are we human or are we dancer? S. Because that grammar is just.... just.

What does it mean to be a "dancer"? There is a lot of talk in the adult ballet community about just this topic. Is it okay to think of yourself as a dancer if you haven't been dancing since you were three? At what point do you become a dancer? Is two classes a week dancery enough? Three? Five?
Here is what I think.
I think that you are a dancer when you see someone walking down the street in the summer heat (105*, by the way) in a painfully short black skirt and blindingly pale pink tights and your first thought isn't "someone call the fashion police" or "whatever she is selling I am not in the market for." but "OH YEAH. Me too."

Taking a Break Pays Off

After the excitement of the recital our teacher (who basically does everything involving the recital) took a much-deserved two week vacation. I only went to class once during the entire time. I know, I know. But really, there were things, and life, and... just stuff. Stuff was happening. My very best friend ended up in the hospital. I had to work until 8 pm for several days in a row, and then not get home until 11 on a couple more.
And I just didn't want to.
Sometimes it's okay to not want to.
So, this Tuesday was my first day back in a while. Annnnnnd... I got complimented on my improved articulation through tendu in to battement, degage, etc. And not a single posture correction. Thursday was my first pointe class in nearly a month. That also went swimmingly, I progressed significantly in pirouette prep. and finally nailed down the shape my foot is supposed to be achieving at the barre.
What is my secret? What was my daily regimen? Uh... nothing. I didn't stretch, practice, or even bother to think too much about ballet in the time I was away. I read a book that had some dancing in it, does that count? 
Well, then.
Maybe a break was what I needed.

Like Dancing on the Moon

In my house we love to listen to Stephen Fry. He could basically narrate the phone book (do people still know what those are? It's that big squodgy book full of advertisements that they leave on your doorstep wrapped in a plastic bag. You know the ones. The ones you deposit directly in the recycle bin without even glancing at) and we would listen to it in the car. Anyway. So my husband tracked down a silly little show he hosted a few year ago that featured gadgets and gizmos (aplenty. That song is SO STUCK IN MY HEAD.) and we've been watching it here and there.
Tonight's episode showcased this crazy thing:

it's an "anti-gravity" treadmill. It basically seals your lower body in a big plastic box with increased air pressure, which supports your weight so you "float" up and barely touch the track under your feet. They say it reduces the load on your legs to 20% your normal weight, the equivalent of walking on the moon.
It certainly has all sorts of wonderful uses in physical therapy. I mean... that is surely what it's intended purpose is. I should probably be thinking to myself "wow, that would be an amazing way to work out without causing my knees so much pain and wear".
So, why is it that all I can think is "HOLY CRAP let me at that thing in a pair of pointe shoes"

Everything Was Beautiful at the Ballet

So, at work we just finished a run of A Chorus Line, which is a hugely popular and iconic musical theater classic. That should be in quotes or something: "Hugely Popular and Iconic Musical Theater Classic! (tm)" Anyway, I had never seen it before, but there was no way I was going to miss the fleeting 50 seconds or so that the horrifying taupe satin tuxedo I labored over for three full days was going to be on stage.
You have probably all seen it already, so this was only news to me, but...
It is wildly depressing. It's all about dysfunctional people who dance for a living. Which is probably very intimate and slice-of-life but as a theater person AND a person who sorta-dances it is just DEPRESSING.
Dee. Press. ING.
The dancing was fun, though. Even if it was accompanied by 70s porn guitar riffs (is that just what music sounded like in the 70s? How did anyone survive?)

 my tuxedo is dead center at 4:07

Not that I could tell at the time, of course.