You see?!?!?!? I have the will of the warrior. Therefore the battle is already over. The winner? ME!!! HAHA!! Rematch!?! YOU LOSE AGAIN! Had enough? I thought so ....

Done and Done

Resolutions. Beginning to be friends again. My heart beats slower. The audition is over. Now I just wait. It’s a first date situation. The song … and dance … is over for my time in Seattle. Today everyone finished strong. I think we were all a bit frazzled from our experience yesterday.

I am frazzled from my conversation last night. I worry about pulling for closure of some sort. I am glad to say that we are going to begin to restart a friendship. It’s a first step. That’s all I am going to publish here.

I head back to Denver tomorrow for some R & R, ballet class, some bikram, maybe some nice wine. Gonna hit up the Cork House and snag some of their under-priced bottles.

Things I love about Seattle:
Purple wine bar
Murray at Zig-Zag
My new friends at PNB (and being treated like a company member)
Espresso, and more espresso, well made cappuccinos
Capitol Hill
And the rain, everything is green and lush.
Ridiculous seafood. Seeing a whole Halibut and tuna-side come in at Pike Place.

Right now I think I would be happy here if I am not offered a contract. I have performed well during the audition and in my assessment I would do well here. More later. I need some more coffee after finishing.

Moday Blues and Blacks

Two days of Modern. Day one I was at an advantage, I was one of a handful that had demonstrable Graham and release technique. I wasn’t allowed to get past with petty mistakes, a non-squared spiral, tilted pelvis, I am a firm believer that being held to a higher standard bodes well for me. Today was an easier day. We had modern class this morning, but this afternoon reminded me of Jury Exams. We were taught very divers 32 count segments of choreography and asked to perform them, after only seeing them once. It was stressful. Even right now, as I am finished I feel like I just want to cry. My nerves are shot. I don’t think I could imagine a more taxing experience to go through. We started with 16 counts, and worked our way up to 96 counts, given only one chance to see the choreography with about half of them being from tape. And then we had to do it for the panel.

I saw Ck last night, it was sufficiently weird, and she said some things that have stuck with me through today. I worry about context and wanting clarification so I have done my best to put them in the back of my head and not let them make it up to the front of my psyche. We have plans to meet up this afternoon and I will search for clarification and closure. I still can’t get the thoughts of this afternoon’s process outside of me. It was traumatic; I have learned a new skill for how to torture/audition people if I ever find myself in that position.

I am still rocking on the Seattle vibe. I am genuinely serious about moving here. It’s a place I could dig, and I don’t think I would have a lot of trouble getting a well paying survival job making enough to support myself if I don’t get the apprenticeship. The times that I have gone out I have had good conversations with bartenders and chefs and have received favorable interest. More to follow later

Forgiveness

I was rightly accused about not talking about my relationship with Ck when it was getting better, and only blogging about it “here” when it was on the sour or in decline. I am sad to say that this was the case. I don’t think she reads this anymore since we are on the long break.

She and I never really took a break from being eachother’s orbit, and we have done as much since New Year’s. After much exasperation I can say that I am a better person for the break. I had been holding animosity and negative feelings, feelings of rejection and resentment that weren’t healthy for my general well-being. The break has brought me to peace with these feelings. They are processed and shed. What I have found myself to be left with are the nice feelings, the fuzzy feelings, and the good times.

As well, I am stronger person. By keeping those negative experiences present it was bringing down my personhood and wasn’t good for my emotional health. I find myself in Seattle now, and I am hanging out with some of the other dancers and I don’t feel guilty being flirtatious, or being me for that matter.

I talked to my baby sister about this the other day and have found that I am not sure if I would date Ck again. But now more than anytime I would be in a place where it would be possible at the very minimum. This is what forgiveness feels like.

