we both have injuries and actually reconnected after not seeing each other for many months then serendipitously meeting at a physical therapy center in SoHo. Except, being the far more serious athlete, her injury was a lot more severe: she tore her hamstring in eight different places whilst doing the splits drunk at her birthday party. But good thing that came out of it was hooking up with the ER doctor… I LOVE Alyssa; thanks to her I have an inkling of what it’s like to be a Sex and the City character 🙂 And I love her for gamely trekking out there with me mainly to see Marcelo Gomes‘s first ballet (and David Hallberg perform it) in Stiefel and Stars, even though she’s not a big ballet fan. Thanks for keeping me company and being adventurous, Alyssa 🙂

The ballet, “Loving,” was beautiful! So sweet and romantic. Someone likened it to Robbins’s “Other Dances” to which I guess it was similar, but with several couples. And, not to be silly, but something about it kind of reminded me of the courting scenes in Martins’s French pastoral “Songs of the Auvergne”- maybe just because the students danced the corps parts. It was urbane, but there was something sweetly innocent and very slightly bucolic. David and Gillian were lovely as the leads — David is always so charming in his dancing. It’s funny reading him on The Winger, where he is just a guy — smart, thoughtful, sophisticated for his age, and somewhat bookish, but just a guy with a guy view of the world, not this princely dancer seemingly from another time. And the costumes, which, according to David, Marcelo designed, were gorgeous! The women and girls wore light summery dresses with haltery tops and flowing, knee-length skirts; Gillian’s top was white — a different color from the rest, and it looked perfect on her. I definitely think he has a future as a choreographer (not to mention fashion designer…)

Alyssa fell completely in love with Ethan, who did nothing more than introduce the school and the program, and apologize for not being able to dance, as he just underwent surgery on both of his knees. Women always fall for that man! I just find it funny that he didn’t even dance and Alyssa, being a normal female, still went for him. I guess it shows that so much of being a performer is personality. I like my favorites for the same reason; I probably just don’t get the appeal of Ethan because he’s straight! (Seriously, my gaydar sucks. Or maybe it’s that I have excellent reverse-gaydar. I met James McGreevey briefly while doing a judicial clerkship in New Jersey and crushed on him so badly; I’m attracted to them before they even know they’re gay…)

Anyway, besides the ballet, we went to the beach, did a lot of touristy things like visit the red cliffs at Gay Head Bluffs and the gingerbread houses in Oak Bluffs, consumed loads of good wine and seafood (me: Pinot Noir — liked it even before Sideways, I swear!, steamed scallops in a bun, wasabi-coated soft-shell crab, and cornbread-crusted cod; Alyssa: Bordeaux and lobster, lobster, and more lobster!), went to several art galleries (Alyssa’s an art history grad student), ate ice cream at Mad Martha’s in Oak Bluffs which our tour guide said is a favorite of Bill and Hillary, and did A LOT of shopping (I bought: a shiny fuscia purse; a tiny ruffly white top to go with this pink and white Betsey Johnson skirt I’ve long been trying to match; two books — one by Styron who once lived on MV about his depression, and one on being an artist by Anna Deveare Smith — at a bookstore owned by this fun, interesting woman who writes about ghost stories and gossip on Oak Bluffs and who’ll be writing a piece on the ballet in the upcoming Martha’s Vineyard Gazette which I will definitely keep my eyes open for; and two photographs, a sketch, and a print at two different galleries. Alyssa bought some wampun jewelry — made from the purplish coloring found inside the shells of clams native to the area, a sweater, an aromatic tea set for her godmother, and three books — one on African art, which is her area of specialization, and two by the writer / bookstore owner.) Here are some pictures of the trip.

