Drama on the Dance Floor

If you've been reading this blog for a while, you know that Dancing with the Stars is one of my favorite TV shows, and I've already written that one apparent reason for its success is that it's a beacon of politeness in a world of surly reality shows.  That theory was definitely put to the test this week.

During this season, official show bad boy pro Maks Chmerkovskiy has been paired with Hope Solo, a professional soccer star.  Hope is tall and athletic, with an amazing body, but she's also a self-professed tomboy without much patience for learning the grace and sensuality that the show's judges expect from female contestants.  This Monday chief judge Len Goodman came down particularly hard on Hope's rhumba performance (which I thought myself deserved criticism for being too flat-footed), and Maks exploded, going so far as to suggest that it's time for Goodman to retire.  He publicly apologized on the Tuesday night results show, but the damage was done.  Maks and Hope were one of the two couples at risk for elimination this week.

That means one of two things: either ABC was so annoyed by the incident that they put the couple under the red spotlight as punishment, or the fans were so annoyed that they voted for others in droves.  Either way, Maks had better watch his mouth, or next season's show may have a large, Maks-shaped hole in it.

"It's becoming clearer and clearer that Maks is all about Maks and his star partners are nothing but window dressing.  Maybe this explains why he's never won on this show." ~Lenni G., guest blogger for NewsObserver.com

It's All About Me

Today while packing things I found a document I had totally forgotten.  Some time ago - like several years ago - I checked out a book from the library on dressing to fit one's personality.  (Sorry, I don't remember the name.)  As a start, the author asked the reader to complete some personal style exercises, because how can you dress according to your personal style if you don't know what it is?  I didn't finish them all - too much work - but I did answer the first two questions.  For lack of anything more interesting, I share those answers with you now:

What things do I love and feel passionately about?

1) Work that engages me.  Often this is creative work (building websites, photo manipulation in Photoshop, writing) done by myself on a computer.

   Why?  I love using my hands and brain together to create something unique and uniquely mine.  It also helps that is doesn't involve sweating.

  What does this say about me?  Probably affirms that I would rather work primarily with my mind instead of my body, and that I am happiest spacing out in my right brain, which only happens when I am by myself and relatively free of distractions.

2) Food.  Eating out a new places or old favorites, cooking (especially challenging new foods or things I know others really like), shopping for food, eating popcorn at the movies, etc. etc.  Reading recipes and food lit.

   Why?  The taste, the smell, the texture.  Creative work (related to the previous item) or being waited on.  Anticipating the experience.  I just find food very sensual.

   What does this say about me?  It helps explain why I have a weight problem.  I may also be channeling my body awareness into this area rather than exercise, although I do have a passion for...

3) Dancing, especially ballroom and aerobic dancing.  This is the main exception to my unwillingness to sweat, and my preference for solitary activity.  I also enjoy watching others dance on TV or in old movies, at the ballet, etc.  Some day I would like to see live modern dance.  Because of this passion I once let myself be sucked into serving as a dance club officer against my better judgment (committee work, oh, no!!).

   Why?  I like music, but I like moving to music much better than making music or listening to it passively.  I also like exercising to music much better than doing it in silence.  I like feeling energized and graceful.

   What does this say about me?  I guess that I'm not a total couch potato but need to be inspired in order to exercise.

4) Travel.  Seeing new things, eating new food, learning, taking photographs, conquering logistical challenges, speaking what I can of foreign languages.

   Why?  I love learning and experiencing new things.  I love seeing art , historic homes, famous landmarks, etc. in person rather than just reading about them in books.  I love feeling adventurous and competent.

   What does this say about me?  I am the Elephant's Child.

5) Reading.  Virtually anything.

   Why?  Magic carpet rid to other times and places.  Learning new things.  Stretching my imagination.

   What does this say about me?  Probably that I'm an armchair explorer as well as a real one and not content with staying static.

What is my personal style statement?

I present an image of calm elegance with a sense of humor.  [Actually, Faithful Reader, that's more an aspiration than an achievement, but I'm working on it!!]

“A girl should be two things: classy and fabulous.” ~Coco Chanel

Poetry in Stop Action

Our local cable provider had a major outage this week.  For some reason our television service was out for about five minutes but our Internet service wasn't restored for a day and a half.  Oh, well, we're back online now.

Last night Barry and I watched See Them Dance, an absorbing documentary on PBS about Steven Caras.  Caras studied ballet despite his ex-military father's disapproval and became first a member of George Balanchine's American Ballet Theater and then their official photographer.  The story of his journey is recounted by Caras, his friends, family, and co-workers, and illustrated with still photos and video clips from his childhood and both careers.  We are also treated to much of Caras's best work; his sense of composition and his ability to stop action at the moment of maximum impact are absolutely astonishing. 

Caras speaks as though he was lucky to have been given two great talents and two professions he loves, but he obviously worked like a demon for his chances and seized them with both hands when they arrived.  This is a fascinating film for anyone interested in dancing, photographing the human form, or forging one's own destiny.  Since this is fundraising week on PBS it will probably air again soon; check your local schedule to see whether it will be available in your area.  If not, check out some of his work here.

