Single in Saint Louis: Artistic Inspirations

Dream a Little dream of Tina Fey

Wed, 21 May 2008 13:16:18 GMT

Why am I dreaming of Tina Fey and I being a part of some television show like "the View" based out of Chicago? That was just the weirdest dream ever. Like some odd cross between 30 Rock and the View. Weirdness. Does anyone want to spring for a dream interpretation on that one?

Little Angels

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:19:23 GMT

It is Nutcracker time. Nutcracker time means hours dedicated to herding forty-five two, three, and four year old angels with snot running all over their precious little faces, to and from a stage filled with lots of pretty things to distract them from why they are on the stage. These distractions include, but are not limited to halos, parents, bows, pretty older girls in tutus, teachers, and sometimes, their own two little feet. Of course, everyone vies to be the sugarplum fairy. It is every teenage company girls dream role, but the real stars of the show are these forty-five dazed, confused, lost, aimlessly wandering, smiling, waiving, and “just happy to be there angels.” I think we could all learn a lot from the little angels. So here is some life advice, straight from the Nutcracker heavens above...

1. Do not wet the stage. Waive at mom and dad!

2. When you don’t know what you are doing, smile and waive at mom and dad!

3. Look at the pretty Christmas Tree! Waive at Mom and dad!

4. Wonder what is in the presents. Waive at Mom and Dad!

5. When your halo falls off, just push it back on. If it stays off, ask someone for help. Waive at Mom and Dad!

6. When all else fails, hop in a circle. Then bow and Waive at Mom and Dad!

7. Find an older angel to guide you, Knod at Mom and Dad so that they know you found help. Then Waive.

8. It’s scary to go out on stage, but it isn’t so bad once you get there. Anyway, if you are too afraid there is always a friend to help. Waive at Mom and Dad.

9. Do not wipe snot, food, or dirty hands on your white costume. The reason why is because “angels are the same color as snow.” Waive at Mom and Dad!

10. Have fun. Be fabulous. Waive at Mom and Dad!

Nutcracker Dress Rehearsal Number 1

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:18:58 GMT

For the fifth time I was running across the building looking for a custodian type person to unlock the dressing rooms. As anyone knows, locked dressing rooms become as urgent as medical emergencies the night before the first performance of any major production. Locked dressing rooms are often the one thing that can throw an entire company off. Well, at least the people in charge, and locked dressing rooms was actually a legitimate issue. I see the custodian up ahead...inches...

“SINGLE!” we need you onstage. “I am getting the custodian to unlock the dressing room like you asked.” “Well, get onstage.” Ok, I make a detour across the auditorium. My nose is stuffy. I have caught a sinus infection from one of the little angels. I am sure of it. I check the time. No, not time for antibiotics. My maid costume flops on my head. I think of how maidlike I am in reality. Although it lightens my mood, my face does not show it. Tonight, I am a rather disaffected maid who is tired of running back and forth. Tomorrow night, I will be a cheerful and happy maid.

By the stage someone is up in arms about whether or not the candy is arranged correctly on the tables. What about the missing bows? I think “What bows?” God forbid! A six year old mouse just placed a giant oversized fork on the ground. No doubt she will be fired very soon. The nutcracker prince is in the other maid’s costume playfully hitting the maid with a spoon. “Would the Nutcracker Prince please get out of the maid’s costume and stop playing with spoons?” The absurdity of this command makes me laugh. “Where is the mouse king?” Two older girls have gotten ahold of some prop presents and are giggling because they are wrapped Corona boxes. “Hurry, little mice. Go get some beer.” Both break out into hysterical laughter.