Now we are back in NYC and I’m very nervous about all the work I have to do (basically research and write two briefs) before I head down to Florida for the US DanceSport nationals a week from tomorrow. We got back later last night than expected and I was very tired for my lesson tonight with Luis. He could tell, so instead of practicing lifts that could be dangerous when half asleep, he spent a lot of time talking over the choreography and brainstorming about my costume (I wanted a cute ruffly skirt and peasant top; he was thinking more hot pants with red fringe and basically no top — he’s got another thing coming; I don’t do skimpy tops ever but especially not with upside-down lifts…), and hair (he wants me to get extensions for fullness and for me to wear my hair in curlers all night the night before and all day the day of the performance (which is going to go over really well at work, especially if I get any surprise visits from clients’ families…). Ugh. AND, he decided to make some changes to the choreography — after listening to the music again, he felt one of the lifts should go in another spot than where it was. Which sent me into a frenzy. Apparently, he still does not realize that I’M A TOTAL AMATEUR and making any changes to the choreography a mere six weeks before the performance is nothing short of hysteria inducing. I’ve noticed that when I’m not dancing regularly, I get really nervous about my private lessons. It takes me forever to learn choreography, I’m scared of new things (like overhead lifts and dips where I have to support my own weight), and I just can’t move well (he tried to teach me how to shake my knees so fast that my whole body vibrates, and I could not for the life of me do it — it involves simply bending and straightening your knees, albeit at lightening speed…). Well, my hips and left knee are still a bit achy (from the tendonitis and slight meniscus tear, respectively) and my adductor muscle is still sore, but if I’m going to be donning tight ass pants and not have a nervous breakdown over minor changes in my routine, I’m definitely gonna need to go back to Steps…

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Penis-Head, Non-Sexist Doctors, and Trigeminal Autonomic Cephalgia!!!

So, I went to Columbia Headache Center, spent several hours with a headache specialist, and this was my diagnosis! Not penis-head — that was Luis’s diagnosis. I had my films with me from a former brain MRI I’d had that my neurologist had given me to take to the headache specialist, and after looking at the slides, he told me I could keep them. So, since I go to the dance studio on my way home, I had the films with me, and when Luis asked me what was in the huge shiny silvery envelope marked “images” and I told him “my brain,” he said, “cool, I’ve never seen one of those before. Let’s see!” So there we stood in the middle of the studio floor, under the chandelier, looking at a bunch of small images of my brain from various viewpoints. In one of the shots that looked like it was taken directly above my head, Luis found an object that he thought was shaped exactly like a penis (only Luis!). I couldn’t completely make it out, but Luis obviously has much more experience with male genitalia than I do, so I believed him. He yelled, “now we know what’s on YOUR brain, Tonya!” He also found some shapes resembling grass and weeds… So, my diagnosis from the head pain neurologist was “Trigeminal Autonomic Cephalgia,” and my diagnosis from my gay dance teacher was “Penis Brain.”

