You guys, I am SO ITCHY.
That is all.
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:
(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, 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.
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. 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.
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
Yes, I’ve resorted to counting down the days until I’m cleared for all the things.
The problem is that I really want to do handstands for some reason. Like, right now.
Normally, when I want to do handstands, like, right now, I just do them. (Often, when this happens, it’s because I’m trying to think my way through a sticking point in my technique and my nonverbal mind thinks it’s on to something. Sometimes, though, it’s just for fun.)
I may have done a few wee petit allegro jumps in my kitchen (which is far too small even for medium allegro) last night. It might have felt good.
I decided I was ready to get back to barre when I found myself doing turns in my kitchen. I don’t think I can justify doing allegro of any kind (excepting the occasional step in my kitchen) until I’m 100% cleared.
So, needless to say, I’m antsy.
But it’s only mine more days.
What I’m really antsy about, though, is being able to take a proper, fully-submerged bath. I haven’t taken any baths at all because I’m afraid I’ll just submerge everything without even thinking about it—but on the other hand I do find baths really helpful on cold mornings (and, as you may recall, we have already established that my standard for labeling a morning “cold” is fairly pathetic).
Maybe I’ll try taking a bath and mindfully not submerging myself. And, of course, if I get really antsy, I can always use one of those medical-grade wound-protector things that they make for exactly that purpose.
In other news, I’m really tempted to wear this thing:
…to class tomorrow, just to make BW and TS giggle. I think if I do, I’ll be forced to shoot some video for posterity.
*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 over my fleece leopard warm-up pants, and my hands are still ice cold.
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:
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.
So I dutifully kept my heart rate pretty moderate during tonight’s performance, but it was still so humid I finished up looking like I’d gone for a swim o.o
Also, I just realized that my scars add a dimension of realism to the Sparkle Zombie get-up XD
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:
You guys, I am SO ITCHY.
That is all.
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.
Everything was reasonably functional this morning, which was good, because Advanced Class began with four of us and two had to leave after barre. The remaining pair of us got quite a workout.
JB was like, “I always end up with two students,” and I said, “It’s a sign. You should be teaching pas de deux class.”
Sadly, we did not get Pas De Deux 101 (or even 095: Remedial Pas De Deux–Topics In Not Dropping The Girl And Not Kicking The Boy In The Hereditary Storehouse).
Instead, we got a demanding class that was entirely about weight transfers.
Most of it was good. Since I know I can do quadruple turns, I’ve been dialing back the quantity factor in order to improve quality. As such, turns and terre-a-terre went quite well, except when I got a bit too excited about a developpé à la seconde balance from sus-sous and knocked myself off my leg.
During petit allegro, for some reason I could do royales during the mark but not during the actual run. WTF even is that?
I still hate royales, but that probably means I should work on nothing else until I nail them down.
At least now I’m able to do them in such a way that they don’t look like a complete afterthought: JB does them really cleanly, and I finally got my head around the idea that a royale isn’t so much a lame, beaten changement for people who can’t do entrechat six as it is a showy little flutter: you beat out-in (front)-out-in (back).
I think that in the past I’ve always beaten the first stroke of my royale to the front instead of to the side, which makes it both nearly invisible (en fact, in fact, it can be completely invisible) and probably not actually a royale—it occurs to me that, basically, only cabrioles and assemblés battus do that.
Our grand allegro went something like:
sissone faillie (passing through a clean first!!!)
fourth arabesque à terre
[something else might have been here?]
coupé-chassé-rond de jambe (en relevé)
tombé-“pas de bouchassé”-brush-grand assemblé
pique third arabesque
some other kind of chassé-developpé sequence
repeat on other side
It was a really cool combination. My tour jetés were kinda lame (like, BW would’ve made me go back and do them again, and HIGHER, and SHARPER), because I was pretty cooked by then, but I’m still so happy to be jumping again that it didn’t really matter that much.
I think, though, that as much as I’m happy to be jumping again, my favorite combination today was a waltzy thing in which we changed facings via passé from fifth to a lunge in fourth three times in a row.
It was really quite pretty, and I think I managed to do it without getting the arms backwards at all … which, honestly, is one of those awkward ballet things. Internally, I’m half like, “YESSSSS! NO BACKWARDS ARMS!” and half like, “WTF are you doing still getting your arms backwards, you jackwagon? Aren’t you past that yet?”
We also did a nifty center tendu in which we paddled ourselves around the eight points of the stage using ronds de jambe à terre. It felt, I don’t know, contemplative might be the right word. It reminded me of doing fancy paddling tricks in a canoe.
