Because I said so...

Back from the Depths...

aziyade — Wed, 02 Jul 2008 16:03:01 GMT

For those of you in-the-know, my darling husband had his last surgery on June 18, and seems to be recovering very well. I hope this is the miracle cure we were promised, and it seems to be, as he can actually BREATHE now for the first time in about a year. His torso looks like he was attacked by a shark, though. But hey -- chicks dig scars. The confrontation -- with the families, with mortality, with our own marital issues -- was tough. I appreciate all the thoughts and prayers sent out to us. It's been tough for US, as a couple, but I'm happy to say our 20-year anniversary (in 3 weeks) looks like it could herald the start of ANOTHER 20 years together. 20 years. Wow. Where did the time go? This time last year I started making plans to beginagain with all the stuff I'd BEEN planning on doing. Well, it's time again. For beginagainagain. Our local dance scene is shaking up a bit, and the other teachers are moving locations, leaving town, changing styles. It's time to figure out WHAT we want (as EBD) and where we want to do it. My new friend / chef / partner is excited about the Moroccan dinner theatre. I've got a lead on a new drummer, just moved here. We're still arguing with Leo about having a dancer one weekend a month at the restaurant. I have a plan and I know where I want to be. Now, before I get TOO old, I intend to achieve it. I missed you all and I intend to get back to chatting very soon. Thanks again for the kind words. HUGS!

Gravity fails

aziyade — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 14:24:06 GMT

Just when I think I've come up with something all clever-like, I run across another forgotten Leonard Cohen album, which painfully reminds me of my own fabulous inadequacies as a writer: "The blizzard of the world has crossed the threshold and it has overturned the order of the soul." And that's not even one of his best. Sigh. Personally, I'm lost in the rain in Juarez, and it's not even Easter time...

The midmonth report thingie

aziyade — Tue, 15 Apr 2008 14:18:42 GMT

My email is STILL not working. Insight is still fiddling around with their webmail server, and it's still down, which means I haven't been able to access my email for going on a week now. STILL! VERY frustrating. Calls to the service center just automatically inform me to "use Outlook" which I specifically DON'T want to do, since I wanted the portability of web mail. I use 3 different computers during the week and I want access to all my stuff on all of them. Is that too much to ask? Had a FUN weekend at Purdue, though. I hadn't been up there since high school, and I remember now why I didn't want to go to a big state school. You have to walk everywhere and it's easy to get lost. At UE we used to gripe when we had to walk the whole 100 feet from the parking lot to the main building. Spoiled? Sure. We paid extra for that. (It actually SNOWED in Lafayette this weekend. Not much, but it was enough. Snow. In April. What IS the world coming to?) We had workshops with the fabulous Deniz and Jennifer Rose, and I'm just blown away by both of them. Deniz showed me that veil dancing is more than just walking around with an annoying piece of fabric, and Jennifer gave me my first taste of Tribal or Tribal-Fusion, and I dig it. Il Troubadore played for the hafla (sans Dale, but with a new drummer) and much fun was had by all. Their lead singer cracks me up. (Must get his individual CDs.) I made a mental note that my next husband or lover or roommate or best friend is SO going to be a cello player. Something about the music of the cello makes me think of the first language of the universe -- those deep, rich sounds intoning the poetry of the gods, or a composition by God himself, and alternately it seems both divine and profane to dance to it. But purple prose aside, the weekend was fun, albeit exhausting, and I think a good time was had by all. I came home with sore abs, a new attitude towards tribal and veil work (and a fierce determination to do it in my Goth pieces), a better sense of stage theatrics, and some tweaks for my own dancing. Stacey and I brainstormed and discussed the weekend during the 4-hour drive home, and decided we were going to try some improv dancing together even if it kills us. The control freak in me shrieks at the idea of dancing to live music or improv-ing with another person -- since how can you CONTROL what's going to happen? AGGH! But the little rebel in me is excited about the prospect of letting go and just seeing what happens.