Anyway, I’m very excited about my diagnosis — my official one that is! After patiently listening to me go on and on and on about my latest headache episode, the doc said right off I have this rare neurological disorder, so rare that not a whole lot is known about it other than certain meds work on it and certain ones don’t. And apparently it’s not dangerous, like stroke or aneuyrism-related, thank God! It’s just one of those things, where the person gets certain kinds of pain — in my case pain in one temple and side of my head and in my sinus cavities on that same side– as well as sinusitis-like conditions — congested nose, ear, and very watery eye and swollen lid. But there really isn’t a sinus condition, which is why the antibiotics the doctor had given me to kill the sinus and eye infections I didn’t really have, and all the decongestants, did nothing. And since it wasn’t a migraine, that is why the migraine meds didn’t work either. So, now I’m armed with an entirely new arsenal of meds for the next one. One even comes in the form of a shot! He taught me how to administer the shot myself. I have to stab myself the leg hard and fast. It kind of made me queasy thinking about it, but I KNOW the next time I have that severe of pain, I’m not gonna be thinking about being queasy! Because the pain and sinusitis-like conditions are brought on simply by the way the brain is structured, it’s NOT about caffeine, chocolate, MSG, cheese, stress, lack of sleep, or estrogen. It is just because it is, basically. So the reason I’m so excited about being diagnosed with a rare, scary-sounding neurological disorder? For one, I feel unique — how many people can say they have Trigeminal Autonomic Cephalgia?!? And, two, and most important, is that I feel vindicated! I KNEW IT WASN’T A MIGRAINE; I KNEW IT WASN’T A MIGRAINE; I KNEW IT WASN’T A MIGRAINE!!! So, NO ONE can tell to just deal with it until my period’s over, like a woman should, lie down with a cold rag on my head, not take on so much so as to stress myself out, or even just that I injest too much coffee, wine and chocolate. The doctor laughed when I screamed all this out at him. Even if they were migraines, he assured me, I was regurgitating the old decrepit school of thought — telling a woman she should take it easy lest she ‘compromise her delicate composition’ etc. If they were migraines, he’d give me meds responsive to migraines, not tell me I shouldn’t try to be a lawyer, writer and dancer at once. So, my doctor’s COOL! Because, honestly, another general pract I’d seen for these (yet another time my regular primary doc was out on vacation) told me exactly that: I was doing far too much and needed calm. And I remember him focusing on my job too… “You don’t really like being a lawyer, do you?”, as if such a profession was enough to mentally destroy any poor girl, or as if, even if I did hate it, that had anything to do with the fact that my eye was the size of a golfball, I couldn’t breathe out of one nostril or hear out of one ear, and it felt like someone was stabbing me repeatedly on the side of my head. Who would think that sounded even mildly like a migraine??? But of course they were migraines because I’m a female of child-bearing age, and that’s the kind of headache females of child-bearing age get. That doctor was near retirement (and now is, thankfully); my new head pain specialist was pretty young — late 30’s. And the fact he wasn’t far out of med school worked in my favor too — he remarked when he diagnosed me that he could barely remember this weird disorder from his textbooks; a doctor who’d been practicing longer, and never seen a patient with it, might not have. Ugh. I don’t give a damn if I sound ageist, but if older means too sexist to give a proper diagnosis and proper medical treatments, they need to change the way they think or get out of the profession.

Okay, off to bed. So I can get up early for my trip tomorrow morning to Martha’s Vineyard for beach and ballet!!

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Hooray for Benji, Hooray for Marcelo, Hooray for Karina, and Hooray for Dance Fans Who Need Cool Dance Wear!!!

First, congrats congrats CONGRATS to Benji Schwimmer who, as most know on Wednesday night, was named “America’s Favorite Dancer” on the ever-so-popular TV show “So You Think You Can Dance”! Here is a picture I took of him being declared winner on my sucky, cable-less TV set. Thank you to Benji (and Heidi) for officially putting West Coast Swing on the dance map!!! I don’t know Benji personally, but he seems like such a sweet guy, very genuine, very caring, not to mention a very versatile, charming dancer who showed that not only could excel at ballroom but could do everything from Fosse to hip hop too. I don’t know how to judge dance technique, especially when there are dancers from so many different styles all competing together, and people accuse the show of simply being a popularity contest, which in some ways it is. But I think the bottom line with being a performer in general is that, while it goes without saying you have to be able to dance extremely well, your personality also has to show through — that’s what audiences will latch onto. And those with the most personality, who know how to put on the best, most mesmerizing performance, will go the farthest.

