I Can Never Be a Drug Addict…

Though I’m feeling kinda high now! Have just overcome the absolute worst ‘headache’ I’ve ever had. Actually, I don’t think I’m gonna call them that (at least when they’re this bad) because the term somehow diminishes their seriousness.

It started on Tuesday evening, after a week of a flu / eye infection likely caused by the flu, while I was writing my last blog entry as a matter of fact, and consisted of a tightness in my left temple extending out to the center of my face. I took my regular Excedrin (which cuts off my minor headaches, especially when taken with Coke — nothing else works, and I’ve tried every over-the-counter drug there is, many many times). But Excedrin didn’t respond, and the next morning I woke up with real pain – tightness all around my head and now a pulsing in the left temple where the pain had originated. After another dose of Excedrin and a cup of coffee did nothing, I took a Maxalt (migraine drug) tablet. Two hours later, after literally feeling the blood drain from the upper half of my body (I HATE Maxalt’s side effects: it works on your migraine, which is a headache resulting from enlarged blood vessels bringing blood to your brain, by constricting those vessels, thereby reducing the blood supply to your head — a medical authority must deem you not at risk for stroke or heart attack before you’re given the drug needless to say…), the throbbing pulsing pain began to recede. But the tightness was still all around, and it felt like something was lodged in my sinus cavity, where my ear canal meets my throat (I had a sore throat and my ear needed “popping” as an effect of the flu). I waited until the lightheadedness, or ‘light upperbodiness’ rather, subsided, then somehow got myself to the subway, and on to work. About five hours later, the Maxalt began to wear off and the pulsing began again. I tried to follow it up with Excedrin, but to no avail. I took another Maxalt; this one did absolutely nothing, except make me feel the drain of blood from waist up. I took another (you can take up to three in a 24-hour period, but no more under ANY circumstances — I don’t like taking a single one to tell the truth), and this one had a minor effect. Tightness was slowly turning into sharp shooting pain, and throbbing was diminished but still there. I didn’t want to leave work and navigate the subway in such a condition — either with the increasingly excruciating pain or the upper body bloodlessness. My sweet co-worker and friend Denise (a fellow dancer, by the way — she does belly!) suffers migraines and insisted on accompanying me home. By the time I got home, the pain was horrendous — I felt shots of pain searing straight through my skull from side to side, and more pulsing in my left temple. The doctor who I’d seen on Monday for the sinus / flu / eye problem told me he’d be on call 24 hours until my regular doc returned, so, I called him. He said it sounded like sinus, since that was my original problem, and to focus on decongestants and not the Maxalt, and, as horrid as such a suggestion sounded in the heat wave, to take a very steamy bath — I really needed to clear my sinuses. I did as he said, and, unbelievably, while in the shower I did feel some relief, despite my 94 degree airconditionerless apartment. But when I got up to my loft to go to sleep, there was no way in hell my head was going near that pillow. I had to sit completely upright or it would feel like either the veins in my left temple, or the gunk trapped in my ear canal — I couldn’t tell which was the more apt characterization of the pain — were going to burst right out of the left side of my head, leaving blood and mucus and who knows what else all over the pillow. Seriously, I don’t mean to be gross. I was really scared I wouldn’t wake up if I fell asleep. Instead, I spent the night crying because of the, now 30-hour-long searing, pulsing,horrible pain, never knowing when it would end.

I waited for 9 a.m. to roll around, then called doctor’s office right away, making an emergency appointment for 2 p.m. But when I got to work, I couldn’t take it any longer. Finding me propped against the bathroom wall with a wet paper towel glued to my head, a co-worker asked what was wrong and I burst out crying. Another co-worker emerged from another stall and insisted I go to the hospital; head pain just shouldn’t be that bad unless there is something serious going on. Both wonderful women walked to my office with me and waited while I phoned the doctor to tell him if he couldn’t take me in now, I’d have to go to the hospital. The receptionist said to come in right away. Alexis and Lisa, and now Jonathan, another co-worker and friend from down the hall, helped me pack my things, turn off my computer, and get downstairs and safely into a taxi.