I want to say that was the same combination in which we ended with a tour lent en dedans at passé through to attitude derièrre. When I picked that one up, I initially thought that the tour lent was supposed to be en dehors, which in turn made me wonder what we’d done to make JB hate us so much 😉
It was hella awkward with the tour lent going the wrong way, since the transition into attitude derièrre happened during the turn, which meant that if you did the turn backwards, you had to work twice as hard to keep everything together (because momentum, and turnouts, and physics, and stuff).
Anyway, it’s all improving bit by bit. There are days that I suddenly really feel that I’m a better dancer than I used to be—like, I feel it in my bones, with a kind of immanent certainty.
Today wasn’t one of those days, but it was the kind of day on which I can see that I’m making incremental gains. I think the difference is that sometimes everything just comes together, and I dance well enough that I feel legitimately gifted, whilst on other occasions I just feel, you know, serviceable.
But, honestly, my goal is to be a serviceable danseur. There’s much to be said for being serviceable: it bears with it the notions of reliability and competence. Yes, when you’re having one of those “gifted” days, your teacher or AD or whatever tends to take notice: but over the long run it’s important to be serviceable, reliable, and competent.
Speaking of which, my sissones did not suck today. So there’s definitely that.
In other news, after listening through a couple more times, I’ve decided to stop banging my head against the impossibly huge wall of Late Romantic Era music and just leave the score for Simon Crane as it is for now. If it proves impossible to actually set “Isle of the Dead” effectively, I’ll sort it out later.
For now, I just need to keep listening to it and working the story into it.
In semi-related news, I have a playlist on Amazon Music called “choreography,” and I have no memory of adding half the things that are on there. On the other hand, one of those things is the first movement of Beethoven’s “Waldstein,” which I suspect might be as fun to choreograph as it is to listen to and to play[6, 7].
One more class (maybe two, if get antsy I take class Monday morning before I leave) and one Pilates session before Lexington. I’m trying to be chill, but honestly I’m so excited I feel like I might explode.
Oh, and while we’re on it, here, this is finally up on YouTube thanks to CM:
I’m vaguely iffy about posting this at this point, because I feel like I’ve come a long way since then 😛 But there it is, finally. 11 girls and me in BG’s “Vivaldi Variations.” I’m still pretty pleased with how well it came together, given our broad array of experience levels and our abbreviated rehearsal schedule.
Feel free to laugh at all my weird attempts to compensate for the fact that I’m scared out of my mind of wiping out due to the whole Shoe Incident. Also, there should totally be a drinking game that goes with this; something like, “Put the video on repeat and drink 5 shots if you actually spot the shoe” (you can, in fact, see it—and once seen it’s hard to un-see); “Take 1 shot every time Asher drops his arms;” etc. Edit: Oh, yeah, and “Take 1 shot every time Asher lets his turnout go,” though you probably won’t make it to the end of the first repeat if you use that one.
I was having an awkward kind of morning: got a little tipsy last night, stayed up too late, slept badly, woke up early (whichever one of us taught my cat that it’s possible to awaken humans by tap-dancing on their bladders needs a swift kick in the tuchas), started reading, lost track of time, failed to eat, etc.
This translated to a wonky start at barre. I couldn’t figure out where my pelvis was or find my lateral obliques or keep my arm from wandering off to do its own thing. My head kept getting ahead of my arm. I tendued to second, then went, “Hmm, no,” and adjusted (which drives both JB and BW crazy).
Midway through one combination, during a sus-sous balance, JB sauntered over, grabbed me by the back of the neck, reset my head and neck, and then used both hands to physically move my entire ribcage.
I tried not to do the weird thing where I respond to someone touching me much in the way that a sea anemone responds to the touch of a potential predator, though it took a little doing.
Anyway, I had mostly sorted myself out by the time we got around to going across the floor and doing jumps, though I was momentarily distressed by this bizarre phenomenon in which, during a mark, my brain went, “assemblé!” and my legs went, “CABRIOLE, MUTHA****A!”
On the other hand (foot?), there were some nice cabrioles in there, so…?
Since this entire combination was assemblés changing direction and leg until none of us could remember which leg was which, that obviously would’ve been a problem.
Anyway, tomorrow should be better. Today the plan is (in no particular order, except for the “early to bed, Nyquil if necessary…” bit):
Oh: I’m considering Schumann’s A minor ‘cello concerto for the third act of Simon Crane. I haven’t listened all the way through it yet, but the first movement sounds promising.
For all that, though, I’m still not at all sure that I want to do away with “Isle of the Dead.”