This coming Thursday, Marcelo Gomes!, the great Brazilian ABT principal whom I’ve long been obsessing over (smiley face), is having the world premier of his very first choreographic venture out on Martha’s Vineyard as part of the annual performance by Stiefel and Stars / Stiefel and Students, run by ABT principal Ethan Steifel. David Hallberg, whom I’ve recently begun obsessing over (another smiley face), new ABT principal and Winger contributor, is dancing the lead along with Gillian Murphy; Stiefel’s summer students are dancing the corps. I managed to convince one of my friends, Alyssa, to make the trek out there with me to see it, and I’m so excited! I am always up for a nice ferry ride and am packing my Dramamine now! Into my Vera Bradley tote of course, ha ha, an essential for any travel to the Cape 🙂 This is my first time on Martha’s Vineyard, though I’ve been to neighboring Nantucket before, and damn is MV expensive! B&B accommodations are the price of a four-star hotel in other parts of the country! And many of these B&Bs advertise oh so important amenities such as Ralph Lauren bedsheets — ha ha! A real selling point for me! It’s interesting to me, by the way, how B&Bs in different areas sell themselves. The ones in Blackpool advertise quiet locale with single sex rooms, catering only to people over 50, etc.; the inns in MV advertise designer bedding. I think someday someone should do a study of what B&Bs say about the local culture they serve…

I am also excited about my upcoming trip to Hollywood, Florida, during Labor Day week (Sept. 5-10), to attend the U.S. National DanceSport Championships, the most prestigious ballroom comp in the country. Unfortunately, the event is held at the swanky hence exorbitant Westin Inn Resort and Spa, and blasted Trump has just bought the only affordable accommodation in the area, so this trip is going to be a big expense for me. Plus, the event admission fees in the U.S. are huge — much more than in Blackpool anyway. Yikes. Even when I’m only watching and not competing myself, this hobby is slowly draining me! And, all the stress of flying right now is not helping, to make a massive understatement. I’m one of those who’s been a VERY anxious flier since 9/11; then as now, I work two blocks from where everything happened (everything that happened in NY, that is). Plus, I always carry several bottles of water and fruit juice on board so I can take last-minute sinus and relaxation meds, “pop” my ears, and prevent dehydration which would, I fear, launch me into a horrid headache episode. It looks like that’s going to be a problem now; fortunately my flight is only 3 hours long. I booked on JetBlue, which I’ve never taken before, figuring that’d make it part of a new adventure for me. (And, because of its extensive , stress-relieving on-board entertainment system, my fellow post-9/11 anxiety-ridden office-mate, Michelle, recommended it.) I have to say, one great thing about dance is that it got me on a plane again after the attacks. My first time flying post 9/11 was last year’s trip to Billy Fajardo’s Hustle and Salsa comp in Miami. (Before that, I was taking only destination-limited and ridiculously expensive cruises and train rides… so yay for dance!). Anyway, regardless of expense and travel stress, this is my first time at this huge comp and I’m excited about that, excited about soaking up some sun on the Westin’s ritzy private beach, getting orthopedist-recommended dancer cross-training by swimming laps in their big outdoor pool, possibly even getting a good head and upper back massage for my headaches depending on the spa’s price, and enjoying good wine, food and Art Deco architecture in fun South Beach. Oh, and of course watching the greatest in the country compete for the U.S. title!

Also, I’m very excited because, according to their website, my favorite Latin goddess, Karina Smirnoff, is going to be joining Dancing With the Stars for the upcoming season! I know a lot of professionals dislike her, supposedly because she has a real ego and is not the nicest person, but I surmise it may possibly be chalked up to jealousy, since she gets a lot of attention. (She had a speaking part on Shall We Dance, and in Blackpool, her face was all over dance CD covers, posters, you name it.) Still, I think, artistically, she is the greatest Latin dancer in the world today, and I love watching her. I guess the show, being another “popularity contest,” will enable us to witness her personality for ourselves, right!

I also want to bring attention to The Winger’s message board. It’s a place where dance lovers can post messages about upcoming events, critical reviews, etc., and just talk to each other about their love of dance. It’s a lot of fun! Unlike Ballet Talk and some of the other message boards, it’s open to all kinds of dance and, unless you get really out of line, the moderators don’t restrict you in what you say. And, when you set up your profile, you can attach a picture of yourself (so that every time you post, your photo pops up, so you can feel like a real op-ed commentator, like Maureen Dowd or somebody!) or, you can select one of the many “avatars” Kristin has downloaded, to represent who you are. If you haven’t already, definitely check it out! Additionally, The Winger is now selling its own line of t-shirts and other dance accessories. The designs are very cool, we all need dance / yoga/ just hanging-out clothes, and it’s a lot more fun to wear something unique than sporting the typical Danksin / Capezio / Bloch lines. Plus, one message board member has said you can make your own design on the site. I’m definitely ordering at least one!