If frogs had wings they wouldn't bump their asses when they hopped

I kind of like food, just a little bit. For me it was always about getting nutrition and making sure that I could get through the day. Ok … maybe not. But I was very sad to just learn that one of my favorite fooderies closed. New Yorkers will throw down over pizza. This neo-politan foodstuff inspires arguments equivalent to that of Broncos vs. Raiders fans. For me it always boiled down to what was the “best worst pizza.” Because trying to declare the best pizza for me was like trying to say what the best Scotch or wine is, it’s going to depend on what I am in the mood for. Do I want a crisp crust that you can only get from a wood-burning oven, or do I want a chewy yeasty creation from a thicker crust, and a liberal dosing of the red sauce to bump up the texture. Maybe a little Greek fare with spicing heavy on the Oregano and meat sliced fresh off the Gyro-Log.

Hands down, the best worst pizza in my neighborhood was John’s. It was salty, the Mozzarella was moist and melted beautifully, not like the plasticine stuff Domino’s uses, and the sauce was probably thinned down commercial tomato paste. But their hot ovens would get a wonderfully crisp crust that would crunch and explode with a great yeastiness. It was, the best worst pizza personified. On the way down for some dollar beers a slice of john’s was necessary, or coming back from class where I simply needed calories in my stomach, it was somewhat of a ritual necessity.

Their gyros as well I fancied for their saltiness with a spice subdued by their yogurt sauce. Their tomatoes tended to be a bit dry but they made up for it with an abundance of shredded lettuce and crisp chunks of white onion. This was my lady-repellent.

Alas, as I have mentioned, John’s Pizza and Gyro is no more. Kaput. Off the map. Let’s have a moment of silence for it’s passing.

Greatest lyrics ever

I love bad pop music. People who have sneaked a peak at my iPod ... or stole it ... know that my music is eclectic and varied. But I have to say right now that today was a Gin Blossoms day. It was Gin Blossoms on the way in this morning, and is now as I sit having a Latte. Needless to say, these are some of the greatest lyrics of all time from their song Lost Horizons: She had nothing left to say so she said she loved me / I stood there greatful for the lie....

Brilliant, absolutely brilliant.

Day 2

Day two was not as glorious as day 1, I found that the soreness that follows a day of dancing within my means bites worse than that after the first day of African or Robert Battle. My insides are sore, my fingers are sore, and the backs of my knees hurt. My hips, hammies, shoulders are all fine, but it’s the minutiae of me that took a beating yesterday. I still danced well. Using my soreness as a guide to where my body was in space. I remember from school the days when I was best on my leg were the days after a hard abdominal workout or with sore hamstrings. Soreness was my way of channeling awareness. If tensions in my muscles manifest soreness then a self-realization was first evident. Ballet this morning was tough, the instructor put us through the ropes of a Fosse-like class, I lost count of the times we had to do the tendú combination as I sensed them trying to reach our breaking point as a group. Like pieces of aluminum being stress tested, we were watched for consistency, what comparisons could you draw from my 12th plié to me 86th? Hopefully there was none, that the first was as juicy and released as the last, but knowing my body, I am in good physical shape, but my dance shape has been lacking. I feel that ballet might have worked against me today, not taking consistent class since graduation left those small muscles tuned for consistency a bit lazy.

After a quick lunch with some of the dancers where we ducked into a cute little bistro for a simple baguette and salami to fuel the afternoon, a requisite espresso was also in order. Following lunch we had a partnering class. Luckily we were supplemented with 4 of the corps dancers from the company, because the 3 of us demonstrating partnering on 25 girls would have left the girls at a severe disadvantage. Aware of the trust that must be formed between a partner and his lady placed a lot of responsibility on my part. If my partnering skills were not up to par, my girl could be blamed. Justifiably there are some situations where poor partnering chemistry is not the boy’s fault. A girl has to be strong, and self aware of where her leg is. In a finger-turn my job is to maintain her motion, and not pull her off of her leg, in the event that she overcorrects or finds herself off her leg. But not being there in the first place and assuming that it is my job to put her on her leg is only my responsibility if I am in control of the preparation. I found that I did well in the partnering class. I was consistent and lucky to not to have to work with the smallest of the girls. I think that there is a common assumption that smaller dancers make for easier partnering, but often it is not the case, I tend to prefer a dancer that is strong enough to give me honest resistance and to provide counter-balance and counter-pressure to my movements. This is something that I have to work on, but I have yet to develop finesse to my partnering, perhaps I rely too much on my partner’s ability to correct my own judgment. Heh, my newfound self-awareness should help in my understanding of what is to come.