“OK! EVERYONE! LETS RUN ACT ONE!” Immediately, everyone becomes silent. The music guy fumbles with the music. The directors start yelling commands. The dress rehearsal starts. The maid’s ultimate role has nothing to do with performing. It is actually child crowd control. “Hey, little guy, step back or your gonna get stomped on.” Then with a gentle pull on the shoulder of some child you pull them out of harms way. You make sure props are where they are supposed to be. You are actually onstage manager only that is too long to say, and it doesn’t match the costume. It can be fun sometimes. Out of the spotlight you can tease with some of the older girls about how they should not be drinking the fake punch because they are underage. Which inevitably makes the teenagers laugh. It also makes them look like they are having a good time at the party. Dress rehearsal creeps by. We barely make it to second Act.

Second act is all the company and experienced dancers. No little angels to herd. I change into my costume. I am twenty-five years old in a big fluffy pink tutu. It makes me feel ten years younger. One of the teenage girls pulls me aside from my giant pink muse. “Will you hook my costume?” I do. As I am helping her she confides in me like a little sister would a big. She tells me about her boyfriend, and her high school trauma. She tells me about SATs, and how she is a horrible standardized test taker. I relate entirely but say nothing.

Back to dance

Wed, 13 Dec 2006 22:01:46 GMT

When I was two years old I made a huge decision for my life. A decision that would follow me for the rest of my life, and a decision that I would be bound to follow. I made the decision to be a dancer, and live the rest of my life in the fashion of a dancer’s lifestyle. You might say it is a lot for a two year old to decide. You’re probably right, but I made the choice. My mother did not throw me into ballet and tap classes because she thought it was cute. I did not join because my friends were joining. I was not influenced by any outside source other than a pair of pointe shoes with their pretty shiny ribbons and satin. I wanted a tutu. I loved performing, even at the age of two. I hardly understood what it would be like to earn those things. At two years old I most certainly could not imagine the the literal blood, sweat, tears, or sacrifice that would become my art. I didn’t know what I was getting myself into, but I knew it was something I definitely wanted to do. Dancing is by far my first love. People who do not dance seriously, have problems understanding how your art becomes this integral part of your life. Something you crave, an addiction, a need, and eventually a love. The lifestyle of a dancer is all consuming, not unlike that of a samurai. It does not matter what you are doing, you are always a dancer. It is an art, but not only an art. It is a discipline. Your everyday is spent being a dancer. You habits are formed around this discipline. You waddle with your feet turned out when you walk. You learn to move with grace, your interactions with other people are almost a learned trait, you learn a new language, you learn what to eat to stay healthy, how to stay fit, how to manage time, how to prioritize tasks, and how to appreciate all of the other arts and disciplines in the world. In fact, just last week, I was trying to prioritize my two disciplines of law and dance. A feat, but something I felt I had to do. Honestly, dancing helps with things like health insurance costs because there is a focus on staying healthy. It is exercise which can help heart problems, diabetes, and other diseases. It is an emotional outlet for those hard days at work and keeps a dancer sane. Dancing also comes with all those added benefits of a discipline which apply not only to dance, but also to law. Overall, if a dancer can arrange their schedule so that it fits with the rest of their life, then it is advantageous for work. In school, serious dancers make good students because of the learned level of discipline and the focus on internal self competition. Serious dancers can even make good coworkers because of those same traits. But those traits do not come overnight. They take years to develop. Just like it takes years to develop as a person, and as you get older you change. Your art changes. You are constantly learning. In dance, there is never such a thing as the best or advanced, or most accomplished. It doesn’t matter what you know, there is always more to know, and inevitably you will always make mistakes. In dance schools there are special markers of advancement. If the school is run well the markers of advancement do not come with age, but with ability. For most schools the first marker is getting to wear a black leotard and pink tights. The littlest girls are usually frocked with pink leotards and pink or white tights. It is a sign of making it to the next level when they grow up into black. Although, if a parent was not a dancer herself or went to a lax dance school, they overlook this accomplishment. This is a sign your child is growing up and getting better. Not everyone gets to wear a black leotard, some girls quit before they get there. Some schools have made a system where the color of leotard changes with the level of the advancement in the dancer. In choosing a good dance school, look to see if advancement is