"Steven Caras’s critically acclaimed photo archive is one of the most important dance image collections of all time. How it came to be is a chronicle of the birth and rebirth of the artistic spirit, and of the physical and emotional hurdles all professional dancers face." ~review of See Them Dance on Ahwatukee.com

Slogging Through the Blog

This update is brought to you by the words "ennui" and "phlegm."

Reveille: For the last two mornings, the cat has not whined for breakfast; she's gagged.  You know, that horrible, hacking, "I'm about to throw a hairball" sound?  In my ear.  Before dawn.  Time to see the vet.

The cold: My other symptoms are all gone, but I have some lingering chest congestion.  The cat is probably complaining in her kitty blog about her owner's horrible, hacking, "I'm about to throw a hairball" cough.  At least Barry believes I'm past contagion and is abandoning the futon tonight.

The grading: I'm working my way through the final projects from my last two classes and some of them are amazing.  Unfortunately, I can't tell by looking at a couple of the others that the students even took the course I teach.  In my experience, this means they've spent the semester buying completed assignments online or copying from friends, and when they finally had to produce original work - surprise! - they hadn't learned enough to do so.  Discouraging.  Pause to beat head against wall.

The dancing: We have one final dinner dance tonight to wrap up the Valentine's Day celebrations.  I'm always leery about dinner dances: if we eat too much we're too sluggish to enjoy the dancing.  At least I've learned to wear dark colors in case I accidentally flip part of the entree into my lap.

Family: Today is my mother's birthday.  My sister and I are taking her and Dad out to dinner this weekend to celebrate.  I offered to make the cake.  I only hope everyone will be willing to eat it after realizing that I have hairballs.


"My dear doctor, I am surprised to hear you say that I am coughing very badly, as I have been practising all night." ~John Philpot Curran 

Dancing in the Dark

This weekend Barry and I went to a ballroom dance with friends.  The wife of the other couple told us she's in rehearsal for an upcoming tap and jazz dance show.  She just bought new tap shoes and attached the taps she's had since the age of 12 for luck.  For one insane moment I considered getting back into tap myself, but then I flashed on one of my past performance traumas and the urge died a horrible death.

I was in my 20's and still living in South Dakota.  I was dancing in a chorus line as part of a charity show for the local Girl's Club.  The grumpy little director and all the costumes came from New York.  I was in two numbers.  In the second dance I wore what looked like a backless red satin swimsuit held up by a single length of ribbon around the neck.  The style of the "dress" meant I couldn't wear a bra underneath; I suppose I could have invested in a pair of pasties or at least used band-aids, but that just didn't occur to me at the time.  You see where this is going, right?  The night of the first performance, I was on stage, doing my thing (to "The Stripper," OF COURSE) when the strap broke.

Fortunately we were dancing with one arm up in the air and one held straight in front of ourselves.  I clamped the straight-out arm to my side, and when we all turned to dance toward the right wing, I just kept going and whisked myself off the stage.  The person who had been next to me cleverly moved over to fill up the gap I had left and all was well (except my blood pressure).  When the show had finished its run, I reviewed my previous performance experiences and decided that not only was I not destined to star in the revival of A Chorus Line, but I should also confine my solo dancing to aerobics class.

So far that decision has served me well.  A part of me is a little envious of my friend's excitement over her upcoming show, but I'm going to take a deep breath and just let it go.  Why tempt lightening to strike a third time?

“I wish I could blame it on the choreography, but it's not a musical. I just had a clumsy moment.” ~Delta Burke

Dance Me a River

Well, it's Pledge Week again on PBS, and as usual they're showing Riverdance - this time, a Riverdance performance filmed in Beijing. I've never watched Riverdance on TV before because I saw it live at Radio City Music Hall when I lived in New York.  We watched it tonight because Barry had recorded it and we could (sorry, PBS) fast-forward through the pleas for money.  I have to admit, I was amazed.

My seat at the live performance was so far up in nosebleed territory that I could see the whole stage at once.  That was a great vantage point for the group numbers, but I really couldn't appreciate the fine details of the costumes and sets.  With the high-definition television, we could see not only the embroidery and eyelet lace, but also the bobby pins in the dancers' hair and the fillings in the singers' teeth.

The true beauty of the performance, however, remains the actual dancing.  The basis of the show is Irish step-dancing, but it also contains ballet, flamenco, and tap.  My favorite vignette, in fact, is Trading Taps - an extremely athletic face-off between two black tappers and three step-dancers that illuminates both the similarities and the differences between the two styles of dance.  Throw in an energetic musical score and a talented chorus and you have a thoroughly enjoyable evening.

If you've somehow managed not to see Riverdance during the last 15 years - or if it's been a while since you did - check the schedule on your local PBS website for the next showing of this spectacular Irish treat.