Following our partnering excursion we head into learning variations. I feel that this is one of the areas where my formal education was lacking. Classical ballets have set scores and set choreographies. Like an actor’s monologues, or a jazz musician’s standards, dancers have variations that are common and should be known in personal rep. For those of us unlucky to not know “bluebird” we were given a 10-minute review of the choreography and the coaching began. I was in this group. Luckily at the bare minimum I was familiar with the music so my expression and interpretation of the score had a depth. The choreography came quickly, Forsythe and Meyers made sure that my ability to pick up and reverse choreography was at a tuned level. Like riding a bike, I definitely came to rely on my old tricks for re-memory and perception. Still, of the men, I was the one not familiar with the choreography and found myself first at advantage. The name of the drill this was to see how well we took coaching, picked up nuance ad adapted to what was thrown at us. If the exercise was to find out who grew the most through the coaching, then I did well, if they were looking for who presented the best final product I am not so confident in my showing. I guess my end perceptions of the day leave me somewhere in the middle. Not sure of what exactly they were looking for (assuredly a combination of the two) I say that my day’s performance places me in the middle of the pack.

I am excited for tomorrow. In lieu of ballet, we are starting with a modern class, which should play into some of my strengths followed in the afternoon with modern partnering. Luckily these are two things that I am versed in. I just hope to channel some of Kevin Wynn’s bombastic energy and size 14 feet.


I think at this point I am thoroughly infatuated with Seattle proper; it rained this afternoon and was gorgeous as the studio we were in for variations overlooked the bay. At this point in my juncture, without this apprenticeship I could still find myself in the city, happy and alone. Coming to this conclusion and my evaluation of life here at a cursory level and my own assessment of my personal qualities/strengths/weaknesses has left me with this realization. Through Christmas my perceptions of the city were left colored a shade rose, the benefits seemed a little more grand, and the detriments a bit trite. Events forced me to re-evaluate my perceptions. Benefits lost some luster, and the detriments gained a bit of a bite. I hope to have dinner again in the Capital Hill district after my dinner Downtown left my wallet a bit lighter. My first night here I ventured to Capital Hill and enjoyed the eclectic nature of the district, it’s a bit Brooklyn meets West Village. Not everyone is a scenester, but the mix of people who may maintain an apartment on the UES living next door with a TVestite punk-rocker reminds me of a place where I could live, be myself, and people watch without becoming bored. I want to have dinner there again.

Phantoms in the night!! (and morning, afternoon...)

Phantoms. I am too lazy to look up the Webster definition but I imagine it reads something like “a ghost; archaic use of an afterlife presence in our daily realm.” I dunno, that probably doesn’t have enough syllables. If I was playing the dictionary game with a bunch of people from Mississippi my definition would totally just be “scary things in your closet that go bump like you and your sister.”

Urban Dictionary lists a phantom as an anonymous shit in a public toilet. Now that’s funny. Not coming upon one of course, that wrecks the afternoon. But public deuces are really funny for 2 reasons. The first being that someone had to drop trou and drop the kids off, in public, meaning that if they have a sense of hygiene they used an ass-cootie-protector, or they carefully laid out a mosaic of TP around the rim of the toilet to protect from ass-cooties, OR they hovered. Now ladies have specific hovering talents from years of public loo use. But us men, the hover is something that we don’t do. Secondly, the dump was shared, it was a communal experience, probably with some poor sap using the urinal having to deal with the secondary noxious fumes, and your funny ass grunts (pun totally intended).

