In keeping with the Friday tradition I started during my recent bought of medicinally-induced ADHD—from which I am no longer suffering as I am no longer on steroids, but it is Friday and this is much more fun than actually working—it’s time for another round of unfocused, random, completely unrelated mini posts!
Mini Post I: My Feet Don’t Understand Jazz
The dance studio recently started offering a jazz class, and my fusion instructor was nice enough to pay for me to take it with her this week. (“I’d pay $15 for an hour of Amanda.” Incidentally, if I ever have to resort to prostitution, I now know my going rate.) I agreed because, hey, free dance class, and because I take delight in watching her struggle. She’s one of the most amazing dancers I know, and she’s only been dancing about as long as I have. It makes me feel more like a real dancer and infinitely less like a jackass when she has just as much trouble with a new style as I do.
That being said, my feet have never been more confused than they were at the end of that class. Jazz is hard.
I met with my fusion instructor early before her class the next night so she could help me figure out the weird leg swingy thing (über technical terminology, I know), and so we could both figure out why it was so weird to do a padebure the way the jazz teacher does them (“What the hell is a pod-ah-boo-ray?”). This led us to a very interesting conclusion:
Western dance is illogical.
(As soon as you saw the word “illogical,” you heard Leonard Nimoy saying it in your head; didn’t you? Didn’t you?)
Mini Post II: Bulletin Board Art
I mentioned this briefly in my Leibster Award post earlier this week, but I sometimes entertain myself at work by making abstract art for my bulletin board with ink pens and Post-its. I couldn’t get the picture to send from my phone on Monday because my cell phone and my building at work don’t exactly get along. So I sent it last night to post today for your art-connoisseur pleasure.
This practice actually came about from one of my least favorite tasks at work: verifying the accuracy of the course schedule download into the room scheduling software. I would print the schedule and cross through each class line by line as I checked it in the system. This would inevitably get ink all over my ruler (I learned in an art class long ago that free-handing a straight line is not one of my strong suits), and wiping the ink off onto mini Post-it notes seemed the best solution. Thus, accidental art.
Luckily we now have an automated web report that I can compare across my dual monitors in about half the time and a lot less inky mess than it took to do it by hand. This also means that I instead have to amuse myself with tracing circles around a penny I keep on my desk because it was made the year I was born.
Louvre, here I come.
Mini Post III: I’m such a Cumberbitch
So I wasn’t itching to see the new Star Trek movie. I loved the first one; don’t get me wrong. But I can’t remember if I’ve seen a movie in a theater since Avengers came out. If I make the trek (tee hee, pun) to the movie theater and brave their outrageous ticket prices, it’s a special occasion…or someone else is paying.
But now that I know Benedict Cumberbatch is in it, I am so there!
I only discovered this earlier this week via someone else’s Facebook post. In the same post, I discovered that fangirls of Ben (I’ve seen like, everything he’s ever done, so I assume we’re on okay terms for nicknames) are called Cumberbitches.
I am totally a Cumberbitch. My love for Ben began within the first ten minutes of the first episode of Sherlock. He’s really kind of odd looking when you think about it, but those eyes—ermergerd, those EYES. My fascination with those eyes inspired an entire novella.
I’m not the type to declare, “I’d do him,” about anyone I haven’t actually met, but given the opportunity I’d TOTALLY do Benedict Cumberbatch…only not when he has blonde hair. That would just be weird.
For the record, the only other celebrity on that short “I’d definitely do him” list is Seth Rogen.
But that’s a WHOLE other post…
Mini Post IV: Podiatric Poetry
I mentioned last week that dancer feet are gross. I intended to provide photographic evidence this week, but I forgot to take a picture of my feet after Egyptian class last night. In fact, I forgot about it until after I had showered and scrubbed the hell out of my feet with salt scrub, thus removing said grossness.
So instead, here’s a silly poem about my feet. Enjoy.
A Dancer to Her Feet
Pirouettes and padebures
Three-step turns for days and days
Relevé, Debke, step-ball-change
What I put you through, feet, is often quite strange.
With calluses and blisters you retaliate
The edge of my heel I could use to grate
Split skin under my toes a likely fate
I sometimes think, feet, you regard me with hate.
So I scrub you down and soothe you with oil
Padding my Chucks, your aches to foil
Your fascia I stretch with toil
I coat you in lotion, I sleep in socks
And still your skin is hard as rocks.
I know I give you some hard knocks
You reciprocate with kinks and knots
So I soak you in waters so hot
And treat you with creams that cost a lot
Because you, dear feet, are the only feet I got.