"… trying not to grin when the band plays full out and 60 feet answer right back, is a challenge." ~The Times (February 2002)

Mirror, Mirror, on the Ball

This week the 200th episode of "Dancing with the Stars" will air, and we will definitely be watching it.

We started following the show at the beginning of Season 5 because we're amateur ballroom dancers.  We weren't particularly interested in the celebrities; as one comedian said, in some seasons the title of the show could well be "Dancing with the Vaguely Familiar."  We initially admired the choreography and the exhibitions by the pros.  Over time, though, we've been sucked in by the characteristic that makes "Dancing with the Stars" different from the vast majority of competition shows: the "nice" factor.

If you haven't ever seen the program, it superficially resembles many other reality contest shows.  Each week another contestant and his or her partner are eliminated until the finale, when one couple is selected as the winners of the "coveted mirror ball trophy."  The twist is that the dancers are scored partly by a panel of professional judges and partly by votes from the television audience.  The judges evaluate the celebrities' performance quality and dancing technique; the audience seems to vote for the dancers they find most likable.

Early on we noticed that whiners and stars who heaped abuse on their professional partners didn't have much longevity, regardless of how well they danced.  As time has gone by and the fans have become more fond and (presumably) more protective of the most personable pros, one week of surly or insulting behavior by a celebrity can spell abrupt elimination.  The professional judges are also generally supportive rather than vitriolic a la Simon Cowell.  This is one show where nice guys definitely don't finish last.

Of course, someone is choosing and editing all the rehearsal clips we see, so some of the "nice" stars may very well be just as unpleasant in real life as the ones whose misbehavior the audience gets to view, but we enjoy watching a program that at least seems to be rewarding hard work and positive attitude rather than naked greed and unbridled aggression.  On the dance floor, good sportsmanship is apparently still alive and well.

"One man practicing good sportsmanship is far better than 50 others preaching it."  ~Knute Rockne

Waiting for Tom Bergeron

You mentioned Dancing with the Stars in an earlier post.  Are you a big fan of the show?

Yes, I’d like to compete on Dancing with the Stars myself.  I think a mirror-ball trophy would look good on our entertainment center, probably to the left of the monster TV.

Do you think they would ever ask you to be on the show?

I’m sure they’ll be beating my door down as soon as I have 10 steady readers.

Since you’ve had many years of dance lessons, wouldn’t you have an unfair advantage over the other celebrities?

Certainly not.  Although I’ve had 10 years of ballroom dance lessons, they’ve really been more like one year repeated 10 times, and with my coordination I need that much of a head start.  Have you ever watched this show?  Way too many of the stars are professional athletes.  Talk about an unfair advantage – they can move their arms and legs at the same time!  Some of them even have energy left over to smile at the audience - that's amazing!  I’m sure I can dance better than most of the comedians and professional models they’ve had on in the past, but that isn’t saying much.  My cat has more rhythm than Penn [of Penn and Teller – he was very briefly on Dancing with the Stars].

What’s your favorite thing about dancing?

The word “Terpsichore.”  Try to say that three times real fast.

Which are your favorite ballroom dances?

To watch, the tango – so cool and sexy.  To dance myself, the waltz.  In addition to being very romantic, the waltz has the strongest beat and the simplest footwork; if the guy can lead well, the woman just has to allow herself to be swept away.

“Thousands of emotions well up inside me throughout the day. They are released when I dance.” - Abraham Lincoln

Getting Ready to Kick Another Bucket

When I was five, my kindergarten teacher horrified my mother by telling her that I was poorly coordinated.  Our family doctor suggested dance lessons as a remedy.  The next thing I knew, I was wearing tap shoes and learning to kick-ball-change. The nadir of my performing career came during a recital when, dancing around a plastic bucket to the strains of "I'm Gonna Wash That Man Right Out Of My Hair," I backed into the bucket and kicked it across the gym.

Despite this inauspicious beginning, I graduated from tap to aerobics to ballroom dancing, but until I met Barry I often went for years at a time without a dance partner.  The first few years we were together we danced at least twice a week, either in lessons or at ballroom dances.  Sometimes we danced four or five nights in a row.  We even occasionally participated in dance formations; fortunately, no buckets were harmed during the performances.

This summer, though, we've been on hiatus.  One of our dance instructors only teaches in our area during part of the year; another no longer teaches at the venue closest to us; I'm working days; and Barry doesn't like driving (or being driven) very far at night.  Barry has been playing pickleball and working out at the gym and with our Wii to stay in shape.  I've just been slowly turning to suet in front of my computer.

However, even as I type, we're watching the first show of this season's Dancing With the Stars, and it's all I can do to stay in my seat.  I feel the need to dance rising like maple sap in the spring.  Luckily, our fall lessons start a week from Monday.  This time we'll be taking foxtrot and swing; another chance to pretend we're Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, or maybe Derek Hough and Cheryl Burke.  I'm still not really well-coordinated, but I no longer care.

Damn the buckets - full speed ahead!

"Stifling an urge to dance is bad for your health - it rusts your spirit and your hips."  ~Terri Guillemets