Doctor couldn’t figure me out. Which doesn’t surprise me since even my neurologist has never diagnosed my head pain precisely. She (neurologist) has insisted they’re some form of migraine because I respond at least somewhat to Maxalt, which supposedly only works on migraines, although no one in my family has ever had a migraine and they’re supposedly very hereditary, and although the pain that prevents me from lying my head down or holding it in any other position than upright is symptomatic of sinus congestion, whereas migraineurs typically wish to lie down on the side of the head from which the pain is emanating). Neurologist surmised that I had combination migraine and tension headaches. My allergist, however, says they’re likely almost completely sinus based, since I do have a deviated septum and other chronic sinus problems, and my sinus headaches are simply turning into migraines. My regular primary care doctor thinks they’re actual sinus infections and always gives me antibiotics, which may or may not work — they’re usually gone by the time I’m done with the penicillan. And, this doctor first thought it was sinus since I’d just had the flu, but upon seeing how much pain I was in in his office, decided they had to be something more; sinus pain couldn’t be that severe. He suggested possible temporal cluster headaches, which have both a sinus and migraine element but are tremendously uncommon in women (unlike migraines) and usually cause pain in the face, not the temple. He also said it might be neuralgia. Was in too much pain to even ask what that was, and I really more than anything desperately needed to be free of at least the searing pain. It had been over two days now. He said he wanted to send me for a sinus x-ray to see exactly what was going on in my sinus cavity, which was definitely a good idea, but there was simply no way in my state I could get myself around Manhattan. I couldn’t see cars coming at me on the streets, couldn’t read street signs very well — my equilibrium was completely off, I was having a hard time walking a straight line, and I was easily becoming disoriented. Normally, head pain associated with these symptoms would be a sign of a possible stroke or brain hemorrage, but since I’ve had the pain before (albeit not as bad) and since sinus conditions are also associated with loss of equilibrium and disorientation, he just didn’t take it seriously. He said after my x-ray, he’d place an order of Codeine — a narcotic drug that was so powerful it’d be sure to knock me out, which would be waiting for me at my pharmacy, a whole 50 blocks from his office. Okay, fine, but I need an injection before I leave, I told him. He looked up from writing the prescription. What? My allergist has given me on the spot shots when I’m broken out in hives and itching like a madwoman, so I assumed he could give me a shot of Codeine; I was actually going to ask for Morphine.

“I need it to get to the x-ray place and to get home,” I said. He chuckled and went back to writing the prescription. He wasn’t taking my pain seriously; I wasn’t going to get my shot; I was going to have to walk the streets of Manhattan in excruciating, blinding, disorienting pain. I started bawling, like a baby. I couldn’t help it. I don’t understand why doctors don’t understand headache pain. Headache pain can be completely debilitating; I felt for parts of this one like a guy who’s seriously injured in war and taken to a base hospital; I needed Morphine like he did. I cried harder, trying between sobs to tell him I couldn’t get myself six blocks to the x-ray imaging place without a shot of something to abate the pain. He laughed and said he didn’t have any Codeine on him, shaking his head in humorous disbelief at me. I asked him if I could have a shot of Morphine then. He burst out laughing. I cried harder.

Finally, he looked me in the eye and said, “What movies have you been watching? Do you realize what would happen if I had injectible narcotics in this office! Every drug addict in this city would be banging the doors down…” and continued laughing.

Oh. Didn’t think of it that way. I guess drug addicts are not breaking down the allergist’s door for a fix of antihistamine. Maybe I should have gone to a hospital. I mean, I don’t know if my insurance would have covered it, but they should if a person is unable to get herself from doctor’s office to imaging center to pharmacy to home without serious risk of walking out in front of a car. I thanked him, grabbed my prescription, and cried all the way downstairs and all the way outside, where I managed to find a cab driver brave enough to pick up the hysterical girl and drive her six blocks.

The people in the imaging place had no sympathy either. I asked for a glass of ice to hold to my head and they told me to walk down the street to the deli and buy one for 50 cents. After waiting nearly two hours, during which time I tried, unsuccessfully, another Excedrin, I was finally called to the back for my x-ray. Once I peered into the mirror of the changing room I saw that my left eye was swollen practically shut. This is now days after I’d started the antibiotics for the infection, which seemed to be clearing up. The technician who performed the x-ray was nice and took more x-rays than were ordered, as I kept pointing out to him that it was my left temple and ear canal that were hurting, not my facial sinus cavities, and he complied, taking pics of the whole left side of my head, in addition to the face. When I left I asked him if I was having a brain hemorrage, he looked at me like he’d never heard the term before. Said he was only ordered to look at my sinuses, and doc would get reports hopefully tomorrow. Tomorrow… if the Codeine didn’t work I didn’t know if I would make it through the night — both because I was worried about something — whether it be a vein or sinus cavity — bursting, and because I just couldn’t take the pain anymore; this was the longest head pain episode ever and I needed to know it would end sometime. I can honestly see now how people can become suicidal over pain.

