it's a love story, baby just say yes!

The only quiet time during Dance Adelphi week is the few extra hours we have in between the Friday Matinee and Friday Evening show. I've been sitting, obviously, watching and writing when I can and I thought my dancer followers might appreciate some notes on them while I have the time. So I have to ask you, what do you see when you look at a bunch of dried roses?...

Even delicate Natalie agrees- "This is shitty." The simplicity of this statement makes me laugh. She laughs too, though I can see in her tattered legs warmers and beaten shoes what an absurdly understated comment it really is. The warm-up was a killer. Of course we were a little late and talked a little too much at barre, but the work was the same. I finally feel the ballet love that all the greats swear by. I used to wonder in angst why anyone would want to do the same shit day in and day out, how boring that is! But now in my old age (old, in dancer years), I have come to cherish the consistency of a good ballet barre; grateful for it's predictability in such an unstable world.

Pancakes for dinner! The green room is focused but frazzled with the time honored task of pancaking. To pancake a shoe means to cover it with tan makeup or various other substances to make it the same color as your complexion. Basically, turning pink slippers contemporary. There's no great art in pancaking, which is evident as I observe dancers sprawled out in every position trying to avoid "splotchiness" and getting powder everywhere.

Laura Jane (stage manager) perches atop the staircase where as a freshman I once watched Shoshanna get lifted feet above the Olmstead Theatre every night for A Dream Play. That tech assignment was how I got close to Michelle and Erin. Now I call them Meesh and E.Woods. LJC calls 15 till places. She is as alive and gracious as the single yellow rose she is holding. A glittery cloud of chatter puffs and flows over the dressing rooms - excited dancers wipe off warm up sweat and transform into the gorgeous women they all are. There is little clothing being worn. Opening gifts are everywhere; crates of clementines waiting in every dressing cage from Jennifer, a fruit platter from the LD Debra. Roses from Alexandre. Beautifully spoken blessings from Frank. I will always love that man.

"10 till places!"
Alex frets over Sam, who has cut his hair without permission, and over Jessie, who went tanning the afternoon of Opening Nite and now closely resembles a rock lobster. She, as Jessie so often does, smartly talks her way out of it, assuring him that she'll look gooooorgeous tomorrow. The understudies sit calm in the comfy green room chairs. They no doubt wish they too were frantically smoothing on eye shadows, yet they are happy to be caught up in the moments. Moments that will stay with them whether they like it or not.

"Places! We are at Places!"
I can't figure out how that final call always sneaks up on a cast although there are warnings every 5 minutes for a half and hour prior to it. A blur of Skittles runs by and LJC urges the Seseme Street Suite cast not to run. Ziggy lingers at the fruit platter, stuffing her chipmunk cheeks with cantelope until somebody pushes her along.

Dancers are always eating. And being gross. Dancers are gross people. They talk about pooping, being gassy, having hair in awkward places, and getting pimples around their mouths.
Tim burps loudly and allows it to linger. Everyone stops their chatter to groan and he just shouts, "It was Ellie!" referring to the prima ballerina of the department.
Alex, "Thank you, Tim. My god everyone burps here. This isn't a school, it's a fucking farm!"

Tre's piece goes on and Meesh briefly freaks out that she has sat in brown junk with her poofy white costume. She has not, and we convince her to go to places. Melana comes out in the most hideous outfit I have ever laid eyes on. Even Alex is stunned to silence. How do I descirbe this, I say. Tim's words are "the floppiest pancake clown shoes I've ever seen." She has black cutoff capris under my pretty pink chiffon dress and a red and black houndstooth scarf tied around her like a cape. Gorgeoness? When intermission starts and Tre's cast returns, Meesh comes rushing over to me already ripping her costume off and whispering about how on her leg she was tonight. Note: "on your leg" means to be on balance, correctly placed and centered. Tre himself comes back in near tears shouting, "Work babies!"

We're back to talking about bowels. Kaitlin warns her cast mates that she's still feeling a little gassy. Ziggy admits that she let one lose right as she jumped into the light for Pinball. We are gross people. Michelle reads Cosmo out loud while we eat all her Amish friendship bread and Kelly Butterworth tells secrets of how she, the goodie girl, got detention as a kindergartner. When the act is over, we will probably be very obnoixous and scream- I mean sing -some throw back song or just one of the tunes self warm ups have made classic. Triple threats. And this routine will go on, every night for a week and a half, until the show closes and we have but memories of these glittery clouds and half naked sing-a-longs.

What do you see when you look at a bunch of dried roses? I see this.



...Ricky.
"Love Story" by: Taylor Swift