A Chance to Dance with the Bellydance Superstars, sort of

I’m getting my sea legs back, so to speak, after the two week hiatus in classes following the recital.  It was slow getting back into it, but now I’m all enthusiasm again.  One reason for that is:  THE BELLY DANCE SUPERSTARS ARE COMING TO TOWN! 

I marked the date on my calendar.  The BD Superstars tour all over the world and are featured on TV shows and in Vegas.  So they are la crème de la crème of belly dancers.  Some of the original Superstars have branched off and started their own schools and dance groups (like Kaeshi, whom I wrote about in a recent blog), but the current batch is still top-notch.  And in their sweep through Texas, they are actually making a stop here in San Antonio! 

This is unprecedented.  San Antonio is not high on the list of cities with a big audience for cultural events.  Sure, it’s a big city, but what it has in size it makes up for in lack of sophistication.  The average education and income level is way below that of Austin, our smaller neighbor up the highway.  San Antonio is sometimes referred to the biggest small town in Texas. 

 

Even more exciting, our studio has been asked to open for the Superstars in San Antonio.   The dance chosen for our opening is “Amani Rap,” a saucy number in which the dancers wear jeans with a coin belt and regular costume top.   Miss K has put out the call for anyone who wants to participate to sign up for a 6-week crash course in "Amani Rap."  They can then perform it at the Superstars show. 

At first, I didn’t even consider it.  "Amani  Rap" is way above my skill level.  Plus it's about 5 minutes long with no repetition, so there's a lot of memorization on top of technical expertise.  It would be impossible for me to learn in six weeks.

However, Miss K kept encouraging everyone (well, almost everyone) to sign up.  It's a big stage at the Josephine Street Theater, she said.  Plus she wants everyone to have this once-in-a-lifetime chance to perform on the same stage as the Superstars.  So I reconsidered.  But I had lingering doubts.  So last night before class I tried to pin her down on specifics. 

“So, what if somebody signed up for this crash course, like me, f'rinstance, and on the eve of performance, I still looked really bad.  Of course, I know when I look bad; everybody knows that--" 

“Not necessarily!”  Miss K interjected. 

 “OK, let’s say someone looks really bad and doesn’t realize it, would you tell them?  Would you still let that person be in the performance?” 

Karen stared at me for a long moment, no doubt searching for tactful words.  I realized she would never be that blunt to anyone.  She’s far too kind, and, besides, she's running a business, not a professional dance company.

‘I’m sorry,” I said.  “I’ve put you on the spot.”  

She answered with a question. “Bad in whose opinion?  The public’s?  Mine?”

“The public’s.” 

She waved that away.  “The public doesn't know the difference.” 

“But," I persisted,  "I thought you wanted this performance to be really sharp.” 

 She laughed.  “If you want sharp and precise, you go to New York City.  This is San Antonio.”  She went on to explain that it's part of the choreographer’s job to camouflage and blend in the weaker dancers.  She's going to restage the dance for that, as well as to highlight individual dancers’ strengths. 

In the end I signed up, of course.  For the next six weeks I'm going to be working my buns off.   

Recital Photos

I know we are always most critical of ourselves in photos, but these are just OK.  I didn't even know a photographer was there.  He took a slew of photos of the whole three nights of the recital.  You have to buy them from him online, and they aren't cheap, so naturally I bought only the ones that single me out.  These are all from the "Elsekka" dance.  It's not the photographer's fault that the stage was so dark.  That explains the fact the photos are overexposed  and therefore too bright.  I'm kinda disappointed he didn't catch me in better parts of the dance.  I look rather wooden in these.  You can tell in the first photo below that I'm actually moving my hips because of the flying beads.  And I really don't know what I was doing in the second photo.  It must have been some kind of transition.  And, yes, I look like a deer in headlights.  I was nervous.

These might be good photos for a caption contest.  

The flying beads prove
 I was in motion.

And this is NOT my best belly dance costume.  It is only my second string outfit.  I'm going to have someone take a photo of me in my best costume and I'll post that.  But then, to make the look complete, I'll need to put on full war paint, fix my hair, and all that.  So much trouble.  But I've been gushing about that costume for so long that it's time I coughed up a photo of me actually wearing it.  I wore it for the TV spot, but did not get any photos at the time.

Not sure where this pose came from. 
"Cuff me, Officer!"