Duane Reade pharmacy was a comedy of errors again. The heat wave crashed their computers so they couldn’t turn out any prescriptions. Clerk told me it would be a couple of hours. Not wanting to go back to my hot apartment, I managed to find a refrigerator with cold sodas, and held one to my temple while I crashed on the chairs. Soon, I heard the pharmacist calling out to me. I had my head in my hands, and had taken my glasses off since they had been bothering me basically since I began wearing them. When I looked up to see a figure in the distance wearing a white gown waving at me, I had no idea what was going on. I found my glasses, apologized and stumbled to the counter, where he told me he’d written mine out for me in his own handwriting since the doctor had explained to him how much pain I was in. Awww. But he needed to go over the instructions with me verbally since his handwriting was so crappy, he said, and when he did so, for some reason felt the need to impress upon me the importance of not consuming alcohol with this or any narcotic. Advising me not to drink for the third time, the clerk, who had just told me she likewise had a migraine, burst out laughing, and for the first time, since the ordeal, I nearly did as well. Poor Indian pharmacist had no idea what we were off about — that the idea that anyone with a severe headache would actually want to party was a riot. “Look, I am just trying to do my best to get this poor girl her medicine,” he muttered, embarrassed.

Well, apparently, I could never become a drug addict, because Codeine, one of the most intense painkillers, had the effect of: a) completely numbing my entire body, except for my head; b) taking away the throbbing in the left temple but; c) by breaking those throbs into tiny sharp sparks of pain; d) shooting the sparks of pain through my head to the other side so they could then shoot back across, thereby; e) making my entire head ablaze with sharp sparks of searing pain shooting back and forth across my head. I think I’ll take the throbbing in the one temple over this, thank you very much. I had no idea what to do: could I take Codeine and Maxalt together? I was going to GIVE MYSELF a brain hemorrage with the damn drugs. I dug out my neurologist’s card and dialed, only to discover she’d moved. Three phone calls later, I finally found her. After initially scolding me for for not having been in for a while, hence not knowing about the relocation, she told me I really shouldn’t take so much Maxalt and should follow up with acetominophen (Excedrin), or say, Codeine. I burst out crying all over again. She couldn’t understand my reaction to the Codeine: “Everyone responds well to Codeine, oh well!” she said as if I just told her I’d missed my bus. Ended up telling me to take the Maxalt through the weekend unless the pain actually subsided, and good luck! (Okay, and she also told me to come see her next week regardless of whether the pain was gone to discuss.)

I went up to my upstairs neighbor’s cool, air conditioned apartment (she’d offered it to me earlier in the week) and tried to prevent myself from thinking about my pain by playing with her cat. That pain aversion lasted all of 8 minutes. I tried to explain the intensity of my pain to her; she said she understood, she’d had horrible backpain, and could she offer me this great drug she’d been given: Codeine. Ugh. I came home and tried to blast the pain out by putting on head phones and cranking up my Latin dance CD I’d bought in Blackpool. When the time came that I could safely do so without drug interference, I took another Maxalt. Between the Samba and the pill, some of the edge actually went away.

Managed to sleep sitting up on futon Thursday night, and awoke Friday morning in same amount of pain. Maxalt was hardly working at all by now. I called Lisa at work to ask her to inform the front desk I was sick and check my mail. “Oh my gosh, I’ve never seen someone in so much pain over a headache,” she said, causing me to bawl again. Called doctor; sinus x-ray not in yet. When 8 hours had passed, I took another Maxalt, only to realize, to my horror this was my last one. I called the pharmacy and the nice Indian pharmacist told me I luckily had one more refill left; which he’d do for me. By that time, I was feeling light upper-bodied by the last Max, and decided to wait an hour before walking three blocks to pick it up. By the time I got to Duane Reade, Indian pharmacist had left for the day and the blasted computers were down again. A record-breaking heat wave is not a good time to be sick. Other pharmacist said he couldn’t fill it with the network down and to come back. I bawled again. Funny thing was that all of the bawling was making me feel a little better; I think it was literally relieving some pressure in my skull muscles. On my way back home, I got the idea to stop in the deli and buy a bottle of Coke. I found black cherry vanilla. At home, I popped two Excedrin and downed them with the Coke.