Finally, I have been caring for my little upstairs neighbor, Jones, while his mother is away visiting her boyfriend in Scotland. It’s been almost a year since my dear little Najma passed, and I am still missing her immensely. My allergist wants me to refrain from getting another kitty for a while to see if my allergies improve, which so far, I haven’t seen a change. So, it’s a great pleasure for me to kitty-sit! Here are some pictures of Jones and me!

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No Sexist Medicine!!!

Ugh, well three strenuous dance lessons last week including trying hard hard hard to do my oh so highly prized fish with no hands turned out to be not so good. Got sick all over again. Just a bad sore throat and cold this time, no flu thankfully, and, as of yet, no horrendous headache, but the weak muscles and bones and congestion have meant I had to miss a couple more dance lessons. Which I’m really not liking right now because my showcase is coming up very soon. I guess I have to not worry. Worry creates stress and anxiety, which is part of what’s keeping me sick, I must repeat to myself. Ad nauseum. I decided not to perform in the studio’s group class, which is not Hustle I found out, but Shim Sham, a form of Swing that I’m not familiar with anyway. It would have been fun but I have enough on my plate with my crazy fast Salsa/Samba/Cha Cha routine with Luis and my slow arty lifty Rhumba with Pasha.

My regular internist is back from vacation, so I went to see her last week about the hideous headache episode (see last two posts). She said regardless of the sinus x-rays it still sounded more like sinus than migraine and x-rays aren’t very good at showing everything that’s going on anyway. Since my general neurologist is not helping much, she decided to send me to a headache specialist. I have an appointment with Columbia University’s headache center next Monday. It should be good. They’ve already directed me to download several forms requesting detailed info on the pain and gather all my sinus and brain MRIs I’ve had over the years. I’m also gonna print out my blog entries describing this last headache episode (at least one good thing a blog is for!) and type out my old headache diaries. And I’m gonna INSIST that they not take one look at me, see ‘female of childbearing age’ and label me a migraineur. It’s sexist, unfair, and downright potentially harmful to me. Sexism simply has no place in medicine. I want them to consider all of the possibilities, and only after they’ve considered everything, including the male-dominant cluster episodes, will I let them tell me they could be migraines and proceed with the typical migraine meds. I don’t want to take those damn meds (which, as I’ve described before, constrict blood vessels serving the brain thereby causing frightening lightheadedness / light-upper-bodiedness and stress me out over the possibility of, at best fainting at an inopportune time, at worst suffering a stroke or heart attack) unless I know for sure my headache is a migraine and they’ll actually work.

Anyway, my throat is still sore and I still have gallons of post-nasal drip but hopefully, hopefully, I am now on the road to recovery and can resume my dancing later this week. I bought some killer Country Life vitamins recommended by a friend who had gastric bypass and couldn’t eat for months, and finally meekly asked my landlord to repair my broken air conditioner (the wonderful man bought me a new one after determining the old was irrepairable!), in case my crazy illness was related to that nasty heat wave we had. And, though my past week was sadly devoid of dancing, I did catch up on some reading. I managed, without vomiting, to get myself as far as my nearest New York Public Library to return a ballet videotape (ABT‘s The Dream), and, while there, found a copy of Kaavya Viswanathan‘s young adult chick-lit novel “How Opal Mehta Got Kissed, Got Wild, and Got a Life,” which, thinking they were all pulled by the publisher after numerous allegations that either she or her editor plagiarized from several other YA writers, quickly snatched and read, out of sheer curiosity of course! And it actually was pretty good, I thought. It was a sweet, over-the-top comedy about an Indian girl whose parents push her so hard to get into Harvard that, in her quest to convince the dean she’s worthy of admission, she loses something of herself, which, through the course of the novel, she regains. Of course I don’t know how much content Viswanathan may have pilched from other writers since I don’t read contemporary YA (though ideas aren’t copywritable anyway), but something I know she couldn’t have “stolen” was the hyperbolic but truth-ringing parts about immigrant parents pushing their poor kids at all costs to realize their American dream. They were hilariously sad, and for capturing at least that, at such a young age (18), I think Viswanathan should be commended.