Transitions ...

aziyade — Tue, 18 Mar 2008 15:59:23 GMT

People move in and out of our lives surprisingly quickly, when you really look at it. We hold them to our hearts for just seconds before they become memories and their faces or voices fade. Former lovers, grandparents, parents, childhood friends -- reduced to electrical impulses in the brain, and smiling disconnected faces in yellowed photographs. My mother recently lost her sister to cancer. It was not unexpected, but that doesn't negate the pain or the empty feeling of having lost someone who shared your life. Mom is -- was -- one of five living children, and the sister she lost was the second oldest child. With that death began the unspoken countdown: "Which one of us will be next?" Each child sighs inwardly and quietly tallies their own health problems against the statistics. Old hurts and regrets uncloak themselves. They step out from their shadowy caves and present themselves in full battle regalia. Funerals become feuds. What needs to be said is left unspoken, consigned to the ground along with "the deceased," but still a living, breathing, hating thing that measures each day left in our personal biological calendar with pain and fear and loss. Mom allows herself to remember only the best in people. It's her special gift. She has continually woven peace in the family, between warring factions suffering from their own brands of remorse and regret, but she was never able to create peace between "the deceased" and her son. The son, my cousin, did not attend the funerary games. He will grow to regret this, if he does not already. They all do. Mom has seen it too many times. I think Mom believes she is the next in line -- or at least, sometimes I think she hopes she might be. Her health is failing, but it has been for the last few years. She has regressed, in her illness, to almost a childlike state where she needs to be reminded to eat, reminded to get out of the house, reminded to wake up every morning and go about her day. This too was not unexpected, at least for me. Everyone over 30 has learned they will face the day when the parent becomes the child. Only, most children look forward to life and growing up as a relief and release from their pain. Mom is looking to death for hers. Her sister's death set in motion a chain of events. There had to be a first one, and I think Mom fears being the last one. Always the middleman, she wants to quietly go to her death somewhere in the middle -- between the warring sides, between the generations, a bridge between her oldest half-sister and the rest of her blood siblings. I can see her as a Raphaelite angel, her arms outstretched to stay the swords of the warriors on either side of her. I hope I can remember my Mother as the eternal peace-weaver, tall and strong, instead of this tiny little elfin woman with chubby cheeks and an eternally pained expression who lives in front of the TV set with my father. Twenty years ago my mother was my Mother, passing out sage advice and telling me not to wear such ridiculously high heels. Twenty years ago she accepted my Darling Husband into her life and encouraged me to go back to school. She helped me study my French conjugations and took to calling me "mon amie." I was still her daughter, but I had made it to adulthood with a husband, a Bachelor's degree, and a pretty sweet job. I didn't hate any of my family members, and I had few serious regrets. She had done her job as mother. Now we could be friends. We are still friends, of course. But there are times, even as old as I am, when I long for the sage advice of the Mother. Especially now, when the 20 years I've spent with my husband seems like just seconds, as his health spirals downward. The unspoken countdown has begun. How many days, how many months? How long does he have? How long do I have? How many years will we be together? How many years will we be apart? Nothing is certain, I know. As my physical body inches toward 40, I can't help but look back on all those moments of transition -- the car wreck at 16, not getting on the bus to Chicago, the marriage, the near-divorce, not getting on that plane, taking Darling Husband to ER last summer -- each a moment of terrible possibility, each leading me into a new phase of life, perhaps? I need a road map to follow them. I need a mother's advice to make sense of it. But Mom has transitioned into "mon amie" and she has no advice to give, save for "You should call your uncle some time. He misses you." The eternal peace-weaver never sleeps. I want her to be there to help me come to terms with her own death, as ridiculous as that sounds. I want her to make sense of what's happening to Darling Husband -- but she can't of course, any more than she could make sense of my grandmother's wasting disease, or the cancer that my aunt battled, or the rancor that existed between my aunt and her son. The mother has transitioned into the child, and children don't think that way. My life, like everyone's, is a series of snapshots. Some of them are older and more faded than others: dead grandparents I never knew, holding an infant I don't recognize; dead grandparents I knew, holding my hands; friends long forgotten; friends fondly remembered; lovers who didn't work out, their names deliberately forgotten; 21st birthdays; 30th birthdays; family pets; family friends; strangers captured in the corner of a photo from a summer vacation. All possibilities. All transitions from one snapshot moment to the next. I have no regrets between moments -- that is my mother's advice in practice. I've made peace with the demons of memory. I don't regret today and I don't really fear the next transition, whatever and whenever that may be. But I do fear facing it alone.

