Category Archives: attempted humor

How To Tell If Your Relationship Is Intergenerational

Let’s face it, demographics is hard.

Generational demographics is particularly hard. How can we know who’s a delicate, entitled Millennial when demographers can’t even agree on when Generation X ended? Maybe the late Gen-Xers—the teenage Slackers of the early-to-mid 90s—slept through the Generational Alarm Clock after an all-night bender, forever skewing the data.

Regardless, there’s one litmus test that might work pretty well for many of us, and it’s this: does Bae crease his jeans, or na?

Or maybe this only works in my household.

D and I are decidedly not members of the same generation. He’s old enough to potentially have rocked this nightmare:

Halp.

(Via Plaid Stallions; WP app on my tablet is borked so I’ll add a caption & link later.)

I’m young enough, thankfully, to know such horrors only as relics of the great murky time before I came into this world. …Though my generation has already ruined the fedora for everyone and, I’m sure, will be hoist high by its own fashionable petards sooner or later (my money’s on skinny jeans and ironic ugly sweaters, even though I only ever wear skinny jeans and I like ironic ugly sweaters).

The closest analog visited upon me by my parents was the timeless and traditional sailor suit[1], which is fairly inoffensive, albeit a strange sartorial affectation given both the wild impracticality of clothing toddlers in pristine whites and the minuscule number of toddlers actually employed by the Navies of the world.

  1. Predictably, perhaps, I loved the sailor suit with a kind of fetishistic devotion (I still think men in Navy whites look fantastic). Evidently I’ve been one giant queer cliché from the word “Faaaabulouuuuus!” …I mean, “Go.” I remember loving it, and I insisted on wearing the little striped tank top that went with it long after I outgrew the less-stretchy bits. I would probably still be trying to wear it if it had not mysteriously disappeared.

But, ultimately, the fault line along which our house truly divides is that of creased jeans. D wants all his jeans creased; I reel in horror at the thought. But I crease his anyway, because I want him to be happy[2]. I only own one pair of jeans, and occasionally I crease them by mistake, and have gone as far as running them through the washing machine all over again just to get the crease out.

  1. The easy way to do this is to take the jeans piping hot from the dryer, then fold them in such a way that the outside leg seam aligns worth the inseam. You can then press the resultant crease using only your hands.

So there you have it. A marital impasse, albeit one for which an amicable solution had been reached, founded upon a generational divide.

In case you’re wondering what touched this entire post off, it was this:

(Also via Plaid Stallions.)

I can’t imagine being so devoted to the idea of creasing one’s casual slacks that one imagines even the legtubes of Disco Onesies need creases o_o

That’s it for now. Class with BW tonight, and then probably immediately an entire sleeping pill because my head is full of troubled thoughts that have been keeping me awake at night, which may explain this entire post.

PS: based on the relative positions of creases and feet, I’m inclined to say dude at audience left (in the purple, yet somehow less frightening, Disco Onesie) has better turnout than his clothing does. So uncomfortable o.o

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Winter is Coming* (NSFW? IDK)

*Honestly, I have neither read the books on which the TV series A Game Of Thrones is based, nor watched the TV series itself, so for all I know I’m completely abusing this catchphrase.

But, anyway, it’s 60F today, which once upon a time would definitely not have qualified as “chilly” in my world, but then I started spending all my time in well-heated dance spaces and completely lost my cold-tolerance.

Like, I am literally wearing a fleece blanket onesie[1] over my fleece leopard warm-up pants, and my hands are still ice cold[2].

  1. Kind of like a Snuggie? Only with a zipper and leg cuffs at the bottom as well as the arm cuffs.
  2. And still I will refuse to turn the heat on until the daytime temperature is reliably in the forties farenheit.

Either way, it’s that time of year again when we begin to ponder exactly how many layers to wear to class, even though we know that in the end it’s just going to be exactly like this:

  1. By Jared Karim, via Wikimedia Commons
  2. By SureFire, via Wikimedia Commons

I feel like I’ve been waiting since roughly April for summer to end, and now that it’s over I’m like, “HECK! It’s hecking cold!”

…Like, did I expect something else, really?

On the other hand, it’s an excuse to wear ridiculous layers of junk to class in as many obnoxious color combinations as possible, drink extra coffee (to stay warm!), and eat soup.

Anyway, I’m taking a rest day today. Tomorrow I might throw myself back into Modern. We’ll see.

Also, it’s probably time to put up the rig so I can start working on stuff for Kaleidoscope at home.

The Greatest/Lamest Rap Non-Battle Evar

So Dorky and I discovered that our rap names (based on the formula “Young” + the most recent thing you spent money on) were A) kinda lame and B) ballet-related. Evidently, I’m Young Ballet Class and she’s Young Ballet Book.

I suggested that we could have the lamest rap battle ever. Here’s what went down:

 

wash me throughly

You guys, I took actual shower this morning, and it was amaaaaaaaaazing.

I say this as someone who is normally not a huge fan—someone who generally regards showers as perfunctory and boring—but after ten days of sponge baths? That. Felt. Good.  

