Dear Danskin,

Why U put such big ugly tags on the OUTSIDE of your dance skirts? ARGH.

PS: I do love this, though: When you tear open a garment and find a little memento of it's construction frozen in time, like this chalk mark at the CB waistline. Makes me feel a little closer to the other hands that have worked on it:

Cats, rheumy stuff, extra classes

Sorry I haven't been writing a lot. The arthritis in my hands has been extra shitty for the past couple of weeks, spreading up out of my wrists and in to my fingers. Last night I had a dream that I lost the ability to articulate my right hand. It was pretty scary, guys.
Anyway. This is undoubtedly made worse by the stress in my life right now. My sick cats find new and exciting ways to send themselves to the emergency vet on a near weekly basis. My cat with the rheumatism-related digestive problem? She somehow came down with an infection so rare and so aggressive that she needs to be treated with an antibiotic the size of a tractor twice a day for at least two months. Yeah. And then the antibiotic is making her feel sick, which makes her not eat... which is not what a 9 pound (formerly 16 pound) cat really needs right now.
ANYWAY.

My ballet teacher recently told me that between now and the recital at the end of June, because I am helping out with costumes and such, that I can take as many classes as I want, gratis. Which sounds pretty freakin' awesome! At the beginning of June I will be going back to a crazy work schedule and won't be able to take any extra classes at all for three months, so now is a great time to cram in as many as I can. The only problem so far has been that I end up having to haul a cat to the vet on all my available afternoons. And I have to plan ahead, because on class days I can't take one of my medications in the morning (it makes me shaky and throws off my balance), so I am left little room for spontaneity.
OH how life never seems to work out the way we plan...

Injured and Complaing About It, Thank You Very Much

My little ballet world has been pretty frustrating, lately. After the horrible "cat + laptop Vs. my poor naked foot" incident I knew I was going to have some bruising. But, did you know that non-steroidal anti-inflammatory (NSAIDs, in other words: first line treatment for RA) medications can cause excessive blood pooling and therefore bruising? Which can take a really long dang time to heal? Yeah, I didn't know, either. I have now missed five whole classes, and had to sit out center work for three more. I am pretty unhappy about it.
But here is the weird part. I always bitch about ballet hurting me, and it's true! It does hurt me. It gives me shin splints and broken toenails and foot cramps and you get the idea. But while I've been taking a bunch of time off I've noticed all the ways that ballet makes me feel BETTER. Without class my back hurts. My knees hurt even worse than usual. I thought my shin splints were coming back but it was actually some thin little muscle running along the front of my leg cramping up. My ankles hurt! My toes on my foot that ISN'T bruised!
Geeze!
So, I have decided to just take barre until I am ready to use my foot properly, again. I tried doing center work on Tuesday and it did not work out for me, but OH! The pretty combination we got to do before it all went to hell! Balancés and waltz turns, swishy port de bras... and I felt almost competent for a few glorious moments!
And then my foot was like "what do you even think you are doing, woman?"

Don't. Do. It. No. Don't.

A particular dance wear retailer (ahem) posted this photo to Facebook this morning. You have probably seen it on Pinterest already, it's been around for a while:

It's a little girl having a dance with Anna Pavlova in an art gallery. It's quintessential childhood. It's precious. It's nostalgic. It reminds you of the things you love about dancing.
And this is the comment that someone left on the post:

 

It is a jerk-bag being a Douchey Larue for no discernible reason. It reminds you of the things you HATE about dancing. It highlights two of the problems with dancers (and people in general) communicating via the internet. First, it's almost impossible to truly grasp a person's intent via the written word without any obvious social ques ("he said laughingly", "she said while rolling her eyes"). It is especially hard to grasp sarcasm. Is this sarcasm? There is a happy face, that could indicate sarcasm, I guess. But a winky face would be more indicative of jest. I used to know someone online that would say the most horrible things to people because he thought a winky face would make up for it. I no longer associate with this guy, for obvious reasons. But anyway. Soooo... this commenter really is just being an asshole?
The second problem of course is that people really do this. I have talked about this previously. Multiple times. When you see a photo or video of a dancer online your first reaction should not be "oh here, let me tell you everything you are doing WRONG" regardless of the air of perfectionism inherent in ballet. It is not okay. Do not do this. To anyone for any reason. I understand the urge (lord knows I have seen a few too many porcelain ballerina figurines with dreadfully awkward posture, thankfully pointing this out is not objectifying and insulting an actual person) but if you are not the teacher in a classroom full of students then you need to check your corrections at the door.
And for the love of god, if you MUST be a dickweed? At least end with a winky face. ;)

All The Grace of a Cantaloupe (Not Antelope)