I also borrowed a copy of Colson Whitehead‘s new book Apex Hides the Hurt, which I think I was just too zoned out on meds to get, and Melissa Bank‘s The Wonder Spot, which I found surprisingly un-put-downable for being about rather mundane subject matter. It’s basically just about the life, from early puberty through adulthood, of this very ordinary woman who’s not particularly good at anything, struggles to find a suitable career, struggles to find a suitable man, struggles with losses of friendships and family members — it delineates a normal female life, basically. Yet it was a very interesting read for me. I find myself constantly struggling to be not normal, to be above average, to have everything — be a dancer with perfect technique and artistry, as close to professional as possible though I well know I started way the hell too late in life for that; I dream of someday winning a major literary award, but it’s incredibly difficult just to write the first draft of my novel with an intellectually- and emotionally-demanding 50-60-hour-a-week job as a lawyer; and I want to be this amazing lawyer who argues a groundbreaking case before the U.S. Supreme Court and writes formidable law books and articles, well respected as being at the top of my profession, but there’s no way I can even keep up with developments in criminal law outside of that required by my job with the writing and dancing. I guess Bank made me think, wow, some people, most people, almost all people in fact, just ARE, and that’s enough, that’s perfectly fine, that’s even interesting to read about. And Bank herself — I’ve often been so envious of her, as I’ve been of other writers who’ve had a bestseller or won a literary award or had their book made into a movie, but this is really only her second book and she’s not 15 years old. I mean, you can have some accomplishments, and still be ‘accomplished’ … as long as I have some things in life to be mildly proud of, I guess I’m okay; I don’t completely suck as a human being.

But then: across the street at my bookstore, I also picked up a copy of this month’s Pointe magazine, whose cover story features the illustrious David Hallberg, whom of course I’ve been gushing over for the past couple months since he just brilliantly danced his first season as an ABT principal (and has been writing smart little entries for The Winger blog). The mag contained mostly pretty pictures, and the story was way way too short for someone as sophisticated as he, but one thing he said at the end stood out. “Everyone blooms at a different time,” he said, and in the past three to four years he’s had to learn to calm down, have patience, stop “worrying about everything happening at once.” He’s 24 years old! So, at the ripe old age of 20 he had to force himself to stop obsessing over not yet being hailed as one of the world’s greatest dancers, which of course he now is; he’s definitely on his way anyway. So, hmmm, weighing Bank’s protagonist’s way against David’s — I choose David’s! Definitely. I guess even if it means HEEAADDAACCHE??…

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I May Be a Man…

I had my first dance lesson last night since my headache episode! I’m still a tiny bit hazy from the whole ordeal, but I’m so so SO glad to be dancing again! And, since one of the group classes was cancelled, one of the many former ballet dancers at my studio who’s training to teach ballroom was free to help teach me how to do my dream trick: the hands-free fish. A picture of real dancers (ie: Marcelo Gomes! and Gillian Murphy from ABT) is here. Oooh, but it’s soooooooooooo unimaginably hard! I couldn’t do it, try as I did. Your back needs to be so incredibly strong. It makes me realize how tough ballerinas are; elegant and graceful as they seem, their backs and legs are made of steel! I need to hook my leg around Luis’s back and hold myself onto him with that leg only. If I let my back collapse, I will fall to the floor. And it doesn’t look like it from the picture or when you see people perform it, but it’s so hard to keep your back arched and not collapse it. The ballet dancer gave me some serious exercises to do, mainly where I lie on the floor on my stomach and arch my back up to the waist as high as I possibly can, and hold and hold and hold and frigging hold. Ugh, it hurts! But I wanna be able to do this so so bad, it’s worth all the work! Happily, I’ve been able to sell Luis on it; he thinks it would be so cool to end the Latin routine with it. Consummate Latin dancer though he is, he’s been really receptive to much of my ballet-y suggestions — Luis’s great!