Now I would like to add my definition of Phantom to the pool. Of course it has to do with pooing, come on, I have had a lot of serious posts and I need to knock my own notch down a few. So you just get done doing the deed, and ten minutes later, lo-and-behold the pressures that be are signaling hello in the nether parts, thinking that deuce numero dos is loaded and ready to fire you trundle back to the loo, drop trou, and fire blanks. ‘Tis only hot wind blowing out the back door, yet why was your mind so confused? Surely ever time I break wind I can be rest assured that only the air, not my undies, will be befouled. But what tricks the mind into thinking that there is live fire in the cannon post deuce? Is this some parlor trick? No, you my friend have simply been struck by a phantom. The most unfortunate thing being that simply estimating every post-deuce urge to release pressure is going to be hot air will lead to soiled dainty bits. As it seems every time a phantom occurs on a prime occurrence indeed there will be spatter/wee turds/mini-chunks ready to fly. There is no way to know, our bodies are tricked to treat every phantom as a live drill, as ridiculous as your training in life leads you to treat fire drills with non-chalance, a phantom-drill is always real, and should be treated as if the door knob of the room is smoking hot.

Now where does the Urban Dictionary’s definition of Phantom and mine intersect? Yes, the public phantom. After going through my ritual of public defecations (for speed and efficiency four years of Horton has taught me the value of a deep squat, but if I am leisurely I will lay out protection and deuce) lo and behold, a public phantom bites. Rushing back to the bathroom, prepping the stance, and total letdown – nothing. Struck by a public phantom is the ultimate annoyance in the midst of an afternoon. The worst being phantoms that strike in succession.

So there you have it kids, be wary of when you are stocking the local pond with your brown trout and a phantom flipper finds its way in your ducts. Curse and rue the day. Find your inner chi, and chalk it up to your quirky biology. I challenge my friends in Med School to discern the physiological reflex in the pooper that will help differentiate blanks and live-fire, but for now, I have to live in a hot-door-knob world.

Day one of hopefully many

Well, the first day was … exhausting. There are 28 people participating in the workshop and only 2 other men. The women run the gamut from the youngest being 16 to the oldest being my age. Surprisingly, I am the youngest of the men invited to audition (by 2 weeks). It seems to be a competitive group. I am surprised by the ballet’s apparent affinity for the Balanchine figure. The women are long and skinny, I would say that only 2 or 3 of them remind me of the dancers at Ailey, having muscle and balance, yet a strong grace in the way that they move. In observing the end of their Pointe class I found myself wanting to observe these few and following the eyesight of the mistress I thought I could discern her interest as well. They had such grace and authority executing the allegro combinations.

As for Men’s class, since there were only 3 of us, we took Men’s “strength and technique” with the other corps’s men. My arms no longer belong to me. My neck and traps feels as if it is one giant powerful knot resting on my shoulder. I have found that I can hold a plank for a respectable 3 minutes and am capable of cranking out 32 handstand pushups. Those days in the gym prior to my arrival here tapped into something. I felt lucky because of the 3 of the other men here I am situated in the middle as far as strength is concerned, and in the middle as far as flexibility is concerned. Which surprised me, I was not flexible at Ailey, the most flexible of the men in the workshop is small, and short, I would say at the most a generous 5’7” maybe in heels (a bit of a Queen, but in a cute affable way). The oldest and strongest of the men (as far as strength is concerned) has ok technique, he doesn’t have great feet and is a bit slow on his feet, he dances as if he is waiting for the music to push him forward instead of cresting on the waves of the conductor.

Ballet this morning was what I was used to. Live music (thank God!!!) and class really reminded me of the company classes that I was lucky to take with Colorado Ballet. The barre exercises were rote Balanchine (again I was lucky for the refresher in Denver). The dancers didn’t seem nervous, I would say that more than half of them were from the North-West and knew each other going into the workshop (usually from taking a summer seminar at PNB). I actually think I may walk away with a few friends from the experience.

