I have an awful habit of filling my figurative pockets with all the insults, injustices and the like that I collect from from day to day, like ugly little marbles to look at or play with later. Then one day it’s like I’ve got hundreds of these cracked, dirty little suckers stuffed in there weighing me down until they finally spill out, get under foot and cause me to slip and fall on my face.
This is how my little meltdowns happen. It’s been a little while since I’ve had one so I guess I was due. Don’t get me wrong — my meltdowns don’t involve screaming, crying (well, ok, there might be some light weeping involved) or punching walls or anything like that. No, it’s more of a quiet, slumped-over-in-the-drivers-seat-with-my-head-on-the-wheel kinda thing. This is how I felt today.
I don’t have any huge problems so I kinda feel like a whiny little brat when I get like this. But hey, I’m just a girl, and crap does get to me now and then. And I think having not danced in a week didn’t help, since I had no where to channel my marbles for seven days. After putting in two hours of practice time tonight, I felt a little better. Good to get my mind off dumb things and super-dumb people who jack my sunshine. Luckily anger, sadness, heartbreak and such sort of come in handy when dancing soleá.
I’m not sure there’s a point to this post. In fact, I’ve totally lost my train of thought. I guess I just have a lot on my mind and needed to get some of it out. I’ll stop now. Thanks for listening.
My feet are ugly. I haven’t had a proper pedicure in months. I wanted to go today after class, but my toes were so sore that anyone who would have tried to touch them would have gotten themselves kicked in the teeth. I’ve got cracked nails and bruises and they ache like hell. But enough of this sexy talk …
While my new shoes look great, they might not be the best shoes for me. The red ones are OK, but the black ones hate me. Something about the way they’re shaped do not work with my feet. They’re a bit narrow at the front and the inside top portion of the shoe hits the nail on the second toes in such a way that causes them to split. I didn’t wear these today for my three-hour session, but I was still in pain from wearing them yesterday.
That’s what’s tough about buying flamenco shoes, or any shoes for that matter. You can try them on and they feel fine — until you walk around in them for awhile and then realize they suck. I’m not giving up these shoes yet, though. It’s not like I can easily run to the mall and pick up a new pair, so I’m determined to make these work. I HAVE to make them work.
But I tell ya, it’s hard enough to concentrate on your choreography without having to think about how your toes feel like they’re being whacked with tiny hammers with every golpe. Ouch. No bueno.
I’m going to get out my peppermint lotion and give my homely dogs a massage before I prop them up on a pillow for the night. This week has been brutal in terms of time spent flamencking. Luckily I’ve got a couple of days to rest before I have to put on my shoes and start the cycle all over again.
The great thing about learning flamenco in this day and age is that you don’t have to travel to Spain to do so. Heck, you don’t even have to leave your living room. I mean, a trip to the mother land is preferable, but not always feasible. I’m lucky that I’ve made it there twice (before I took up the dance) and I hope to go back someday to take classes, but until then, I seek inspiration on YouTube. Continue reading “Online Inspiration”→
My first car was a gift from my parents and was a red 1990 Toyota Tercel hatchback. I named him Mr. Bucket. I was 18 or 19 when I got him and while I knew how to drive, I couldn’t take him for a spin right away: Mr. Bucket had a manual transmission and I had yet to learn to drive stick. Continue reading “Stuck between gears and in need of practice”→
Before I was a dancer, I was a singer. I’ve been singing anything and everything since I could speak. I have mainly my mom to thank for this; there was always music in the house, all kinds. Mostly oldies of the ’50s and ’60s, and the ’70s is still my favorite decade for music probably because it’s my first memory of current music on the radio. And in the ’80s and ’90s, I went through my Madonna phase, the new wave phase, hip-hop, gangster rap, grunge, punk, alternative/goth (which mom called my “forces of darkness” phase) latin, a little metal, you name it. As much as I hate to admit it, I even like some old school country. I rarely discriminate when it comes to music and I can never listen to just one kind in one sitting. Call it Musical ADD, if you will. Take a look at my iPod and you’ll see what I mean. Continue reading “Bulerías y Bach”→
The Thursday night class is cuadro skills, which, in addition to advanced technique, encompasses bulerias, palmas, jaleo, etc. It’s a perfect supplement to my continuing work on my solo piece and I’m grateful that I’ll get to practice that in class a bit. But man, I tell ya, this is serious stuff here and I am SCARED. Continue reading “All in my head”→