Tomorrow, I have an appointment with my regular primary care doctor to discuss my headache episode (see last post). The doctor on call phoned yesterday to tell me the sinus x-ray was normal. So there was no sinus infection, which scares me because that means it was neurological, as he said. I did some internet research today, and from what I’ve read, I truly think it was a kind of cluster headache, which is an extremely rare neurological condition, even more rare in women (at least 70% of sufferers are men). But migraine descriptions just don’t describe my pain very well. With migraines, you have pulsing pain on one side of your face, no necessary sinus connection, and you want to lie down and try to sleep it out. With mine, and clusters in general, the pain is sharp sharp sharp, boring, drilling into your skull, exruciating, searing, honestly even suicide-inducing, making the sufferer want to scream out in pain or even knock his or her head against a wall. One sufferer whose account I read described it as having surgery without anathesia, which is precisely how I felt, and hence was why I was begging the doctor, who laughed at me, for an emergency morphine injection. And your eye on the side of the face where your pain is located is watery and red, and you have sinus congestion on that side as well; not so with migraine.

Most interestingly, you absolutely positively cannot lie down with a cluster or the pain is even more excruciating; instead sufferers pace the room, walk, run, must remain active at all times, which is exactly how I was, to the confusion of one friend who commented that I “take pain like a man” — ie: actively jumping around, not passively lying on the couch. That characterization made some sense to me, but it wasn’t like I was trying to act like a man. When I read about cluster headaches (hereinafter “CH”), and realized they described my pain more precisely than migraine, and read that men are overwhelmingly the sufferers of such head pain, I realized I was possibly handling my pain “like a man” because I had a predominately male headache. The only part of the description that doesn’t fit me is that mine was one long, 4 1/2 day headache, whereas CH’s are typically 1/2 to 3 hours in duration coming and going throughout the day for a period of weeks. I found this amazing CH support group website and almost cried when I read some of the accounts. I know this is badly anti-feminist of me, but when I first read that most sufferers were men, I immediately thought, oh my gosh, I can’t imagine a man going through this. Last week I was literally walking the streets of Manhattan screaming and bawling out in pain, with cab drivers, store clerks, pharmacists, even a group of police officers in a deli where I went to buy ice taking pity on me, trying to hold my hand, helping me get to where I wanted to go. Not to mention all of my friends and co-workers… But in our society, which stigmatizes any male showing of pain or emotion, it seems a man would have to try to hide his pain, would never be able to act like this, or would surely scare people. Sure enough, some of the accounts on the support group website talk about running to the basement to pace, bang heads against the wall and cry and scream out, desperately not wanting wives and children to witness such a state of helplessness. Other men likewise talked of “not feeling like a man,” being humiliated, feeling out of control, etc. So much worse to have to deal with these societally-based feelings on top of this horrendous, horrific pain. And, in my New York example, especially with the police or even begging the doctor for injectible narcotics, so much the worse if the man is minority — he may automatically be suspected of being an addict or criminal… Ugh, so nasty on so many different levels…

Anyway, I’m gonna talk to my doctor about it all tomorrow, and ask her to consider sending me to a headache specialist instead of my same neurologist. Even if I end up with a diagnosis other than CH, I feel like I’ve learned about another sad world through all of this. Bottom line: if you know people who suffer from chronic headaches, of whatever type, please offer all the love and support you can, and please don’t dismiss them!!