My brain is full. But thrilled!

aziyade — Mon, 12 Nov 2007 15:14:04 GMT

Home again, home again, jiggity jig. So this weekend I got to study with the lovely and brilliant Habiba once again, and I had a blast. When I saw Habiba in Indy a couple of years ago I fell in love with the idea of learning Ghawazee from someone who had actually STUDIED with the family, instead of that watered-down Reda stuff that filtered through the midwest in the 1980s and 1990s. What a difference the REAL thing is!!! (Sunday's workshop on classical Andalusian dance was tough. I love 9/8 rhythms, and I'm cool with a 10/8 Samai if it's heavily accented or it's well, Lamma Bada, cause we've all danced to that. But those other odd rhythms just twisted my head clean off. I love watching HER do the dance, but it was a bit of a train wreck for me. I'd like to try again, after I've gotten a sense of the music and the rhythms. Maybe she'll be back!) I have lots of video of the Banat Mazin peforming. As much as I could find. I thought maybe I could teach myself what they were doing if I just ran the tapes at like a quarter-speed! Didn't work. But anyway, now I've been officially educated, and I love it. Mona of course said, "I don't like this music OR this kind of dancing. This isn't Ghawazee. I like what we did instead." Now, Mona is USUALLY a stickler for what she thinks of as authentic. She won't vary a step in our international dance class, she's not interested in fusion, and to her, Mahmoud Reda hung the moon. You should have SEEN her face when I told her what I found out about Reda's "fakeloric" recreations. I had rather thought she'd gotten used to the idea that the ACTUAL dance doesn't look anything like what she was taught. I suppose she'll probably have a heart attack when she sees my "as authentic as I could make, but with modern costume Haggalah." ! I realize Reda is a god to some people. And that's fine. I personally don't care for his choreographies because to me, they're 90% ballet, and if I wanted to dance ballet, I never would have left EDT. I was SOOO disappointed when I bought the Banat el Nile choreography video. EVERY DANCE LOOKED THE SAME!!! But anyway.... You open your mouth to ask ANYBODY about the "ethnically accurate" version of some dance and you risk having someone put a fist in it for DARING to speak ill of Master Reda. That is gettting a little wearisome. ESPECIALLY when the people throwing down rose petals have never actually studied with anyone ELSE Egyptian, of they stopped going to major workshops in the 90s, or they haven't even bothered to actually BUY videos of the ACTUAL dances of those areas. This stuff is available now!!! Avail yourself to learn something!! Okay that criticism doesn't go out to Mona, cause she does try to learn, but we do disagree on one major point: fantasy fusions passing as ethnically accurate dances. Personally, I LOVE fantasy fusions! I want to dance the dance of Kali, and do veil poi and dance with fire. I love the idea of dancing archetypes, and even dancing to weird music or bringing in elements of modern or jazz or whatever. I love fusion when it's done right, cause like most folks I want to be entertained. But what I don't want to do is try and pass off a fantasy fusion as the REAL THING. That was my issue once before, and it's going to continue to be my issue. I don't think you do the general public any good when you give them a fantasy dressed up as the real thing. Can the real thing be entertaining? OF COURSE it can!! You use stage dynamics and vary the visual appearance on stage to keep it interesting. The Tamboritzans can stage folk dances that would make you forget you're watching folk dances. There's something about the "real thing" that isn't captured in fantasy fusions. The cultural "essence" -- that vague diaphonous idea that few people seem to understand -- that's the juice of a lot of these dances, and when it goes missing, it leaves the dance somewhat tasteless. Ah well, I shall remain in the minority. But I still hold that one can stage real folk/ethnic dance and make it INTERESTING if the dancers themselves have the attitude that it's interesting. ***** So anywho, the workshop was great, and I got to sit back and actually watch the show this year without worrying about performing or what color underwear wouldn't show through my costume :) Mona kept bugging me to perform, but I knew I didn't have anything prepared, and I really needed this time to go into my DEEP THOUGHT mode and decide some things. Reflection is good for the "artistic" soul. :) I got to see all my MEDSOK babes again and got to chit chat with all the lovely ladies on the other side of the river. Gina asked me as we were leaving, "is there anybody you DON'T know?" and I had to laugh. I don't know everybody -- YET. But that of course, is my goal. It was a fun weekend and when I got home my pretty purple practice poi were waiting for me, however I think I need higher ceilings if I ever expect to get good with these things. All in all, a good weekend, and I get to do it again in 5 days!