In half an hour the whole headache was gone.

So… when that ‘headache with something special’ comes on, I drown myself with Excedrin and Coke, they do nothing, I resort to Maxalt, which takes the edge away but not the root of the pain, I try to follow up with Excedrin but it does nothing, so I try more Maxalt, which now has decreasing effect, try to follow that up with a narcotic, which simply turns one pain into another more severe one. Then, after four days of excruciating, completely debilitating, even suicidally-invoking pain, I take two simple over-the-counter Excedrin and a black cherry vanilla Coke and it’s gone just like that.

Happily today, Sunday, was my first pain free day in over a week. I still have a bit of a sinus thing going, but my ear has popped, the eye is not dripping mucus, and my throat is not bulging red, and, most importantly, no head pain, either at the left temple or anywhere else!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Thank you so so so much to Lisa, Alexis and Denise from work, Rebekkah from upstairs, and Jonathan and Nicole for being such great friends and calling me repeatedly to check up (and make sure I was still alive) 🙂 🙂 For someone without a husband and family, friends are everything 🙂

I’m very excited to return to dance. Today was the last day for my eye antibiotics, and therefore, glasses! I stretched hamstrings and adductor muscles this morning. Ouch. But not as bad as I would have thought. And I transferred to video the routine Luis and I taped on the camcorder, watched it over and over, and wrote down the choreography (just so I can remember it in my own way; Luis’ll laugh at the writing!). I seriously can’t wait till tomorrow night at 7 for my lesson! Anyway, here are a couple of pictures of my sickness: one of me and my arsenal of meds, and one of some interesting ‘artwork’ my freezer made!

Total Frigging Joke!

Okay, I’ve decided to give up for the moment trying to figure out how to post pictures on Word Press — way too much for me to handle right now being sick with flu / migraine / eye infection / sinus infection / laryngitis / dehydration-verging-on-heat-stroke. So, I am just going to link to the photo page of the picture I wish to show as such. That’s what I will be looking like for the next week. Ugh. Red puffy make-up-less eyes covered by a massive, thick shield of glass. I hate hate HATE glasses! After waking yesterday morning completely unable to swallow, hear, breathe or see out of one eye, I called my doctor only to find I was unable to speak as well. Apparently my flu infected not only my sinuses and eye but my vocal cords as well. Of course my doctor would have to be on vacation, leaving me to call first her answering service to find out who her emergency doctor on call was, then call that doctor and explain to his curt receptionist who I was, what I needed, and get out of her detailed instructions on where they were located. I really don’t know how she understood a word of my squeaking. After the trying phone conversation I drank a bowl of steaming (perfect in this heat wave) chicken broth, and coughed up a bit of blood. I know, tasty… sorry.

Anyway, I managed to make it up and down two sets of subway stairs, walk the length of two subway platforms, and then lumber five blocks out in the blinding sun wearing my depth-distorting glasses with no shades. Ended up with a horrible migraine. Doctor confirmed I do indeed have an eye infection and cannot wear the contacts for at least a week. Did not have strep or mono (as I honestly was beginning to fear), but likely had a sinus infection, and of course laryngitis. He gave me prescriptions for two different antibiotics, one of which my local Duane Reade did not have in stock and so referred me to another store but not until after I’d already paid for both there, leaving me to cough up more blood trying to explain to the pharmacist at the second store why he should fill my prescription without me paying him, then ask him about drug interactions since I knew I’d be downing Maxalt (mind-saving Migraine meds) the second I got home.

I eventually got over my headache last night, although it’s returned twice today, likely I think, from the heat, and I’ve now used up an entire $10 three-pack of Maxalt tabs. My eye is less red and swollen but every time I turn on the fans, I literally feel it dry up (though I make sure the fans aren’t directed at my face) and then begin to blur and hurt again, which is a big problem at least for the next couple of days because of this BLASTED heat wave. When I turn off the fans, I find myself drenched in sweat (I don’t have an air con because I’m honestly usually not that hot) which the doctor told me to be careful of or I’d suffer the effects of dehydration.

