This tap class is so very fun. We're now at the point where we're learning a combination of steps to the song "Razzle Dazzle" (sung by Richard Gere) from the Chicago soundtrack. It's so shmaltzy! I feel like I should be dancing in a top hat and fishnets instead of my too-small, wrinkly yoga pants and various faded tank tops. It's like some sort of twisted, amateur cabaret. I love it! KK, the instructor, has us doing the silliest, goofiest moves, such as seven flaps in a circle with arms outstretched and total jazz hands. We also do a flap-ball-change, flap-ball-change, pivot, pivot move that I like to embellish with a little pop of the hip at the top of each pivot, because I am a dork who feels compelled to ham it up in the floor-to-ceiling mirror.
The first week, KK kept admonishing everyone to lighten up and try smiling, for god's sake, because we were all concentrating so hard, furrowing our respective brows, and appearing more or less constipated. Now we're all grins and giggles, because who can resist smiling when she's toe-heeling across the floor while Richard Gere sings "Give 'em the ol' flim-flam flummox"? During class two weeks ago, someone actually spontaneously shouted, "This is fun!" as we were practicing our combination to music.
One of the best parts of class is returning home afterward and showing S what we've learned that day. I can't $#@%ing find my Chicago CD, of course, so I have to sing the lyrics myself while dancing the moves for S. S gets this delightfully horrified-amused-entertained-disbelieving look on his face, and slowly shakes his head back and forth as I make my way through the combination. I can tell he's like, "Dear god, who is this freaky woman I married?" It's fabulous.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Happy Feet
Hello there. I guess I should start off by announcing that the much trumpeted "8 in 8" plan is on hold for the time being. I currently weigh 128 pounds, and my doctor advises me to stay put at that number because it's apparently just right for me. Well, OK. I'm happy to know I'm not officially overweight, and I'll just keep on with the moderate working-out and mindful eating. I just won't actively try to lose any additional weight. Too bad, though, because I do love saying "8 in 8." It's catchy.
Right then. Now that the boring stuff is out of the way, I'm eager to tell you about my fun little community-college extension-program tap-dance class, which began last night. Of course, not surprisingly, I started off on the wrong foot (ha!) by arriving to the studio shod in rubber-soled Pumas, which---how could I have forgotten this?!---is a dance-class no-no. Whoops! No rubber-soled shoes, ever! The kindly instructor gently suggested I find some leather-soled shoes (read "ballet or jazz slippers") or some tap shoes (duh), or that I just dance in my socks or with bare feet (eeew). Hmm. I mean, I didn't want to get all crazy and go buy real-deal tap shoes for a freaking five-week, low-key, adult-ed. tap class, but it seems that's the best option of those offered me by the instructor. So, OK. Except, they cost money! And they seem like such a frivolous purchase for someone who's just casually dabbling in tap. Also, were I to own a pair of tap shoes, I'd be super-tempted to wear them around our all-hardwood-floors apartment for fun, which would really, really annoy the neighbor (and scare the bejesus out of my cats.) But, whatev. I might try to score a used pair on Craig's List.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, last night's class! It got off to a slow start, since the ballet class beforehand ran late. (Hey, no fair!) Speaking of which, can I just say THANK GOD I exercised good judgment (for once) and refrained from signing up for ballet. I watched the last few minutes of last night's class, and it was sort of funny-sad-pitiful. I know I would feel ridiculous, elephantine, and clunky trying to run lightly on my toes across the studio, arms outstretched, as if I'm "trying to catch a train," as the instructor put it. It was clear from their self-concious giggling that many of those courageous ballet students felt a bit ridiculous, too.
So the ballet class ended late, and my class started late. Regardless, it was mildly thrilling walking into a dance studio for the first time since last winter’s ballroom-dance class/fiasco. I love the worn hardwood floors, the smooth ballet barre along the back wall, the side-to-side mirrors along the front...even the mild stink of sweat and feet. It's comforting and takes me back to the many happy afternoons I spent in Miss Barb's dance studio back in the day. My class includes ten women of varying ages and ethnicities, and no men. It's a very diverse group (except for the no-men thing): a couple of women have no tap experience whatsoever, and several took a couple of years of it as kids, like me. One woman also practices Romanian dance as a hobby, which she says is similar to tap.
We first stood at the barre and practiced flapping one foot repeatedly, over and over, using our thigh muscles to perform most of the action. After practicing and more or less perfecting the flap on each foot, we tried it moving across the floor. She had us moving really slowly, which was kind of excruciating. Flaps are one thing I remember clearly, and they're much easier to do fast than slowly.
After flapping, we learned flap-ball-changes, which are fun and easy. Some of my classmates were having trouble finding the beat of the music, which was of course exacerbated by the din of clacking tap shoes. When people in tap shoes are off beat, it's painfully obvious. Errrgh! Our instructor, being very sweet and nice and all, encouraged those of us who were off-rhythm to "practice finding the beat in popular music" the next time we're listening to the radio. (Sigh.) I have to say, a person could be as athletic and strong and agile as hell, but without rhythm, that person will never be a decent dancer, I'm afraid.
