|
Latest
< > ? # |
2002-06-12 - 12:03 a.m.|Feast or Famine Damn its been a long time! The dance recital was a two-show extravaganza. I hit all my jumps and turns very theatrically, like some kind of Gene Kelly drag king. And in the course of all that rehearsing, I developed a crush on one of the ladies I had to pretend to flirt with. She completed her theft of my heart, this gorgeous, energetic soccer mom, when she drank a bottle of champagne in the dressing room during the evening show's first act and never missed a step. My mom went to both shows and most of the week's rehearsals. Having someone to hang out with was the only way I got through all the waiting, cause every rehearsal we were running at least an hour behind. My friend S, her sister K, Mama, and E were at the matinee; my grandparents (both of whom I forgot to invite til the matinee) and my parents came to the evening show. Since my boss was in the audience watching his ass-kicking beautiful granddaughters dance in almost every number, he remembered to bring me flowers too. Daddy also gave me roses, the florist was smart enough to set up a booth to sell them at the auditorium. (She's also one of my few clients). It was an event tantamount to a Friday night championship high school football game. Speaking of football, one of the numbers was "Gator Country". The ending featured two kids in gator suits tearing up a stuffed bulldog. Gators, for those of you who are Yankees, represent the University of Florida; Bulldogs are the University of Georgia. We have the most rabid Bulldog fans in the state around these parts. Even though we live 15 minutes from Florida. And most of them never went to college. I used to love to tell people here how the average Athens resident (that's where UGA is, FYY) either tolerates or deeply resents Bulldog football. But I digress. My dad, who isn't even a football fan, is still mad about the disrespectful act. And I'm sure he's not the only gentleman who is. But the role of a small-town dance teacher is important. And she is a somewhat feared individual, not this one in particular but all of them. I can't express that thread in words at this time, but trust me, the dance teacher has a lot of power. I think she has some job security. Although I fear her, that didn't stop me from sitting in a chair in a shadow and watching the first act of the matinee from the wings. As dancers we weren't allowed in the audience and even had to wear little badges that said "Miss So and So, Adult Dancer". Down here we call everyone by Miss and their first name, regardless of marital status. So anyway, I knew I wasn't supposed to be back there only no one had told me, just common sense. I figured they were all confused and everyone was looking at me like they knew I wasn't supposed to be there, but didn't want to be the one to tell me to leave. Plus there was a rumor started I could watch cause the dance teacher is my client. So I just acted like I supposed to be doing what I was doing, which is my everyday policy for gettin' away with stuff. I have this thing about gettin' away with stuff. I would have gone back to the dressing room if anyone had told me to. Well, in the evening they handed it down that no one could watch backstage except adult dancers whose kids were in a given dance. They also added that Miss L, the dance teacher, was in a "pissy" mood. This was enough to keep me in the dressing room where I learned fascinating facts about my very talkative classmates. Meeting some cool people was not quite enough scientific evidence of coolness to keep me from moving, but it made me imagine missing this place a little when I go. Not missing it, just imagining missing it. So I went to Athens this weekend and ten minutes after I got there I'd been offered a job and a friend said, hey let's go look for a place and be roommates. I get to start a couple the good parts of my life over. More later, but let me just close by saying I love it when people I like wink at me, it just makes me want to clap and say "do it again!" I can't wink myself, I'm an eyebrow raiser. They're both expressions we cultivate out of irony and keep for their charm. Well, sweet dreams. And if you have a weird dream, write me about it.
|