I’m so depressed! I called the studio this afternoon and cancelled my two lessons — with Luis and Pasha — for this week. Plus, they’re starting a performance class this Thursday for the October showcase, which I was going to take. I don’t even know what dance the class is going to perform but judging by the teacher, likely Hustle, which would be a lot of fun. I almost cried when I spoke to the receptionist, defensively telling her there’s just no way with this sinus thing, returning migraine b/c of heat wave and having to wear glasses, and the damn glasses themselves that I can dance right now. She laughed and assured me it was okay and I could join the perf class next week; I’d easily catch up on the class and my private lessons. I just hope the eye is better next week. I still don’t know what real dancers do when things like this happen? I wonder if I could just go without seeing well – at least I wouldn’t freak myself out as much fixating on how horrible I looked in the mirror?… And maybe I’d be less inhibited with the “sexy poses” Luis gives me and Pasha’s “acting” suggestions, by not being able to see any crazed looks people in the studio may be giving me??? Hmmmm… Oooh, I know this so isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, other people go through far worse, and I sound like a complete baby, but I just want this to be over; I want my contact lenses!!!!

Help — What Do Real Dancers Do???

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

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

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

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

"Come … and Do YOU!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Huh?” I said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

HOT HOT HOT!

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

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

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

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

Dumber Than a 6-Year-Old, 6 is the New 14, and Money Money Money!

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

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

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

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

Male Ballerinas, Bad Non-Brazil-Rooting Ballroom Dancers, and Social Issues at the ABT

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

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

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

Dead Weight, Lightweight, and Boxing, Bullfighting Ballroom Dancers

“Dead weight. Dead weight. Dead weeiighttt,” Pasha kept moaning while shaking his head all throughout my lesson last week. Ugh. Could I feel fatter? I guess when we do this far-more-complicated-than-it-looks lift / dip / spin thingy that I stole from my favorite Latin diva, Karina Smirnoff, I’m supposed to hold myself up by pushing my pelvis as far into Pasha’s groin as possible. Otherwise, I’m “Dead Weighttt” ie: too much for him to hold up. It just feels weird and, like, violative of boundaries dare I say, since I’m crushing my bony crotch as far as possible into his. I guess real dancers get over the boundary thing fast. But I still don’t completely understand when guys tell me to hold myself up. I know I have to strengthen my body during a lift and hold my position as much as I can, so I’m not dragging him down, but how much can you hold yourself up while suspended in mid air? And what about during a dip when you’re supposed to be “dipping” at least part of your body downward?

Then, while choreographing a rag doll into our routine (I couldn’t find a good link to this, but it’s the trick all the dancers are doing in the party scene at the beginning of “Dirty Dancing” that so seduces Jennifer Grey), Luis kept telling me to put my body weight completely into his hands so he could control me, and the trick, better. I kept trying but I couldn’t seem to do what he wanted, and he kept saying he knew I wasn’t as lightweight as I felt and that I must not be trusting him with my whole weight. Ugh! I totally don’t get it — am I too heavy and not working hard enough to hold my own, or am I not heavy enough indicating distrust?? Are all male partners just different or am I nuts??!

Anyway, speaking of Luis, tomorrow night, he and Anya will be teaching the salsa lesson at Midsummer Night Swing! Be there!

And, this weekend is the super mad fun Manhattan Dancesport Championships at the Marriott in Brooklyn Heights. This is the most prestigious dancesport competition in the mid-Atlantic region and all of the top U.S. couples compete at it (so, look for Andrei Gavriline and Elena Kruyschkova in Latin, and Jonathan Wilkins and Katusha Demidova in Standard). The event begins Thursday with pro/am competitions (when students compete with their teachers), and continues through Sunday evening. Saturday and Sunday nights will be the most fun to watch since they are the professional comps. Saturday is pro Latin (dancers compete in: cha cha, samba, rhumba, paso doble, and jive), and will be followed by an exhibition by the lovely and amazing Sharon Savoy (who, with her old partner, David Savoy, has performed at the Olympics and was a driving force behind making Dancesport an official Olympic sport). Sunday night are the comps in pro American Rhythm (American-style cha cha and rhumba, bolero, swing, and mambo) and Standard (waltz, foxtrot, viennese waltz, tango, and quickstep), and is to be followed by a cabaret show choreographed by Las Vegas choreographer Wendy Johnson, who I’m told really knows how to create a spectacle. These competitions are all a lot of fun and this is one of the best: the crowd can get so raucous rooting for their favorites, the dance floor can start to resemble a boxing match (except the ‘boxers’ are wearing beautiful ballgowns and lovely smiles:)). I will be excited to see the Latin because, ever since Blackpool, I can’t seem to get the paso doble music out of my mind — it’s so dramatic! And you don’t exactly hear it often on the radio… This comp is a perfect way for people to be introduced to the world of Dancesport. It’s a bit pricey — evening tkts are $50, but it’s worth it because the fun lasts for at least six hours (far longer than a Broadway show!) and it’s for a good cause — the dancers’ awards; and ballroom dancers don’t make a lot of money, so they need those prizes…

