Out With the Old, In With the New

Goodbye, old slippers. You were trusty and strong but your time has come. I won't throw you away because I have something of a weird sentimental attachment to you (at least not until the next time I am moving and going through my possessions with ruthless determination.)
And let this be a lesson to all of you out there: my old slippers were tight to the point of being painful two years ago, but the exact same brand, model, and size is now slightly larger than I would like. Either Grishko has changed it's sizing or my feet really have shrunk by about half a size+ since I started dancing. Either way: caveat emptor.  

Also: I would say that "that is just what my feet look like in the winter" but come on, let's be honest. I don't tan, my skin goes from translucent to lobster-red in ten seconds flat so I just don't tend to flaunt my lizard-belly whiteness in public. Tights are awesome. Tights are my best friends.

I Feel Like I Am Perpetually Starting New Classes

So, guess what I am going to do this week? Take the level 3-5 class instead of my 1-2 class on Thursday. I'm a little nervous about it. My shin splints are still bothering me, and I overdid it a little tonight in an attempt to do a few gentle jumps that turned out to be a terrible idea. They are getting better, sloooooowly, but it will probably be a while before I'm back up to speed. I was going to wait until I hit that magical and halcyon day when I felt competent in level 3, but that day, sadly, will probably never arrive. Because I never really felt competent in level 1-2, either. I begin to believe there is no such thing as feeling competent.
Anyway, so I asked my teacher if I should wait for a while or if I should just go ahead and advance. And she said I should go ahead and advance because "you want to do pointe, right?" at which point (ha) I thought to myself oh geeze, do I? I mean for realios? Like... do all the hard work and suffer through the stupid painful parts for the sake of looking a little like I have GOAT HOOVES? 
This is not a new line of thought. In fact, I am often seized by this exact same feeling when presented with any opportunity that looks like it's going to require work. You know. Effort and time and inconvenience. I'm nearly convinced that I would be a famous runway designer right now if I had any ambition whatsoever. But, I don't, and so I neglect opportunities when they knock. They've been trying for YEARS to get me to advance at the theater to a more interesting position. But... then I would have to work six days a week, and wouldn't even earn overtime when I have to put in 11 hour days?
Sigh...
Anyway, the answer is yes. Yes I do want to prance around with goat feet for a while, just to see what it's like. Five-year-old Me would never forgive me if I didn't. It might suck, who knows. And yes, I will even go to the extreme of feeling like the clumsy new girl for the rest of my life in order to continue doing something I enjoy. I will advance much faster and nail the tricky stuff with much less flailing about if I can focus on it more than once a week.

Also, just FYI: tonight's level 3 class wasn't half bad ( "it ain't half good, either" as I always think to myself when I feel like quoting Pinky and the Brain) I actually managed to not get all that lost on the funny barre combinations we always seem to do. The ones where instead of doing everything en croix we do some crazy switcheroo and start using our inside leg at what appears to be a totally random point. I think it was explained better this time, to be honest. But, I claim this victory in the name of getting my lazy ass to Thursday class, anyway.

Grands Jetés!

We've been doing grands jetés in place of our regular end-of-class chassés for the past couple of classes. I have been stuck doing (what felt like) perpetual chassés since my very first day in class, and I have never grown beyond a sort of mild distaste for them. It was full-on hatred a year ago, guys. Full. On. Hate. So, really, mild distaste is an improvement. But grands jetés are fun! Forget those little jetés, guys! Big Old Honkin' grands jetés are where it's at. Pretty much. Which is saying something because I really hate everything else that involves jumping (because it HURTS, dudes!).
Not that they are terribly impressive to look at. In fact, they are probably ridiculous. Looking at Gabby (mother f*cking) Douglas busting out some hot gymnastics moves has put my toddling baby jetés to serious shame, but let's not go in to that.

Tombé or Two

Did the fabric of space-time unravel? Because we didn't do glissades last night. CRAZY.
Instead! We got to learn tombé (possibly tombé pas de bourrée? We will discuss this annoying terminology later)! Which was confusing and I tripped over myself a lot, but it was SUPER FUN. And I keep trying to do them on my own and they just look silly and make my legs hurt, but that's okay!
We also learned a slightly confusing new port de bras sequence with balancé on a diagonal. I think that perhaps we are being introduced to steps that will be making an appearance in the Spring recital.
PS: I am not going to be in it. I am SHY. I took three years of drama in high school and (bless my 16-year-old self) I enjoyed it. But, these days? I'd rather not talk to strangers at the bus stop let alone dance awkwardly on a stage in front of my loved ones. My family is supportive, you know? The kind that comes to my fashion shows and cheers me on ruthlessly in all endeavors. My father has a digital camera and is not afraid to use it. Also: SUPER BORED HUSBAND falling asleep during the show. Not encouraging!