Meanwhile, classes have started up again.  I'm taking three choreography classes, and it's a little confusing right now.  But it will all sort out with time.  In one of them we get to dance with veils for a few minutes, which is a whole new challenge.  Those veils are beautiful and floaty, but it's easy to get tangled up in them.  And another dance includes the use of zils, the finger cymbals, which is really fun but also adds a level of difficulty (one more thing to think about). 

Almost smiling!

In fact, I'm getting ready to go to class now.  Just needed to get a blog out, at least ONE this week.  So this is written in haste.  I apologize for the lack of editing and polish. 

Belly Dance Workshop by Kaeshi

A couple of weeks ago I drove to Austin to take a couple of belly dance workshops taught by Kaeshi.   She’s part of the well known belly dance school Bellyqueen and the dance troupe of the same name.  I didn’t know much about her going in.  The draw for me was the gypsy fusion workshop on Friday night.  I was hoping this would be a Spanish-Arabe style, with beautiful flamenco arms and lots of fiery turns and skirt flinging.  And that’s exactly what it was, so I was happy.   We were advised to wear a gypsy skirt, because this dance style involves a lot of “skirt work.”  This means holding the sides of the skirt up and swooping it back and forth and around the body.  Very dramatic. 

Kaesha turned out to be a tiny Asian-American woman, and a beautiful dancer, full of grace and precision.   She looked exotic, not only because of her Asian features, but her hair.  It was partly dyed red, and she had it pulled up in back with feathers sticking out here and there.   Plus she had two long braids framing her face, much like the photo I’ve attached.  She also wore some really cool dancewear, stuff I’ve never seen around here. 

Kaeshi

Like most good dancers, Kaeshi has had ballet training.  She also does beautiful “floreos,” the twisting, floaty arm and hand movements that are a characteristic of flamenco dance.  Turns out she used to be a member of the Belly Dance Superstars, so no wonder she's a great dancer.  She was also a good teacher, smiling and encouraging all the way, yet keeping the class  moving at a fast clip.  After all, she had to teach us a 3 or 4 minute choreography in two hours.  Normally, it would take 3 or 4 months of weekly classes to learn a dance. 

The workshop was held in a huge dance studio at Café Dance in Austin.  There must have been 50 or 60 women there, most of them from Austin, and most of them, I quickly realized, with a lot more experience and competence than I have.  Some of them are professionals with studios of their own.  They picked up the choreography quickly, while I struggled earnestly if sloppily through the whole two hours. 

I discovered the YouTube video of her dancing the very same gypsy fusion choreography she taught us in Austin.  It started out as an improvisation, amazingly enough, and she changed it a bit for the choreography she taught at the workshop.  I’ll attach the video for your viewing pleasure. If you don’t want to watch the whole thing, skip about halfway through to see some beautiful flamenco turns and skirt work. 

http://youtu.be/4aYiot_F2Hs

The second workshop took place on Saturday morning at the Eternal Way Center, which I think is usually a yoga place.  Very Austin.  The studio didn’t have a mirror, but we managed.  This time Kaesha taught a regular belly dance choreography.  But it had a certain funky feel to it and a lot of cool moves, which I can’t remember now, of course. 

The workshops were inspiring and discouraging at the same time.  I think I’ll wait until I’m more proficient before I spend the money on any more of them. 

Here is a video of her dancing a fusion of belly dance and pop & lock, which I think is a type of hip hop.  Quite interesting and different.  Check it out.  It's also done freestyle, that is, on the spur of the moment to the music, not previously choreographed. 

http://youtu.be/xY3XJxhiW3g

Note about the Austin scene: 

Before the evening workshop I met my brother John and my daughter Jane for lunch at a funky (is there any other kind?) restaurant in East Austin.  This area of town used to be a ghetto avoided by honkies like me, but now parts of it have been “yuppified,” as my brother put it.  This particular street was lined with Airstream RV cafes, which Austin is known for, shops, and a renovated art deco apartment building.  The café where we ate, the Blue Dahlia, was a tiny crowded house with a front and back patio.  Despite the 100 degree heat we ate on the patio.  We had a lively and amusing conversation, as usual. 

I returned the bagful of Lee Childs books John had lent me and took back with me a Robert Parker book.  (Parker created the Spenser character in the old series “Spenser for Hire” as well as the Jesse Stone character in the TV movies starring Tom Selleck.)  I'm looking forward to starting a new series, but I'm going to miss Jack Reacher!  He's the main character in the Lee Childs books.  We all think it's a travesty that they chose Tom Cruise to play Reacher in the movie that's in the making.  He's so NOT Jack Reacher.  Sigh.

