I haven’t been very good about taking pictures during this pregnancy, but I have had the opportunity to belly dance. Twice.
22 weeks at a benefit for the Massachusetts Humane Society:
Lilya with Fan Veils
34 weeks at Arisia:
Lilya at Arisia
I’m not happy with my performance at Arisia (smile, dammit!), but I think it’s a great record of how I looked and moved at that point in the pregnancy.
1. Mazda 3s might look pretty and drive well during the summer, but god help you if you try to drive one in the snow. “I am a leaf on the wind – watch how I soar” is not my quote of choice for navigating the roads of NH.
2. I love the fact that 90% of the time when I pick up a zipcar the radio is tuned to NPR.
3. Since I got back from my visit to Allison and Na’he, Mr. Fizz is the parent of choice for reading books and watching movies. In fact, he is doing bedtime duty right now. Clearly I should go away more.
4. A brief list of things in bed with G tonight:
– A toy supermarket scanner
– Marty, the zebra from Madagascar
– his “new” toy car
– a plastic dinosaur we call Aladar after the Disney character
– two dreidels
– a stuffed Nemo
– Pickles, a stuffed dog
– Milk a la G, made with 1% milk, ice and miralax. Yum.
5. G’s most frequent rant when he doesn’t want to see someone? “I mess him up! I wrap him up up up in towel and GRIND him up! I put him in trash and mash mash mash! I mess him up! Thbbbbbbt!” We think he might have a good career as a mob enforcer. And we have no idea where he got this little tirade from.
6. For the first time ever last night I was offered a joint on my way into a gig at a private party. I know that marijuana possession is decriminalized and all, but really?
Did you know that I-93 crosses the Pemigewasset river five times before exit 42?
G experienced his first camping trip this past weekend. We made it all of two nights before G’s budding cold got the better of us and we packed it in. Apart from the sniffles he seemed to enjoy it, though!
I love living in a city where a box of free books on the sidewalk draws everyone over for a look. I think it’s a combination of yankee frugality (free book? Saves me a trip to the library!) and the general over-edumacatedness of the town.
From the mouth of a seven year belly dance veteran at today’s benefit: “I just can’t DO choreography. I need to dance in the moment.” The irony was that her improvised song SUCKED. Big time.
I think I’m in love: I just bought a new macbook, and already I am in its thrall. Must go play with it.
1. On my way to a gig I passed a headstone manufacturer with a huge sign out front that read “Go Slow – LIVE.” Nothing like cheating yourself out of potential customers.
2. For the first time ever I stabbed myself with my sword. Not while in performance, but I dropped my sword as I was leaving for my gigs and the point of it pierced the skin on my big toe. It bled. A lot.
3. It’s always a good idea for your toenail polish to be the color of blood. That way, it won’t look like your big toe is bleeding all over.
4. The plan for when I got home: Shower, ice cream, west wing, bed. The reality: G woke up as I was changing out of my costume, and was completely freaked out about something. All I could get out of him was “bear! no! bear! no!” Milk didn’t really help. Aba didn’t do the trick – he finally fell asleep after 45 minutes of crying when I took him into our bed to nurse. I have managed to sneak out, but really should get back.
I danced at the Athenian Corner last night with the rest of Amira Jamal’s advanced students, the first time in a long time I’ve danced with a live band. I love dancing with a live band, but it just doesn’t happen very often now that I don’t perform at restaurants very often. Some pictures:
I admit that I kind of look like an awkward dork in this picture, but I really like how happy I look. It reflects how I actually *feel* when I dance!
(Photo by M. Yaiser)
And here’s me being a diva:
(Photo by Albert Ma, and I feel like I’m one of those old hollywood stars in soft focus, but eh)
And Nepenthe and me doing our duet (before I royally screwed up and forgot a whole sixteen beats of choreography). After seeing these pictures I’m really excited to see the video of our performance at Amira Jamal’s recital a couple weeks ago.
Photo by Albert Ma
(And for the (morbid) record, I want to be buried in that red costume.)
After bellydance class last night one of the girls played a cute song by Deidre Flint entitled “The Boob Fairy.” The chorus repeats the line “The boob fairy never came for me” several times.
Part way through the song our teacher asked if we were meant to take the song at face value. “Sure!” we all said. Our teacher paused and listened again, and then asked, “But what IS the Boot Fairy?”
I have a new theory for belly dance classes:
The more advanced the dancer, the cheaper/less flashy the practice attire.
I attended a multi-level class last night, and was amused to see the student divide – the advanced dancers and pros were by and large wearing yoga pants and $10 dollar turkish special hip scarves (or no hipscarves at all), while the newer dancers were wearing skirts and elaborate $50 egyptian hip scarves.
I fondly remember that for the first four or five years of dance classes I wore one of my many full circle skirts and an expensive hip scarf to each class. It was a time to dress up and wear all the costumes I made or bought but never had a chance to wear as I wasn’t yet performing. Now I have a dozen designer costumes and never spend money on practice wear. Reallocation of resources, I guess!
While on the way to my Thursday night gig I was doing 70 on the highway and running through my list of gear:
bra and belt – check
gauntlets – check
makeup – check
deodorant – check
shaved armpits – uhhhh…when was the last time I shaved? LAST thursday?
I shoved a hand inside my coat and sweater and confirmed that I was WAY too hairy to dance unless I somehow held my arms down at my waist and requested that nobody use a flash. Crap! The highway between home and the gig is a quiet stretch of road with nary a gas station…but fortunately I had one shopping center to go before the boonies really began. I pulled off at the next exit, screeched into CVS, grabbed the first razor I could find, and bolted.
At least now my dance bag will always have a razor in it!
I just re-read my last post, and I should hasten to add that at this restaurant I’m talking about there are two paid dancers to anchor the night (I was one of those last night), and then a series of unpaid new-ish dancers doing 5-10 minute performances. No undercutting here!