So excited!!!

aziyade — Mon, 05 Nov 2007 21:31:13 GMT

Too many cool things happening all at once. My pretty purple practice poi is on the way (may actually be in the mailbox by the time I get home), the MEDSOK workshop is this weekend and Oreet is next weekend. I just got a boatload of new dvds and I think my community center class is going to be put off till after the 1st of the year, so I'll have plenty of time to play with my new toys. If only I could convince the DH to get another dog ... sigh. I'm back up to walking 5 miles (whoo hoo!) and I hope I can bring that up to 8 before it gets too cold outside. I'm DOING that half-marathon next year no matter WHO gets sick. This weekend we went to a Guy Fawke's day party at Erich's house, whereupon I ran into Margaret, who I went to Spain with back in 02, and she's got me itching to go back to Spain -- with a side tour into Morocco this time. (!!!!!) She's going to Egypt in the fall, for an arts conference, and the university is paying for it. Sigh. I SO went into the wrong business... Anyway, we burned effigies of Guy Fawkes and George Bush, and roasted marshmallows and sparklers over the fire. Twas a brilliant night, and I ended it by falling asleep to the Nadia Gamal dance workshop footage that I'm FINALLY able to watch. I've had a PAL video of it for ages, but couldn't watch it without a PAL VCR. Nadia ... ah .... too gorgeous. My September knitting project -- a cowboy style poncho thing to match my hat -- is taklng FOREVER, and it's big enough now that one round of kitting takes me about 30 minutes. It still has to double in size again, and I'm thinking I MAY be finished by Easter. I worked on it yesterday for a while as we watched 4 dvds of the HBO series Rome. I love that show. Too bad I don't think it's getting a third season. It's unseasonably warm outside, which in the cornfields usually spells a tornado watch. Let's hope not.

The end of October thing...

aziyade — Tue, 30 Oct 2007 19:24:32 GMT

The end of the year (well, the way we celebrate it, anyway) approaches and I'm reflecting. Crazy summer is over, most everyone is healthy again, and life is falling back into its normal schedule. I ditched most of my classes and have decided now to only teach 6-week sessions again, rather than on-going monthly ones. For what it's worth, I still think I'm a lousy teacher, but for some reason my students don't seem to think so. I've added two more things to my ever-growing list of things to take up my time: poi-spinning and learning to play the Great Highland Bagpipes. I finally found a bagpipe teacher locally, and I'm starting out with sock poi, with (hopefully) a private lesson (or 20) in Indy before I set fire to anything. Where am I finding the time? Oh, I gave up sleeping. It wastes too much of the night. :) Stacey and I are headed to Missouri for a workshop with Oreet of NYC, and the week before that is the MEDSOK Ghawazee workshop with Habiba, that I guess I'm dancing at, if I manage to make one of my costumes fit. I'm 20 pounds lighter, and have auburn hair now, so I'm having trouble "making it work" with my old stuff. Artemis is giving a workshop in Atlanta this weekend, and it just KILLS me that I can't be there, but you have to say no at some point. I'm hoping to go to Folk Tours in 2008 anyway, so maybe I'll get a chance to learn spoons with her then. Somebody informed me that Morocco's Ahlan Wa Sahlan festival tour for 2008 is already sold out, and I'm trying to decide if I want to go to Egypt on a dance tour, or on an archaeological/student tour. AWS has its good and bad points, I guess. I think it would be more fun to go with a group of like-minded people though. Plus, I don't want to miss the shopping! In the past 2 months I've bought about 25 new dvds -- some folk dance, some poi, some Egyptian style. I finally went ahead and bought Aisha Ali's performance dvd volume 2, and I love it. I bought it mostly for the Ouled Nail performance because I wanted to see what that looked like, and of course most of it is hidden beneath the dress. BUT, she's doing a workshop in North Carolina next year, and I think Mona might go to that too, so I can ask her then. Another gem is the Hossam Ramzy Bedouin Tribal dvd. All real Haggallah (and not the Reda style) and it includes detailed instructions on how to do the different movements. A steal at just $19.99, and even has a companion CD. I'm looking forward to working with this dvd. I also finally picked up the Saida and Mario Kirlis rhythm instructional, and I'm wondering why I waited so long to get it. It's a great resource, and I wish I'd had it this summer when I was trying to teach the requisite "what steps go with what rhythms" class we all end up teaching after a while. I just ordered volume 2 from ebay. Like I'm going to have time before Christmas to actually watch it :) And joy of joys, a Vietnamese restaurant moved in to the neighborhood and has been in business for 6 months without going under. I'm so excited because I ADORE this food, and usually have to drive to St. Louis to get it. They've taught me how to eat with chopsticks (the REAL way) and I'm fully convinced that with all the vegetables in it, Vietnamese food HAS to be low-calorie and good for you. Despite all the oil. One disappointment: I was trying to teach a class at our local center for developmentally disabled adults, and had the proposal turned down because they were afraid my movements might be misconstrued. :( I'm afraid THEY have seen too much of the crap passing for bellydance these days. I really really REALLY need to get video up on line. And my Women's Hospital classes are over for the year, so I'm going to miss my wonderful ladies in there. Sigh. I hope we get to do it again in January. Happy Halloween all my little spookies! I miss ya!