Why I Won’t Make It to My High School Reunion This Year

The world can be divided into those who love high school reunions and those who don’t.   Sure, I genuinely like many of the people I knew in high school.  But I've seen only a handful of them since I left Odessa many years ago. 

I didn’t actually graduate from Permian High School – we moved to Austin in the summer before my senior year.  I was pretty upset about that.  I had grown up in Odessa and attended elementary, junior high, and high school with the same kids all my life.  Worse, I was going to miss out on being a Pepette as a senior at Permian.  Pepettes are the pep squad for the football team.  They are not cheerleaders.  They do not dance.  They don't play a musical instrument.  They don't parade onto the field at halftime and do anything.  No, they just stood in their own special cheering section in the stands, a magnificent vision in black and white.  They wore matching black and white sweaters and black pleated skirts and white knee socks and black and white saddle oxfords and matching hair ribbons.  Oh, and each one was armed with two pom poms.  Their mission was to cheer on the team, as if there weren’t throngs of others in the stands doing the same. 

Even more exciting, each Pepette was assigned a football player to lavish her attention on.  She made him a hand-painted poster each week to hang in the hallways.  She did supportive things like bake cookies for him during the week.  She was his own personal cheerleader. 

The Pepettes were an elite group.  Of course, they were not as exalted as the cheerleaders.  We had only five cheerleaders, unlike today when schools have whole platoons of them.  Back then, the cheerleaders were elected by the student body.  So, yes, it was a popularity contest, although they all did a bang up job of cheerleading, too. 

So here’s the most amazing part about the fact I was going to be a Pepette:  the Pepettes were also elected by the student body. 

Do you get the implications here?  For the first time in my life, I was elected to something that was more or less a popularity contest.  I still have no idea how it happened.   I was not a member of the in-crowd, not even of its lower rungs.  Sure, I knew most of the popular kids—after all, we lived in the same town all our lives--but that doesn’t mean they invited me to their parties or called me just to chat.  Heck, most of them didn’t even acknowledge me in the halls.  Sure, I had other friends, mostly nerds like me.  I may not have looked like the stereotypical nerd, but inside that’s basically what I was.  So it was heady stuff indeed to think I was going to be a Pepette.  My senior year was going to be glorious.

But it was not to be.  The summer before my senior year, Daddy left his storefront law practice in Odessa for a job with the State in Austin.  We left Odessa, and I spent my senior year in obscurity at a high school in Austin.  To make matters worse, Permian ended up playing the Austin school in the state finals and lost in the final seconds of the game.  It was a bummer of a year all around. 

All this to explain that I didn’t spend that watershed senior year with my old classmates.  So I was somewhat out of the loop when my 30th high school reunion rolled around.  What surprised me the most was how much the social levels had changed.  Upheavals had taken place during that senior year I missed.  Those who had been near the bottom of the social order had risen, and some of those near the top had fallen.  (Sounds biblical:  Many who are first will be last, and many who are last will be first.)  Classmates I’d never seen interact before were now buddies.  Those who were outcasts before were now crowd favorites.  And the in-crowd kids were actually friendly, although they still pretty much hung out with one another.  I had a pretty good time.   

Except for a couple of people, I haven’t seen any of my classmates since that reunion.  But I feel like I’ve somewhat kept in touch--they seem to populate Facebook to an amazing degree.  I don’t even try to keep up with all the chatter.  But I realize there are some really funny, interesting, and creative people among my old classmates.  They share a wide range of fascinating occupations, everything from a botanist studying rare plants to jazz pianists to journalists-turned-ministers.  Who would have thought they would emerge from the isolated backwater town of Odessa? 

Still, in a reunion situation, I fear that conversation with most of my former classmates would bog down after a few short minutes.  So it might be better to be friends from afar and skip the time and expense of traveling to West Texas.  Even attending the Friday night football game isn’t the draw it used to be.  And that’s saying a lot.  Odessa has always been absolutely fanatical about Permian’s football team.  It was Permian’s team that was featured in the book Friday Night Lights.  But since those heady days of state championships won by a wiry, hardscrabble team that was usually up against boys that outweighed them by 30-40 pounds, things have changed.  The football team isn’t what it used to be, that’s for sure.  And some of it is due to that book.  Odessans felt deceived by Pulitzer-prize winning author H.G. Bissinger.  After all, he lived among them and befriended them for a whole year, then turned around and wrote what to them was a scathing betrayal.  I guess they didn’t understand the concept of immersion journalism.  They were surprised, as so many understandably are, when someone masquerades as a friend just to get a good story.      