Lastly, watching Julio Thursday night at the ABT was unforgetable. He will be missed,to make a massive understatement. My pictures are up. I was in the nosebleed section but you can still see the basic action. Enjoy!

"Love is . . . when someone is doing something great and you want to let out your feelings"

The above is a quote from Sarah, a second-grader at Juan Pablo Duarte Elementary School in Washington Heights. It was included with a list of other quotes by her fellow students describing what love is to them in the absolutely COOLEST wedding invitation I have ever received. A good friend from writing class, Melinda, the best yet-to-be-published novelist I know, is getting married and her invitation consisted of a series of coaster-sized squares each containing different wedding info such as how she and Paulo met, maps of the venue, reasons why they chose to have a pirate-themed wedding (which I found unbelievably interesting), thought behind the unique design of their rings, and on one square is this very sweet list of quotes from 2nd graders in the school where Melinda recently taught, defining love. Whilst getting her MFA at the New School, Melinda taught for this amazing program called The Community Word Project, a non-profit organization akin to Pierre Dulaine‘s American Ballroom Theater (featured in films Take the Lead and Mad Hot Ballroom), but which teaches children in low-income NYC schools to express and explore themselves and relate to each other not through dance but poetry. Click here for a great article about her class in El Diario newspaper that she translated into English.

Anyway, that quote stood out to me when I read it last night because: 1) as a perpetually single amateur dancer and massive dance fan I sometimes think of such terms in the sense of seeing a brilliant performance that makes me want to cry; and 2) in particular, tomorrow night is going to be long-time principal dancer Julio Bocca‘s last performance with the company that has been his home for 20 years, ABT. At only 39, Bocca, who began dance lessons about the same time he learned to walk, became a principal (to non-balletomanes, that means absolute highest level-status attainable) with the most prestigious company in the world (okay, arguably :)) while a mere teenager. Thus, a man, not even 40, who’s devoted his entire life to this art, is retired as of this Friday. He’s explained in the many many interviews he’s given over the past couple months that he’s tired, wants to relax, sail in the ocean, see things, stay up late, eat, drink, not have a nervous breakdown after a vacation trying to shape up for the upcoming season, live like a normal person. He even told Playbill he’s envious of the people he sees sitting outside at Lincoln Center plaza soaking up sun and drinking wine in the afternoon… which I find amusing since I’m one such lazy-ass he’s ‘envious’ of! But it makes you realize just how hard of a life a dancer lives and how much they give up for their way-too-short careers. Even for me, when the orthopedist insists I take a little break, I’m initially upset then before long realize how nice it is to have wine every night with dinner, catch up on movies, books, and friends’ lives over five-course and several-hour-long meals eating whatever I please (beany bloating Mexican food, salty dehydrating Greek caviar spread and anchovies, etc. etc.). I can’t imagine what not only a professional, but one of the greatest in the world must have given up to devote himself so wholly to this life that he’s achieved the status he has. My sedentary appellate law job is cheesecake in comparison… But like most retiring dancers, he’s hardly leaving dance. He plans to perform one more year with his company in Argentina (which performs, in addition to ballet, tango, and what is one of the most beautiful of all dance forms — balletic tango), then presumably will choreograph and serve as its artistic director. And there’s even speculation he may one day lead the ABT. So, sad as his multitude of fans are — and I’m sure there will be a cacophany of sobs tomorrow night in the Met — it’s not like we won’t be seeing his work, in other forms, again and again. Choreographer and artistic director seem like the consummate post-dance-career careers — he can use his mass of creative skills he’s accumulated throughout the years without now sacrificing wine and food and sun and sailing and all that other good stuff life has to offer. So, there, it is a celebration, though a damn sad one.