A tale of two hospitals

aziyade — Wed, 25 Jul 2007 15:55:16 GMT

Long story short: 1. Mom has one big blood clot in her leg from her groin to her ankle, they say. Pieces of it broke off and settled in her lungs, which is what has been causing her breathing difficulties. She's on a clot-buster med and will probably be in the hospital for another 5-7 days. 2. DH is looped out of his skull. His incision site is healing nicely, but I wish they'd start weaning him off the pain meds. He's gonna be a bear when he gets home. PLUS, he's still got a fever and some sort of infection, which they haven't yet identified, so they're still keeping him in the hospital until that gets straightened out. He's also apparently very worried about the plight of the penguins (or rather, they're PUFFINS, as he informed me.) I really want one of what he's on. 3. Doggie has an ear infection and is now on a steroid which causes him to pee all over the house. I'm getting him doggy diapers today. He actually looks sad when he does it. I don't have the energy to be mad at him. 4. Kitty is, surprisingly, fine. She's keeping the house together. One can always count on the cat during times of stress. 5. My knee is killing me. The pain has spread. Being the hypochondriac I am, I'm now convinced I too have a blood clot. Maybe I can get put in the same room as my mom? Wouldn't THAT be fun. In my imagination, I'm in my happy place. So, I realize that some people sort of expect that if we leave a person alone in the hospital, the nurses will use that opportunity to take the patient for spare parts. But do we really have to maintain a 24-hour vigil, seated next the bed, doing crossword puzzles while the patient sleeps? I mean, so far he has all the limbs and organs he came in with. I've had enough of that. I'm staying home nights now. I can only take so much of hospitals. My mom is even shooing me away from her bedside. Last night I stayed home and cooked for myself. It was almost peaceful. Tonight I teach, so I have an excuse. I am SO having a massage when everybody gets healed up.

I almost lost my husband on the eve of our 19th anniversary

aziyade — Sat, 21 Jul 2007 16:05:39 GMT

Ordinarily I don't go in for stuff like this, but I would really like to make a point: Today is my 19th wedding anniversary. I don't know how many people have been with their significant other for 19 years, but after a certain point you just can't imagine living life without them. Yesterday my Darling Husband (DH) went in for surgery. What was supposed to be about a 1-hour surgery took 3 hours and we still don't know if it completely worked. My DH is a smoker. He was hospitalized for severe pneumonia, which led to blood poisoning and an infection in pockets of fluid not only IN his lungs, but also between the lung and the ribcage. You want to know why he's hospitalized? I can sum it up in a few short words: My DH is a smoker. His CV surgeon said that about 85 percent of the people he has to perform this surgery on are smokers. Non-smokers apparently only get this if they come in with a gun shot to the chest. He has not been able to heal from two bouts of pneumonia he's had since January. Want to know why? In summary: My DH is a smoker. His doc said smoking weakens the lungs like you wouldn't believe. It weakens the immune system, and it stops the body from healing normally and at a normal rate. In short, smoking is bad for you. Really bad for you. Beyond the warnings on the side of the package. Now, I'm all for smoker's rights, really I am. I think if you want to smoke, you should be able to make that choice, and I think if businesses want to offer smoking sections they should be able to. I think if you're an adult and you make the choice to smoke, then that's your choice. But I don't WANT you to smoke. I don't want anybody reading this to have to go through what I had to, and what our families had to go through this week. I wouldn't wish that on anybody. It was truly a nightmare. I wasn't sure yesterday if I would be spending my anniversary in the hospital or at the funeral home, and I AM NOT being overly dramatic. I really didn't know. I still don't -- he's doing better, but things could change quickly. His CV surgeon told me I should tell him, "Either you quit smoking or I will leave you." I snorted and said, "It's not that easy." He got very angry with me and said, "You are part of the problem. YOU are an enabler." I was outraged. But then I realized he was right. I should have done that 13 years ago, when he started smoking. I'm praying that I will get a second chance to stand my ground and tell him how I feel. I will have to tell him, "I don't want you to smoke" and I'll hear him bitch and complain and be hateful about it for about a month until he realizes that yeah, he probably should have quit the FIRST time I asked him. Now here it is, 10 years later. He's been in the hospital for a week, looking at spending another week in, and we now have upwards of $20,000 of out-of-pocket medical bills accumulating. I haven't worked for a week, and nobody has had any sleep for a week. It's going to be another battle when I tell him the doc says he can't smoke, and I don't want him smoking. But it's a battle I'm prepared to win. Please, please, please -- to my friends, loved ones, casual acquaintances, people I know from tribe, people who drum, people who dance, people who just stumble upon this blog -- PLEASE, all I ask is one thing: Please, don't make the choice to smoke. And if your loved one smokes, and you encourage or tolerate it, PLEASE realize that YOU are also part of the problem; an enabler. Please convince them to stop. It's not about smoker's rights or politics, or anything like that. It's about this: Today is my 19th wedding anniversary, and I'm spending it in the hospital. I almost lost the person I love the most in this world, and all because we both made stupid choices once -- his choice to smoke, my choice to tolerate it. Don't be like me or my DH, okay? Please?