Anyway, because of Friday Night Lights the town leaders decided to devote more funds and emphasis on academics and cut back on football.  Permian hasn’t won a state championship since 1991. 

Still, I was tempted to go to the reunion, except that we are already booked for a trip to Playa del Carmen, Mexico.  And, yes, I checked into the safety situation there.  My research revealed that the most dangerous situation we may encounter in Playa is a cyclist on the sidewalk.  So it’s more likely we’ll get mowed down by a bicycle than a drug lord’s machine gun.  Besides, rates are great.  That may have something to do with the fact that September is in the middle of hurricane season.  But what are the odds?  I'm not worried.

Now What?

The recital is over.  There’s nothing to practice or rehearse.  There will be no classes for a few weeks.  During the past year I was motivated, almost obsessed, with belly dance, my newfound hobby.  It was exciting to work toward a goal:  to dance in the year-end performance. 

I sweated and struggled and pushed myself.  And I achieved my goal.  I plan to keep dancing.  But now I find myself looking around wondering where to go next.  I’m experiencing that let-down feeling that often happens after a goal is accomplished.  Now what?

In the first few days after the recital I relaxed and celebrated, in my own way.  I ate a lot of bad stuff.  I baked a batch of chocolate chip cookies and ate most of them (one of those refrigerated, break-off-little-squares-and-bake-them deals – not the whole batch you make with semi-sweet chocolate morsels.)  I dined on Mexican food:  enchiladas, a chile relleno, greasy bean-and-cheese nachos.  I’ve had pizza, even steak.  I’ve gobbled down potato chips and banana pudding with vanilla wafers.  And I’ve eaten those treats late at night, which for me means after 9 p.m. 

I took a lot of naps. 

I did some good junk reading. 

Not that any of those things are bad, but I did very little that was practical or useful, like grocery shopping or making beds or doing laundry.  (We’re in a drought.  I was saving water.) 

But now it's time to go back to normalcy.  It’s time to think about my next goal.  What will that be?

Yesterday I found myself inside one of those gigantic Super HEBs.  Usually I avoid such places, but it was near the PetSmart where I had just returned something.  I went in to buy a half gallon of milk and on the way wandered into the school supplies aisle.  Spiral notebooks of all colors filled the shelves.  And get this--they were on sale for 20 cents each.  I love spiral notebooks.  Maybe it’s the allure of the blank page, the possibilities lying dormant there, the invitation to fill those pages up.  I bought ten of them.  I think it’s a sign my subconscious is sending me. 

I've been writing this blog for over six months. It’s established a discipline and a writing routine. It’s been great practice. But I want to do something more substantial, maybe even (dare I say it?) meaningful. The hard part is choosing a topic. It’s not that I can’t think of something to write about. The problem is there are too many things I’m interested in, and it's so hard to narrow it down to just one. The temptation is to have two or three writing projects going at once. But I have a feeling that won’t work well.  So, step one:  I'm going to jump into those spiral notebooks and brainstorm.

Last year was the year to dance. Maybe this will be the year to write.



  

Full Speed Ahead!

This week Miss K will be interviewed on two local news shows to talk about the recital.  On one of those shows, we “Jemilets,” as she calls us, will be performing Jemileh on live TV. Yikes! Miss K told us to wear our costumes and “glam it up.” Finally I can wear my gorgeous, Egyptian costume. It's been languishing in a drawer for more than a year, just waiting for this moment. I can’t wear it for the recital-- the skirt is too heavy for the Elsekka dance, and there’s no time to change costumes. So I had to bench it for the recital and call in my second string outfit, which is pretty, too, just not as pretty.  Wearing my best costume is the good part. The bad part is: more stage fright.

It gets worse.

Last week we went to a birthday party for one of our neighbors (Susan, the one who feeds tortillas to deer), and the topic of the recital came up. Several of my neighbors said they'd like to go. As I sat there munching on barbecued chicken, I was reminded by something my daughter said many years ago, when one evening she got up from the dinner table and calmly asked, “May I be excused to totally freak out?” I felt a sudden urge to push away from the table and make a similar request.