Back to the Juan Pablo Duarte second-graders’ Word Community Project for a few more truly wonderful little quotes about love:

“Love is like you are in the park, happy with the sun and with yourself.” Madeline

“Love is giving something to each person and love is when you love the person but not like a boyfriend because that’s nasty, yo.” Leslie

“Love is me in ballet with a little pink tutu on and my hair picked up with bobby pins.” Kayla

“Love is me and my brother holding hands, looking at the bright blue sky with a shooting star.” Luismil

“El amor es muy caliente como la luz del cielo, y los corazones se despiertan a la luz del mar” (“Love is hot like the sky’s light, and hearts wake up in the light of the sea” — damn, I cannot write like this at my age; she is 7). Arlene

“Love is me and the Community Word Project practicing our poem with volume, rhythm, and gesture.” Ashley

And my personal favorite:

“Love is being with cute boys and presents and candy hearts and mostly chocolate. Love is riding a bike down the hill and you crash into a cute boy who likes you and cares about you and doesn’t want you to get hurt.” Kiyana

World Premier Ballet, Affordable Art, and Braassill!!!…

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Fun NY weekend ahead! Tonight is a world premier ballet at the New York City Ballet (the last premier of this season’s Diamond Project of new ballets by contemporary choreographers). (I’m going to have SO much more free time when the NYCB and ABT seasons are both over in mid-July…)

Tomorrow is The Affordable Art Fair in Chelsea, which I’ve never been to, but looks exciting. Art priced between $100 and $5000 is being sold and there are going to be lectures on how poor people (like me!) can start their collections. My favorite gallery, DFN Gallery, is going to have a booth, and, according to their email, is going to be selling work by one of my favorites who regularly exhibits there, Dan Witz. I see Witz as someone who kind of turns Thomas Kincade (the “artist of light” with his cheesy nostalgia for quaint cottages, horse-drawn carriages and tourist landmarks) on his head. Witz uses light in his paintings (which are amazingly photo-like) to evoke shelter and community in urban settings. In one of my favorites of his, the light radiates out from the inside of a Brooklyn bodega on an otherwise desolate streetcorner late at night, signifying that inside is a place of warmth, safety, familiarity, and community. I have no idea how much any of his work is going for, but I took a post-card sized copy of that painting on the back of the press release from the gallery, framed it, and hung it in my apartment. So, thus far that is my idea of affordable art — extremely affordable seeing as how it’s free!

And Sunday, Father’s Day though it is, I’ve managed to get some friends together to go to a Brazilian restaurant to watch the game. Not exactly the Brazilian place I had in mind — which was in Astoria, where I used to live, and I figured out of the way enough that it would only attract locals and not tourists — but some of my friends are coming from Brooklyn, so it’s too much to ask them to go all the way up to Queens. So, we’re going to one of the Sushi Samba places in the Flatiron District. I know absolutely nothing of soccer, but because studying dance made me fall so in love with Samba, I’ve became intrigued by all things Brazilian. So, me and my crazy friends who humor me, are going to root for Brazil! Since I know nothing about the game, I figured I’d go buy that new book The Thinking Fan’s Guide. It was not very well received in Time Out New York, but that reviewer did give a thumbs up to the guy who wrote the piece on Brazil, as well as to Nick Hornby, my favorite author of lad lit, bloke lit, whatever they call it in England (actually, it’s really chick lit since it garners almost an all-female audience…). Hopefully by Sunday I’ll have some clue as to what I’m seeing…

If It Takes Five Minutes to Make A Sexy Pose…

it’s not dancing, it’s modeling! Luis discarded all of the choreography he’d done so far, which was fine since I was having a ridiculously hard time remembering the small between-tricks steps, and decided to construct a series of sexy poses that I’m to hit on each of three beats at the start of the song (btw, don’t ever dance to Gloria Estefan — it sounds fun until you start actually to try to keep the beat and then realize how flipping fast it is!). We ended up spending most of the lesson on this since I was having such difficulty striking the perfect pose (especially on the exact beat), and he was being a perfectionist rearranging my hair (and teaching me how to flip it so it’d land just so), pulling back on my shoulders and pushing my chest out (don’t think I’ll ever stop having posture problems), adjusting pelvis, hips, arms, wrists, fingers, knees, toes, etc. etc. etc. ETC. to put me in the perfect state of sexiness (I LOVE working with a gay man!!). So, now I think I have the poses right, but it takes so long for me to strike it perfectly when I’m trying to move at lightning speed, and then it’s so hard to make sure I get the right connection with him so I don’t lose my balance and make him throw his back out catching me. We didn’t work on the overhead lifts since he was sore from moving over the weekend, but I think I am ready when he is. I think. I am trusting him more — we worked on this one trick where I fall forward (holding his hands of course) and before I hit the ground, he whips me up and turns me over and I slide up in a body roll. I know he’s strong and I’m not going to fall, but it’s one thing to know that in your brain and another to tell it to your body in the midst of the trick…