I am the clumsiest and least physically graceful person on the planet. How clumsy am I? Clumsy enough that my husband worries about and teases me for my clumsiness. He has an autistic spectrum disorder. Like, he was in special clumsy kid classes in elementary school. No, really. We joke that it's a miracle we haven't killed each other yet, and that it's only a matter of time before one of us accidentally stabs the other while cooking and goes to jail.
Ugh.
I mention my utter lack of grace to illustrate the fact that I am sort of frustrated with class these days. And my teacher is straight-up frustrated with me, as well. Last night she made me re-do tombé pas de bourrées across the floor about four times in each direction. She has been giving me special instructions when we are preparing for a combination "if you want to, RPrin, you can just do one piqué turn." while everyone else is supposed to do two. Standing directly in front of me during petite allegro and obviously getting flustered with my inability to make it look effortless. The problem is that I can do the steps, I just can't do them quickly. It doesn't help if I only do one piqué turn, you see, because by the time I am done with the preceeding waltz turn I am already half a beat late.
Just... just argh.
She often wonders at my strength en pointe and my weakness on flat, but it's not strength that I have trouble with. It's speed. When I speed things up it just becomes a mess, more akin to badly executed tap dancing than classical ballet.
Sigh... anyway. So it's all been rather disheartening lately and my motivation levels haven't been at their peak. The fact that I just smashed my head against the corner of a bookshelf is not helping.

No.

No, foot. No no no no no. I do not need another body part to be in constant pain. Especially not my foot. Knock it the hell off, foot, I want to take pre-pointe on Thursday.

La Esmeralda: A review that won't help you

In the past month I have attempted to sit down and write a review/synopsis/bitchy rant about watching La Esmeralda several times, but to properly express my feelings about it the post always ends up about ten chapters long. It would be faster to WATCH the silly thing than to read my synopsis!
For the record:
It took me a while to find a full-length version of it, because apparently it's rarely performed that way these days. Mostly people stage shortened one-act versions. Am I the only one who gets kind of annoyed when they go to see a ballet and it's super short and preceded by some plotless razzmatazz Balanchine thing? Anyway, I digress.
Luckily, in Russia it is actually performed in it's entirety. So! I found a pretty Bolshoi version (starring Natalia Osipova, who is basically a ballet rock star and now I see why) and settled in for three acts.
It's basically the story of the hunchback of Notre Dame (Notre Dame De Paris) but with a weirdly happy ending attached to it. Which was the part that bugged me. I mean, okay, I can see why you might possibly want to make the ending a little more upbeat than the source material (AND THEY ALL DIE THE END) but it basically ends with Esmeralda being reunited with the TOTAL D BAG she was infatuated with who broke her heart (and then tried to get in her pants anyway). And the only nice character, the dorky but sincere poet that is in love with Esmeralda, gets totally shafted. Not even fair. He was the only one distraught when Esmeralda was being tortured. He was the only one who tried to cheer her up after D Bag broke her heart. He even slept in the barn with the (actual live) goat for her. You know what, Esmeralda? Your priorities are all screwed up.
Anyway, if you want to watch it, this is the one I watched (the acts are all separate videos). Like I said, Osipova as Esmeralda is gorgeous and brilliant. Her dance of dejection when she finds out D Bag is fooling around with another lady is sadness in a bubble. Completely heart-wrenching.
But seriously. That guy was a D bag.
  

Dear Ballet People,

I just saw this on Pinterest, but it is only one of MANY examples:

Don't do this. Do not allow your personal quest for perfection (and the innate competition and voyeurism of your art) to become an excuse for publicly being a total douche nozzle. Just... just don't do it.
Because you know what? No one is perfect. No one. Not ever. That is the great irony of ballet. She isn't perfect, but she's a lot closer to the mark than I will ever be. And probably closer or just as close as YOU will be. So just knock it the hell off!
I've said it before and I will say it again: if you want society to treat dancers and dance people like SANE HUMAN BEINGS then all y'all are going to have to stop acting like neurotic pains in the ass.
Keep calm (as they say) and don't go all Black Swan.

I'm making the Grumpy Cat face Right Now, Actually

So, I've seen this on Pinterest a million times, and I admit I have even been tempted to repin it.

But tonight? Tonight I am just not in the mood for that ish.
My offering:

Go ahead. Pin it. Make me a disgruntled and unamused meme. Me and Grumpy Cat. BFF.

For the record it's some sort of shin thing going on. Which is good because hey, it probably can't be some new RA thing. But bad because hey, what the hell is going on?

Pretty Pirouettes Preface Parental Predicament

*sigh*...
Well, I've taken my last level three class for the next month. I am taking my 1-2 class on Friday and dropping in on another 1-2 class on Monday and then that's it. Tuesday I drive for four hours and then I'm off taking care of my dad until he can drive again (shoulder surgery). They are saying at least a month, up to four. I doubt it will be longer than a month because my father will climb the walls and drive both of us insane if he can't work for much longer than that. If I didn't have to work for a month I would take it easy, but this man is not going to be having it. Not that I am going to be too thrilled about being away from my job, my husband, my cats, and my bed for that long, either. I have four new books to read (plus Don Quixote on my iPhone, which is quite the slog, but it's one of those books you have to read. It's actually got some really clever bits to it, and some quite funny moments that are the prototypes of modern parody.) and six stuffed bunnies to make for Christmas, so I will at least keep myself occupied.
Tuesday night I took class without the splint on my sprained wrist for the first time in over a month! It wasn't all peaches and cream, but it sure made barre easier and I could actually find my balance a few times, which for some reason my wrist has been screwing up terribly.  Also, it means I didn't have to sweat all over the splint, which is good news for everyone.
Head lines are still killing me (so I will be attempting to practice them in the kitchen at Dad's house) but I'm starting to get the hang of pirouettes to a certain extent. It's quite exciting, of course, as pirouettes are so integral to what most people think of as the essence of ballet. At Romeo and Juliet on Sunday I was thinking, though, that pirouettes are actually kind of odd looking. They require a definite gearing-up moment and almost look best when performed by a man, or in an energetic period piece. Maybe piqué turns are more girly, I'm not sure. I think most people are just using the term "pirouette" to mean a ballerina twirling around, and of course there are so many different ways to twirl around! Anyhow, I shall be practicing those, as well, because I am damn well going to have something down pat by the time I drag my wobbling, squodgy self back in to the studio!