Following orientation and ballet in the morning we broke for a quick lunch and I found a sushi stand where I scarfed some tuna and albacore. I have to admit that the albacore was a bit off-putting. I don’t think I had a very good piece, there were bits of connective tissue in it and I was left the impression that the piece of sashimi I was served was from the end of a loin and not a prime slice. But the tuna was a light purple, not the dark purple of Grade IV sashimi, probably a Grade III and was properly cleaved diagonally on the grain: superb slicing of the loin with a slight amount of marbling. It was indicative of winter tuna and all the things I love about the cold-water fish.

Following lunch the men were separated and we went to our class and the women went to Pointe. After which we had a discussion with some of the directors and dancers in the company where we could ask questions about what to expect from them and from Seattle. Very helpful in that Seattle has a good arts community but it isn’t famous like New York so the first hand knowledge was inexpendable.

Which brings me to now sitting in a coffee shop writing this and unwinding. I am still coursing with a bit of adrenaline from the day. And am in need of a bit of caffeine since I had to leave my hotel at 7 this morning to get to the school by 9. But for the price I got this is me not complaining.

My general impression of Seattle is that it’s a pretty cool place, I ducked into a Border’s and bought a Lonely Planet guide to help me figure out how to do stuff and am definitely digging this coffee house vibe. I ate dinner at a pub last night downtown and was saved that it was a bit of a dive. I didn’t want to be a lonely guy eating at a solo table on Valentine’s Day. That just seemed kind of sad so eating and chatting with the bartender was a great option. Tonight a couple of the dancers wanted to eat at this wine bar/café in Downtown so I think I am going to join them.

Today was not nearly as weird as I was worried about it as far as being in the same city as Ck and having not seen her yet. Last night at dinner I was looking over my shoulder feeling as if she was watching me eat dinner and again this morning as if she would be waiting for me to go into the ballet. I don’t know where those fears come from. This is a big city. I am only going to run into her in a week if it’s on purpose.

My initial impression of the city first hand is that it’s pretty fucking awesome though, the weather doesn’t get me down, everyone says it rains and the benefit of that is that it’s incredibly green and you run around in a gore-tex shell to keep dry. That doesn’t bother me; in fact I would say it would bother me more if it were always hot and dry. And like I said the permeation of the coffee shop culture is pretty cool. At orientation this morning everyone sat around sipping espresso and noshing on fresh fruit. People sat around chatting, there was some swapping of war stories. But there was no-one sitting in the hall-way trying to crank their leg over their head in an intimidating (and foolish) display of flexibility… well there was one girl doing that, but she looked like if she coughed she would break herself. She was T.B. skinny.

Maybe more tonight, I need to get a light post out there and get some humor off my chest.

Soundtracks

Every life has a soundtrack. The iPod in my life has exacerbated this. I remember moments in my life sometimes by what I was listening to.

Jury Exams at Fordham: Jimmy Eat World
Backpack through the Maroon Bells: Pearl Jam & Alicia Keys
Europe: Sufjan Stevens
My grandmother’s passing: Dispatch and Breathing Machine
The Bighorns: James Taylor, Cat Stevens, and Garth Brooks.
Sr. Semester (The spiral): Rufus Wainwright, Deathcab
Today: Cat Stevens

Now Cat Stevens’ music has a special place in my life. I have to admit since his reincarnation as Yusef Islam I have yet to get into him. His music is the music of my parent’s and uncle’s. I have fond and distinct of my namesake singing “Moonshadow” around the fireplace at our cabin followed by the classic “Peace Train,” Then we would all join in on “Father and Son.” But I think if I had one song that I had to listen to for the rest of my life (and this is meant to be taken merely as a slice in time, of course I reserve the right to change it in the future) that song would have to be Cat Stevens’ “The Wind.”

