F this S

I'm in such a ballet funk. I really just don't want to go at all, right now. It has been a few months since work and life permitted regular twice-a-week class attendance, and I haven't taken pointe since May. And now that time is opening up? I just don't wanna! I am doing it because without ballet I am considerably less mobile and in a whole lot more pain. I'm just not enjoying myself at all.
One of the issues is that a new teacher has taken over two of my regular classes. And he's great, don't get me wrong. But it's different. Every teacher has a different style, and he isn't giving me the same experience that I have grown to expect and find comforting. He's teaching pointe, now, too, which makes me really hesitate to get back in to it. He really is a nice guy, and a good teacher, but...
sigh...

PS: trying to apply steroids directly to my scalp is not my favorite part of rheumatism. Wait, RPrin, you have a favorite part? Hell yes. All the best people have rheumatism. Me, my sister... my cat... uh... Lady Gaga...

The Hardest Thing

Last night's 2.5 hour block of class was taught by a substitute instructor. She's a nice gal, one that often attends those classes herself, but is obviously a ballerina extraordinaire. Like, seriously ass-rockin'ly good. Does those one-footed relevés en pointe without so much as a twitch of difficulty while I laboriously haul myself up there using 10% muscle power and 90% barre. That sort of thing.
It's okay to have subs, but they do throw off your groove. You learn to expect a certain type of combination with a certain type of port de bras to a certain type of music and then BAM! Suddenly you are trying to figure out what the hell is going on and you haven't even made it past tendus at the barre, yet. And you spend the next hour+ sort of shaking your head and guessing and/or flailing around hoping you hit a ballet position of some sort by blind luck.
Anyway.
When we would universally botch the hell out of an entire combination this teacher would give us another shot at it (or torture us by making us repeat something we obviously can't figure out? You be the judge.) which meant we ended up doing quite a few things over and over again. After watching us glide gracelessly across the floor for the requisite bourées en pointe she stopped us with a question. "So. Who here loves doing bourées?" and everyone just sort of stood there, listening to the crickets chirp (honestly, I enjoy them more than most things en pointe, but after two hours of class there are few things in the world that I like). SO! "Okay, you are doing them again. AND I want to see those happy faces and softened arms. You're performing, guys! You can do this! Smile!"
I suppose we smiled. Or perhaps we just grimaced in a convincing approximation. 
I think smiling is probably the hardest thing about ballet.

Master Class

My regular Tuesday class was replaced this week by a master class taught by a former NYCB dancer. I tossed the idea around all weekend before finally deciding to go for it and attend the master class. It was ... quite a thing.
Barre went well enough. We had something like 22 students in attendance, so there were a lot of people smushed in to nooks and crannies. With four portable barres of various sizes all set up at once I mostly spent the latter half of barre trying not to smack or be smacked by my regular teacher, who was taking class along with us (and showing us up, mostly. It was adorable, though, she was having a really great time and was so very excited) and the person standing behind her. Center was... well. It was. Mostly it was an exercise in futility. I did a lot of flailing around and very little to impress anyone. We weren't going for any new steps, really, but my old enemy (speed) was working against me in full force.
At the end of it all I was quite ready to be done, honestly. Not that I didn't learn some things. I definitely have some new food for thought. For example: petite allegro (never my strong suit, but improving slowly) should focus on pushing down in to the floor rather than bouncing up. I hadn't thought of that before, so as soon as I have an opportunity to actually think about ANYTHING while attempting petite allegro I will try to keep it in mind.
Will I be taking master class again next Tuesday? The jury is out on that one, check back after I've recovered my pride a little bit.
When I got home I googled our instructor for the evening. Here he is in all his professional glory:

Intimidated? ONLY IN RETROSPECT.

Men in Tights. TIGHT tights!

Tonight we had a substitute teacher, and it was interesting to see the contrast in teaching styles. The sub was definitely of the "if you did it badly you have to do it six more times" school of instruction. And the "reach up up up, ladies!" school, as well.
Interestingly, she set us to our first bit of partnering, which was a little awkward. Not because we are all chicks (though it wouldn't kill us to get a few dudes in there, that's for sure) but because the class had an uneven number of students and, like any shy person knows, that means the one person left in the lurch is... ME. So I had to partner the sub. It was kind of interesting, actually! It would be awesome if some guys would power through their testosterone long enough to give it a whirl! We had a couple of male students for my first year or so, but it looks like the higher the level the fewer male opportunities present themselves. Which makes it a good thing I'm already married and therefore not on the prowl.
Back when I was devastatingly and unhappily single my mother used to regale me with advice like "well, your sister met her husband at work!" (I work in a costume shop. I will give you two guesses how many straight dudes I work with) and "go out and do the things you enjoy! That way you are sure to meet someone with similar interests!" Mmm hmm. Because sewing and dance class are super great ways to meet men, right?
Moms. Gotta love 'em, I suppose.

Nice Feet

I've had two dance teachers tell me I have nice feet, now. I am not sure exactly what that means, but I will take it! I have noticed that my bare feet are looking stronger. The arches are more defined, the toes are stronger and more coordinated. Wearing heels is rare for me these days but easier and less painful when I do. They've taken to acquiring big and slightly gross calluses, but meh. I don't wear a lot of sandals, anyway, right?
You have to take the rough with the smooth, is what I'm sayin'. Also, I could use some smooth right now (oh man, don't get me started) so I will take what I can get :D

Here are my nice feet. Oh yeah, baby, that's right.