judged by age or by ability. If advancement is judged purely by age, you should probably go somewhere else. The perfect place to check this out is in an intermediate class. Is the class a mix of older and younger students or is it all 10-12 year olds? The reason advancing by ability is important is because a dancer can injure herself easily if her body isn’t developed, if she is lacking arches, if she has fluxuating weight (meaning a constant weight, doesn’t matter if you are 102 lbs or 200, it needs to be constant), or if she isn’t dancing enough during the week to have built the ankle strength to advance onto pointe work. There is an entire anatomy and physiology to dance and without being strictly adhered to a dancer can end up with short term breaks and long term hip, knee, and joint problems. Good teachers look for that. As for pointe work, not everyone gets to do it. It requires the most work in a young dancer’s career. Arches must be stretched so you can stay on your toes. Ankles must be strong. Posture must be right. Ab muscles must be strong. Your level of discipline must exceed the majority of the other dancers. Most studios require a student to take at least 3 classes outside of a pointe class a week. This is to maintain strength and technique and alleviate injuries. You have to know dance terms. Most importantly, you must respect the shoes. In the old days, before cushy happy toe pads. There was something called bleeding in your shoes. This was because the skin on a dancer’s foot would rub off when they first started onto pointe and form a callus. It would deaden the nerve tips in the foot and keep the dancer from being in constant pain. Of course, someone, somewhere, realized this was pretty evil, and this is no longer a practice of the trade. However, because those calluses are not formed, a dancer is prone to blisters, cuts,and many other surface injuries. These injuries are just like bruises in football, and not much to worry about, but if a dancer is coming home with stress fractures, then they were not ready to start pointe work when they did or are doing something wrong like not turning out or were overdancing. Just like with football, injuries can happen at random, but those injuries should be the few and not the many. As a child progresses in learning to dance, they are given more freedom within classes. This is a part of the discipline process. Freedoms are earned, they are not freely given. Just like you earn your pointe shoes, your black leotard, and every little step along the way. A dancer can lose respect of other students, teachers, and even company directors if they lose that sense of earning something. Natural ability is one thing, but a sense of earning is what leads to accomplishment. Even natural ability must be countered with a yearning to advance. Parents can help foster that sense along with teachers. It is customary in dance for parents to help with the child’s performance in some way. This might mean helping sew a costume, or herding children backstage. At the very least a parent should be there for a child’s performance. At 25 my mom and dad have only missed 3 of my performances. All three were within the last three years, and primarily because I live in another state. However, my parents have flown in to see me perform, and I still treasure the “You danced pretty!” note my mother left on my fridge after my performance. It is important to show your child or adult you are proud of them for their accomplishment. Flowers are the customary gift to ballet dancers at recitals, but sometimes even just an I’m proud of you note, will cut it. Next, week, I start back to dance class. That means I go to work earlier and stay at work later on days I don’t have class. It means that I may have to pick up extra hours on Sunday, or work from home. It means I am forfeiting watching movies, hanging out with my friends as much, and I will be making phone calls from my cell phone as I travel from place to place. My whole life becomes very regimented and rigid. I have to eat healthy foods and can’t stock up on McDonalds everyday. But that is the discipline I have to have to live the lifestyle that I chose when I was two years old. That was the person I chose to become, and I love it.

Ballerinas and Law

Thu, 06 Oct 2005 03:39:27 GMT

I love to watch the little girls dance. Their faces are so filled with inspiration. Their eyes light up with joy as they slide around on the hardwood floors and hang from the barres. As they do a little point of their tiny toes and run amok in their pink leotard and tutus. There is something in those girls' faces that revitalizes my entire day. Something that reminds me of when I was once one of those little girls sitting in the hallway of our house with my square pink dance bag, waiting, for it to be time to go to ballet class. I remember the feeling of soaring through the air effortlessly, and turning not so effortlessly. These little ones inspire me. They show me how far I have come,and help me dream of how far I could go. They teach me patience, while they are taught the self discipline and etiquette of ballet. Oh, the looks of discouragement when they are challenged with something as simple as a plie. The way that discouragement is pushed aside so quickly when they remember that they want to be a ballerina. It reminds me of law school.