Susan pointed out that I had posted a recital flyer on the bulletin board at the neighborhood post boxes.  True, I did that because Miss K urged us to distribute some flyers, so with that I felt I had done my duty.  I didn't think anybody would actually pay attention to it.  I mean, who's going to drive 30 miles into South San Antonio to watch an obscure theatrical event?  (Although the fact there's a micro-brewery next door to the theater was a drawing card for the men at the party.)

Besides, I don't care if people I don't know come to watch. It’s much more stressful when you know the audience members. Then you worry about what they might think or, worse, discuss amongst themselves, behind your back, of course.

“Can you imagine wearing that at her age?”

“I wouldn’t be caught dead….”

I can hear it now. But those fears are probably ungrounded. Women are pretty open to the idea.  When they find out I take belly dance lessons, their usual response is, "How fun!" It's the men who are uncomfortable with the idea.

After all, belly dance has a certain image, mostly created by Hollywood. Yes, the costumes usually bare the midriff. You also might see a flash of leg, maybe some cleavage. Big deal. You expose a lot more flesh in your average swimsuit.

But what about those sexy moves, the swaying hips, the undulating torso? Again, big deal.  It's nothing worse than what you see on Dancing with the Stars. Yet, belly dancing still inspires raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Maybe because people think it's a dance of seduction, you know, the harem girls competing for the attentions of the sultan. Again, a complete Hollywood fabrication.

I won't get into the whole history of it now, but just know that belly dance was not a seduction maneuver.  It dates back hundreds of years, so nobody knows for sure how it started. The general consensus is that it originated in Northern Africa, perhaps as an entertainment among women, for women and by women, even as a preparation for childbirth. Or maybe it was a temple dance for religious ceremonies. Or perhaps it was a dance that everybody took part in at celebrations like weddings (yes, even men, although their moves are not quite the same as women's).  In fact, it is still danced spontaneously at gatherings.

Anyway, back to the stage fright problem. I remind myself that in the grand scheme of things, this recital and my small part in it doesn’t amount to a hill of beans. What is the worst that could happen? I could make a mistake, forget the whole dance, trip and fall.  Whatever.  It just makes for a more interesting spectacle for the audience.

So, I’m back to the old Kirstie-Alley-on-DWTS mantra. My rules for coping with stage jitters are still:

Rule No. 1: Just Have Fun.

Rule No. 2: Think about style over substance, flair over finesse, panache over perfection.

Rule No. 3: I don’t remember this rule, but that’s OK. At this late stage it’s better to keep things simple.

So, “Damn the torpedoes! Full speed ahead!”*

* The actual quotation, by Admiral David Farragut in the Civil War, was “Damn the torpedoes! Four bells. Captain Drayton, go ahead! Jouett, full speed!” You can see why people employ the shorter version.

Rehearsal on a Real Stage, Sort of

This will be short.  I am hungry and need to eat breakfast, but I want to get this done first. 

We had a major rehearsal last Friday at a bigger studio with a floor the size of the stage where the performance will take place.  It was interesting to see some of the other dances.  I haven't seen any except those that practice right before my classes.  Quite a variety.  Someone said that one of the dances is done to the music of "Dueling Banjos."  I checked and didn't see that one on the program.  Maybe she was pulling my leg. 

But there were equally intriguing routines and music.  One of my favorites is "No Music Zils," which is an entire dance done without music except finger cymbals.  The sound of 15 or 20 dancers clapping zils in unison is something to hear.  There's also a number called "Retro Routine," which illustrates the belly dance style of the 70's.  That was the decade when belly dance really caught on in the U.S. and when Miss K started dancing it.  I didn't realize that belly dance has changed that much, but I suppose everything evolves.  "Retro Routine" starts with a section of dancing with veils, including a move Miss K calls the "reverse toga." (I love the terminology.)  There's also a floor work section in which the dancers, yes, "get down" (sorry) and do gymnastic feats like back bends with belly rolls, all while kneeling, sitting, or lying on the floor. 

Then there were some solos, performed with varying degrees of grace and skill.  One was a wonderful ballet-belly dance fusion and another good one was a fusion of yoga and belly dance. 

Karen tries to mix it up to keep audience members from getting bored.  After all, most of them are there to see one friend or relative perform.  The show runs on Friday, Saturday, AND Sunday, and each night has a completely different program.  That's a lot of choreography.  Of course, Miss K doesn't create all new dances every year; most of them have been in many previous recitals.     

I'm getting excited about it.  Only 10 days to go, then on with the show!  But first, I gotta find something to eat before I faint.