How to Get a Dancer’s Body: Two Strategies*

I: The Slow-and-Steady Approach

  1. If you don’t live in a locality with a good professional company, move to one
  2. Go to performances. Identify a dancer whose body you wouldn’t mind having.
  3. Find a teacher. No, not a dance teacher; that takes way too long. I’m talking about a teacher of the obscure occult arts.
  4. Gather such materials as you may require: the black goat, newts’ tongues, and rooster’s egg may be difficult to source in urban areas.
  5. Using the materials and methods  already acquired, become incorporeal.
  6. Once you have become incorporeal, locate your chosen dancer and cause him or her to become incorporeal as well.
  7. Take over the body of the dancer in question.
  8. Congratulations! You now have a dancer’s body.

II: The “Ain’t Nobody Got Time For That” Approach

  1. Start dancing. No, seriously, right now, to any kind of music or none.
  2. Are you dancing? Are you in your body? Congratulations! You now have a dancer’s body!

*for best results, attempt with tongue held firmly in cheek

Lesson Learned

Tonight, BG posted a bit of video from one of last week’s classes to our community group on the Facebag. 

It’s a simple Sissone combination, the kind you do to build endurance:

Sissone fermé x3, sissone ouvert landing in 1st arabesque, pdb, changement X2, back and forth until you either drop dead or run out of music.    

Watching it was illustrative: at the beginning, I’m carrying my arms, my eyes are up, my jumps are high and elastic, and I return to an acceptable fifth. I can tell I’m a bit tired by the pacing of the jumps, but overall the effect is decent. 

By the end, I look like I’m flapping my arms in an effort to fly away, my face is frozen in a thousand-yard stare, and my working leg has given up on the whole concept of fifth position. 

Oops? 

So I guess the emphasis on endurance will continue. 

I’ve felt better the past few classes, though. It’ll come.           

All Forward Motion Counts?

Today’s class was a … you know what, the French do have a term for it: a melange. A mixed bag. Tutti frutti, perhaps.

Barre was good. Then bad. Then good. Then bad. I’ve mostly recovered my strength, anyway. There were some very nice balances, some very nice fondus … and some balances that weren’t, and some fondus that were really very much fondon’ts.

Adagio started out awkwardly and progressed into beauty (thank freaking G-d). The waltzy terre-a-terre thing was actually fairly nice going right (musicality! literally effortless triples! literally acceptable chaînés!) and terre-a-terrible going left. I mean, so bad that on my second run left (when I inserted myself back into the last group for a remedial run), my badness became contagious and BG, who was taking class with us, blanked on the second half of the combination[1].

  1. Okay, so I’m not actually sure that was really my fault, but it was funny. What I think really did us in was this: as we prepped our run, BWK said, “Really travel on those waltz turns, gentlemen!” and then we put everything into traveling through the waltz turns and promptly forgot what the heck was supposed to follow them. For once, I remembered first, and stage-whispered, “Piqué arabesque! Turn!

I then tweaked my mostly-healed toe and bailed out mid-run going left on the next thing, a very similar-but-rather faster terre-a-terre. I couldn’t get it taped fast enough to make it back in for the warm-up jumps, so at that point I was done. Meh.

So, basically, several points in the “progress” column and several in, depending on who you ask, either the “regress” or the “congress” column[2,3].

“If pro is the opposite of con, then the opposite of progress must be Congress.”
—Attributed to Mark Twain, anyway

  1. Yes, that was a cheap joke.
  2. No, I’m not sorry.

After, I joined AMS for swimming and roller-coasters (and inventing fake rides for an imaginary theme park of our own[4]), which may have been completely irresponsible, but which was also completely worth it. I now have a season pass to an amusement park that’s located barely more than a stone’s throw from my house and actually literally on the way home from ballet.

Since there’s a water park there where I can swim my brains out in a wave pool, I intend to use the bejeezus out of said season pass.

As is the way of these things, the season pass is less expensive than paying regular admission twice. It’s also comparable to or less expensive than a membership to various local swimming pools that don’t have waves and gigantic waterslides (or rollercoasters).

This solves my “How can I do cardio without overworking my quads?” problem quite nicely. I can now go swimming a few times each week … and if the occasional roller-coaster or two sneaks into the deal, that’s probably okay.

~

  1. For your amusement, here are some of our imaginary theme park rides:
  • The Wheel of Poor Decisions: Located close to our Unlimited Drinks Buffet, but at the furthest possible point from all restrooms, our giant Ferris wheel will cause you to question your life-choices.
  • The River of Punishment (AKA Time-Out River): There is no splashing on this contemplative lazy river-style tube float. Also, no talking, no smiling, and absolutely no horseplay or fun of any kind. You should use this time to sit in your tube and think about what you’ve done.
  • Hangry River: Located at maximum distance from all food service venues, Hangry River offers a ride on doughnut-themed inner tubes through a veritable degistive tract of slow, sinuous curves. Fear not: as you exit the ride, you will pass through our otherwise-inaccessible Hangry Valley Food Court, where you can stuff yourself on pizza, doughnuts, and ice cream to your heart’s content.

Oh, Pinterest! 

Wait, I thought that was “developpé,” not “cheesy taco pasta?” 

That must be what they call it in Spaghetti technique…

Our Super Adventure on The Potential Danger of the Feline Purr! 

Good News 

I got cast! (And not the broken-bone kind 😁)

Next audition on my radar is ballet-related, but I’m not sure when it is. Dates haven’t been posted yet. 

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