I have had many people ask what ballet has to do with law. Some people have even told me to leave it off my resume. I guess it does kind of seem like an odd combination at first glance. What on earth would law and ballet have in common?

If it wasn't for the self-discipline and quest for perfection that ballet requires, I would not have had the rigor to keep with law school. After 22 years of dance that self-discipline and quest for perfection are second nature, in all you do from school to personal life. Internal competition means more than external. Ballet and Law both require a motivation to get better with each experience. Almost as important is the creative outlet that ballet provides. Especially when the majority of your day is spent in a world of logic and analytical thinking. The two principles create a balance. Through dance I learned to handle criticism in a positive manner, and learned the value of even the most negative criticism. So, the socratic method has never really scared me, and I can be assured that when given criticism at work I can see it's value and learn, change, and grow more competent. And the way that ballet increases mental function and is great exercise, well I shouldn't even have to go there.

Ballet is the motion and movement of my life that has not changed over the years. It has only become more and more perfected. It is the choreography of my life. Every step, every decision. Every moment has in some way been influenced by this art form. From poise in a courtroom, meeting new people, studying for class, striving for the impossible, even making me believe in myself at my lowest moments. Ballet is the constance of my Self. So, tonight, watching the little ones struggle to point their toes, march, plie, and skip. I was again motivated to keep at it. Try harder. Reach further. Stretch my limits. To take everything to the next level in my life. From organization to finding a post graduation job to making it through this semester relatively unscathed. I was inspired to be that little girl again. This time waiting in my apartment with a pink bookbag for my law school class to start, so that I can dream of becoming a lawyer, and keep trying until I get there.

Please read Kanoodling...but in the meantime an Artistic Break from a hectic day... or maybe an artistic hectic from a break day.

Mon, 05 Sep 2005 13:46:37 GMT

So, while waiting for everyone to give me definitions for the word kanoodling, my life has gone on. I am working on some modern choreography. In a desperate attempt to find inspiration last night I started going through my CD collection. Ace of Base was not an option. Neither was Us3. Nor one of those random CD's I made off of Itunes. Then it dawned on me. My music is all really old. I don't think I have bought a CD in almost a year. When the best friend/sortaboyfriendthingy bought me Jett and Killers CD's for my birthday last year he was trying to tell me something. It was obvious. So I busted out some Killers. Not exactly what I wanted. See the mood I am trying to evoke in this dance is slow and sad. At this point in my modern ballet the woman is depressed and getting over a jerkface fiancee who she is still intwined with somehow emotionally. (I know it sounds personal that is why I like it) So I searched a little harder. Ended up settling on some loungy blues song.

Began choreography. Now I am sure my neighbor gets really sick of hearing me play the same two lines of a song over and over until I find a move I like, do it a million times because I want to remember and perfect it, and then change it because it doesn't look right with the next move. Then I crank the music a little louder to hear the background nuances that no one listens for so that I can put the moves together in a way to highlight that one little ding or swoosh in the background. Yes, so two hours later...I had made it to the second phrase of the song. Did the same thing there and then 4 hours later was actually finished with the first verse.

This is funny. I don't know if it is because I am all grown up or if it is because this is my own piece which is the first section of my own modern ballet, but it took me forever to choreograph. There was a point when I was younger when I could choreograph an entire song in an hour. I think about this yesteryear and maybe it was because there wasn't much substance to the dancing. Which should be a compliment. Today, I will try it out on my dancer. This is the really fun part. I will inevitably look at it an think..."Oh what a mess of blah! What was I thinking when I choreographed that." I seldom surprise myself with something good the first time. Then I will change the dance 20 more times to fit moods, and since the dance is slow, sad, and bluesy we will probably all leave a little more depressed than usual. Which means I must get something special to perk us up. Like gerber daisies or starbucks. Ahhh...yes...Sweet starbucks!!!