I hear the opening chords, and get goose bumps, every time. And these goose bumps aren’t little chicken bumps. The first time I had to shave my body for Conference championships in swimming I made the mistake of not wearing pants coming out of the shower in our hotel, and the goose bumps hurt, I felt physical pain. I get these goose bumps from just the opening chords. The song was originally released in 1971, prior to his conversion to Islam, and I think this is interesting, not because of the huge difference post-conversion, but it hints at the allure of pacifism and choosing your own path.

So. On to my impressions.

I listen to the wind
To the wind of my soul
Where Ill end up well I think,
Only God really knows
Ive sat upon the setting sun
But never, never never never
I never wanted water once
No, never, never, never

I have an idea of what he is going through here. The obvious here: the transition from graduation to life, which is rough. And if you have read my previous posts about it, I went through my own business chronicled in vague details here. The second lines jump out at me from a couple of different angles. Our first backpacking trip as a family was navigating the Hole in the Wall canyon in the Bighorn Mountains (Outlaw Canyon). We underestimated the amount of time it would take us, we thought we could do hot breakfasts in the morning, I spilled a dinner, our water purifier broke, in short, we got stranded and were 3 hours short of having a Sheriff flyover search and rescue. We had run out of water and were drinking right out of the river and I had survived on one fig Newton to climb the 1100 or so vertical feet to get out of the canyon. The second verse goes like this:

I listen to my words but
They fall far below
I let my music take me where
My heart wants to go
I swam upon the devils lake
But never, never never never
Ill never make the same mistake
No, never, never, never

This is a verse that has developed a new meaning for me. In the recent past I have had issue listening to myself, believing myself, knowing what I should do and second-guessing my past. I have said that it’s easier to forgive others than to forgive myself. To me, this sentiment has vastly improved, and I am not looking back.

This song bumped it’s way along on my shuffle on the flight today, and it was the last two lines which gave me strength to assemble myself and prepare for the week. So if you feel so inclined. Get the song on iTunes, download it (il)legally, leave me a request in the comments and I’ll email it to you. But I am curious as to your impressions of it.

happy V.D. (now get some cream for that ...)

When Ck and I were together we only got to spend Valentine’s Day in the same city once. It was one of the hardships of being in a long distance relationship. But there is a serious upside to not having to place that much value in a holiday through which I really don’t see a point. I liked to think of myself as a boyfriend who would send flowers for a small thing like it being the third Thursday in October. Or an email in the middle of the week because a voicemail was just a little too regular (isn’t that a great surprise to open your inbox ad find something that doesn’t fit with the penis enlargement and pyramid schemes?).

Once again I am going to find myself in the same city as Ck this Valentine’s Day, but for my own purposes. The extended break that she and I have been on has been good for me. I have shed so much of my bitter feelings of rejection and resentment. I am going to be there for a weeklong audition workshop … and I honestly can’t wait to get started on it. I have been dancing so well and feeling so good about myself that I am radiating confidence. I feel as much as this being I auditioning for Seattle, Seattle is auditioning for me. Is this a city that I can live in with the chance of seeing Ck being relegated to a chance passing on a bus? Time will tell, but it will be good for me to make that judgment. We have decided to meet up at some point this trip, but for me, that must be after I have passed my judgment on the city, and assessed myself.

I am excited/nervous for things to start. A bit like the first time I swam the 1500, you have to line up your counter, you don’t want your goggles to be too loose/too tight, you want your suit to fit well. There are many things that could go wrong this week and I have never had an audition that lasted this long.

Again friends have commented that I have grown up, in a sense I feel that way as well, but it’s a test of what grown up me really is. I have been somewhat cacooned as I have been working on myself and this is a chance to see how well wind-tested I am, it’s (as I have learned) a process.

This is it for now, the plan being to keep friends and family updated, and to do more writing in general. I have kept myself hidden for far too long and my people have gone without defecation jokes for long enough.