My former West Coast Swing partner, Mark, informed me that everyone in the WCS (how the dance is abbreviated in the “industry”) community is very excited about Benji Schwimmer making it to the finals on So You Think You Can Dance with his partner Heidi, who teaches at one of Mark’s studios. He said the judges seemed a bit confused about what exactly WCS was, but were very impressed, especially with Heidi. I saw a repeat of the show and remember seeing her in Blackpool do a demonstration on WCS versus Jive. She is truly an awesome dancer! I don’t watch a lot of TV because I am usually at either some studio or opera house at night (and tonight is Vladimir night at the Met!!!), but my WCS friends must definitely keep me posted on this! WCS officially on the dance map, yay!

I went to the New York City Ballet last night to see one of the new ballets they are putting on as part of their spring season’s Diamond Project, where they show brand new ballets by contemporary choreographers — one of the reasons I like that company — they perform a combination of classics and contemporary work, so you get a mix. This one was by a Russian choreographer, Alexi Ratmansky, called The Russian Seasons, and was very interesting — dramatic and humorous by turns, with plain but gorgeously-flowing costumes. I’ve seen all of the new ones except for two, and my favorite has been Evenfall, sweetly Swan Lake-like, by their resident choreographer, Christopher Wheeldon, who I think is a genius and have liked practically everything I’ve seen him do.

And, Lincoln Center is now gearing up for Midsummer Night’s Swing outside in the plaza! Luis and his partner, Anya, will be performing and teaching salsa on June 28th!

What Is the Point of Building a World Trade Center Memorial…

if it, along with all of lower Manhattan, San Francisco, and about three-quarters of Florida in this country alone, are soon going to be underwater, if Greenland and western Antartica continue to melt at their current rate? A favorite dance blogger of mine first recommended this film, then a fellow alum, director Davis Guggenheim, sent around a heartfelt email discussing his motivations for making it, and I just had to go. I had no idea how urgent the threat of global warming was until I saw An Inconvenient Truth this weekend. Al Gore presents the issue in a very clear way with lots of pictorials and graphics, and even a little humor, to make it interesting. Everyone should see it regardless of political affiliation. So compelling — really, terrorism is far from the only thing we have to fear…

I just finished transferring to video the tape I made on my camcorder last Monday of Luis and me dancing the choreography he’s done so far for our routine. Video recorders are an absolute must-have for dance students wishing to perform. Professional dancers can easily remember their choreography, but for a beginner, there is no other way to memorize than to videotape it. I tried writing it all down with my first teacher, Kelvin, and, when I showed him my notebook, he burst out laughing, “these are damn lawyer notes; I have no idea what they mean!” I had no dance vocabulary and just described in excruciating, and hence meaningless, detail every single movement. So found out the hard way writing is absolutely no use to a dancer, who is by trade visually- not verbally-oriented. A camcorder is the only way to go. And even at that it’s so hard for me to memorize. I wish so much I’d never quit dance as a child!!!!!

I normally don’t see the same ballet twice during the same season, but Friday I saw ABT‘s Cinderella again to see David Hallberg dance the role of Prince Charming, so I could compare him to his dressing-room roommate, Marcelo! (whose name I must follow with an !) My favorites are Jose, Alessandra, and Marcelo!, and I normally try to get tickets when one of them is performing, but David‘s contributions to my favorite dancer blog made me interested in seeing him too. And I’m very glad I did: he made a very dashing prince — and it’s interesting to see two different dancers interpret the same role. David‘s slightly smaller so kind of gets around the stage more quickly and does really amazing jumps, and his lifts with Gillian looked completely effortless. But Marcelo! is so big and it’s so romantic to see him envelope little Julie in his arms… And he has such a wonderful appreciation for women (as he expresses in many a good interview) — it really shows in his beautiful partnering 🙂
Tony’s are on, gotta go…