The Speed Of Light

The most challenging thing about this level three class is the speed at which we are supposed to do things. There isn't any time to think about what you are doing! I can do that annoying glissade/assemblé combination forward and in reverse, but only if I have enough time to get my brain around each step. Last night we started doing this crazy frappé thing at the barre, doubles. I can do it, sure. Physically, I can do it. But without the time required for my brain to catch up to my feet it's going to look like a hot mess.

On a different note: trying to do barre work with my left hand and wrist all bundled up in bandages kind of sucks. Nuff said.

The End of This Whole Physical Therapy Debacle

So my physical therapy appointment this morning lasted all of ten minutes. I told the PT what happened after my last appointment and he made me lay down and moved my legs a bit. My hips instantly responded with echoingly loud cracks, pops, and crunches. If it was TV they would have thrown up a flash screen. Heck, they would have thrown up several.

And then he looked at me and said  "yeah, you are too screwed up for me to do anything with. Keep doing the clam as well as you can but unless they get this rheumatoid thing under control then you are pretty much fucked." Or words to that effect, anyway.
So, back I go to my primary care doctor, I guess, and once again beg him to send me back to the rheumatology department (he ignored me last time). Yaaay.

Hummingbird Ballet

Our resident (and very vocal/cranky) Anna's hummingbird, Mr. Smalls, warms up at the barre:

I missed class last night because my knees swelled up in a rather disturbingly grapefuit-like manner. I am guessing that this was not the result the PT was aiming for.
So I spent a few moments on my own in the backyard after work today (it's cloudy, breezy, and cool, which is a miracle of no small measure in August in central CA) attempting to be graceful and balletic. Wearing street shoes is a bit of a hindrance, though.

For One Thing it Won't Fit Over My Diaper.

If a grown-up is wearing it it is a leotard. Or a body suit. Or SOMETHING. But it ISN'T a "onesie". I don't wear bunny suits, either, guys!

Here is a onesie, for reference:

 

Two Posts in One

I have been stuck using the portable barres at the studio, lately (which is a story that involves me being annoyed with someone else for not understanding ballet etiquette, and this story is SO bitchy that I am refraining from telling it) which is irksome because a) sometimes there isn't quite enough space on them so you get stuck hanging over the end or trying not to grab on to the hand of the person on the opposite side, b) sometimes they get set up sort of wonky so that they aren't at a 90* angle to the mirror (or the seams in the floor) so I spend the entire time feeling off-center, and c) they are metal so I create a loud CLANG! every time my left hand touches the barre. Either I am just super-conscious of my own clanging or no one else is having this problem. This is grown-up class! Where are your wedding rings? I am not dissing anyone who takes theirs off, it's just that I am lazy and forgetful and so I basically never remove mine. In the bath tub, doing dishes, digging around in the garden, changing the oil in my scooter, baking bread... whatever. There are reasons I do not wear fancy diamond things with bits all sticking out.
ANYWAY.

 Cemeteries are one of my great passions (I have a lot of great passions, okay?) and in the world of Pinterest I recently discovered this photograph:

Which claims to be the grave of Marie Taglioni in the Montmartre cemetery. And I thought : "OOOH AWESOME!" It's kind of gross but also very beautiful. It's become a sort of shrine for dancers, the pile of decomposing shoes an offering to the memory of the first famous modern ballet dancer. Definitely something to see someday, a pilgrimage site for the future.
But, I was intrigued enough to do some research online and discovered that there is some confusion about this particular grave site. It actually isn't Marie Taglioni's grave, but the grave of her mother (who was a dancer, though not the kind of celebrity her daughter became). So... all those shoes are in the wrong cemetery. In fact, Marie Taglioni's actual grave is in the Père-Lachaise cemetery (where all sorts of other famous dead people reside). Here is an article but it's all in French. My own French is pretty rusty but I can work out the general gist of it.
This is what Marie Taglioni's actual grave looks like:

Much less dramatic but at least there are some shoes up there! If I ever visit France I would definitely make this a destination and add a shoe to the site.
The downside to living in the western US is that our history goes back about 150-200 years and then drops straight off. We have some really interesting cemetery history, but it's nothing like the incredible history of Europe's cemeteries.