After flap-ball-change, the instructor mixed things up a bit and had us heel-toe across the floor several times. I couldn't help but swing my arms a bit, which ended up looking rather hoe-down when I caught a glipse of myself in the mirror. Hee. We then toe-heeled, which is not as easy as it sounds, because, to do it right, you must place all your body weight on the foot that's toe-ing. If you just try to imagine that for a minute, you'll maybe see what I mean. Also, it's not a natural movement, since regular walking is always heel-toe, not the opposite.
Finally, at the end of class: flap-ball-change-ball-change! Man, was that ever fun! It actually felt like real tap dancing and was just challenging enough to make me feel accomplished once I got it down.
Today, in an effort to make P and J at work laugh, I tried flapping my way over to P's cubicle with some work. I stupidly caught my feet on the office carpeting and almost did a face-plant, which actually made for a more dramatic entry into P's cube than I had planned.
Right then. Now that the boring stuff is out of the way, I'm eager to tell you about my fun little community-college extension-program tap-dance class, which began last night. Of course, not surprisingly, I started off on the wrong foot (ha!) by arriving to the studio shod in rubber-soled Pumas, which---how could I have forgotten this?!---is a dance-class no-no. Whoops! No rubber-soled shoes, ever! The kindly instructor gently suggested I find some leather-soled shoes (read "ballet or jazz slippers") or some tap shoes (duh), or that I just dance in my socks or with bare feet (eeew). Hmm. I mean, I didn't want to get all crazy and go buy real-deal tap shoes for a freaking five-week, low-key, adult-ed. tap class, but it seems that's the best option of those offered me by the instructor. So, OK. Except, they cost money! And they seem like such a frivolous purchase for someone who's just casually dabbling in tap. Also, were I to own a pair of tap shoes, I'd be super-tempted to wear them around our all-hardwood-floors apartment for fun, which would really, really annoy the neighbor (and scare the bejesus out of my cats.) But, whatev. I might try to score a used pair on Craig's List.
Aaaaaaaaanyway, last night's class! It got off to a slow start, since the ballet class beforehand ran late. (Hey, no fair!) Speaking of which, can I just say THANK GOD I exercised good judgment (for once) and refrained from signing up for ballet. I watched the last few minutes of last night's class, and it was sort of funny-sad-pitiful. I know I would feel ridiculous, elephantine, and clunky trying to run lightly on my toes across the studio, arms outstretched, as if I'm "trying to catch a train," as the instructor put it. It was clear from their self-concious giggling that many of those courageous ballet students felt a bit ridiculous, too.
So the ballet class ended late, and my class started late. Regardless, it was mildly thrilling walking into a dance studio for the first time since last winter’s ballroom-dance class/fiasco. I love the worn hardwood floors, the smooth ballet barre along the back wall, the side-to-side mirrors along the front...even the mild stink of sweat and feet. It's comforting and takes me back to the many happy afternoons I spent in Miss Barb's dance studio back in the day. My class includes ten women of varying ages and ethnicities, and no men. It's a very diverse group (except for the no-men thing): a couple of women have no tap experience whatsoever, and several took a couple of years of it as kids, like me. One woman also practices Romanian dance as a hobby, which she says is similar to tap.
We first stood at the barre and practiced flapping one foot repeatedly, over and over, using our thigh muscles to perform most of the action. After practicing and more or less perfecting the flap on each foot, we tried it moving across the floor. She had us moving really slowly, which was kind of excruciating. Flaps are one thing I remember clearly, and they're much easier to do fast than slowly.
After flapping, we learned flap-ball-changes, which are fun and easy. Some of my classmates were having trouble finding the beat of the music, which was of course exacerbated by the din of clacking tap shoes. When people in tap shoes are off beat, it's painfully obvious. Errrgh! Our instructor, being very sweet and nice and all, encouraged those of us who were off-rhythm to "practice finding the beat in popular music" the next time we're listening to the radio. (Sigh.) I have to say, a person could be as athletic and strong and agile as hell, but without rhythm, that person will never be a decent dancer, I'm afraid.
After flap-ball-change, the instructor mixed things up a bit and had us heel-toe across the floor several times. I couldn't help but swing my arms a bit, which ended up looking rather hoe-down when I caught a glipse of myself in the mirror. Hee. We then toe-heeled, which is not as easy as it sounds, because, to do it right, you must place all your body weight on the foot that's toe-ing. If you just try to imagine that for a minute, you'll maybe see what I mean. Also, it's not a natural movement, since regular walking is always heel-toe, not the opposite.
Finally, at the end of class: flap-ball-change-ball-change! Man, was that ever fun! It actually felt like real tap dancing and was just challenging enough to make me feel accomplished once I got it down.
Today, in an effort to make P and J at work laugh, I tried flapping my way over to P's cubicle with some work. I stupidly caught my feet on the office carpeting and almost did a face-plant, which actually made for a more dramatic entry into P's cube than I had planned.
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