DH update: surgery

aziyade — Fri, 20 Jul 2007 03:50:07 GMT

So the CV doc came in and decided that a chest tube would NOT be sufficient, so Friday at 12 he's having surgery to get rid of the pockets of fluid behind his lungs. The surgery is more complicated than a chest tube and it's got me worried, but the CV surgeon thinks this is the best route to go. Apparently he still has some infection somewhere. I don't mean to sound rude but one of the most frustrating things about this whole scenario is that his doctors are not native English speakers and they all speak with very thick accents, which makes it hard for me to understand what they're saying and what's going on. At first one said all the infection was gone, then another said, oh no it's still there, then another lowered his antibiotic strength, so I feel clueless. I just hope this sugery goes well and that it does the trick. This has been an exhausting month.

Pray for us, please

aziyade — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 16:00:11 GMT

To my friends and loved ones: Jeff is in the hospital again with his pneumonia and it's just completely not responding to the antibiotics AND it's getting worse. What was supposed to be a "couple of nights stay" could turn into a couple of months. Please keep us in your thoughts and prayers, and I'll post updates as I get them and as I can. Classes in July WILL continue as scheduled, but we may take a break for August, depending. Thank you SO MUCH to all of you who have emailed, texted, called, or otherwise voiced your concerns. I'll try to reply individually as soon as he's in stable condition. Please send positive energy our way and hugs go out to all of you. Love you all, Amanda

Daddy's Girl

aziyade — Mon, 18 Jun 2007 21:59:04 GMT

Of all the things I'm sure I will live to regret, one of the top ten must be never really getting to know my father. Dad's still around, and many people would tell me it's not too late to build a relationship with him, but we HAVE the adult-child and parent relationship already, and it's just not exactly the same. He is Dad to me now, and there was a time when he was Daddy. It's that time I want back. It's that time that is gone. Sand in the hourglass, dust in the wind, tears in the rain. A shrink could take one look at me and know I have unresolved "issues" stemming from my relationship with my Dad. Depsite the fact that I married someone my age, I'm attracted to much older men. Always have been. If I hadn't been already married, I probably would have slept with one (or more) of my college professors, married the first guy who could afford a Harley, screamed and yelled my way through a couple of husbands, and developed an alcohol habit before I was 30. And I probably would have jumped on the self-help bandwagon and blamed my Dad for everything that had gone wrong in my life and every injustice I perceived the universe to have thrown my way. But I WAS, and I didn't, and I wasn't, and when it comes to self-help, the closest I'll come is Julia Cameron, and frankly I don't think there's any "blame" to be laid at the feet of anyone, anyway, least of all my Dad. I probably have more "issues" with my Mom than my Dad, but Mom's not in the best of health right now, and I'd really much rather go around thinking and speaking of her as a saint on earth, since I'm not sure how long she'll actually have both feet ON this earth. No, I think the problem is just that Dad and I never really got to know each other, as father and daughter. We know each other now, but more as next-door neighbors who borrow a cup of sugar from you and watch your cat when you're on vacation. Sunday being Father's Day, I went over to their house, as is our tradition. Dad didn't want any presents (although I brought him a bottle of Blueberrry wine that he seemed to enjoy) and he didn't want to go to a movie, go mini-golfing, or even drive around in the convertible with the top down. (Of course, 12 of his 20-something cars he's owned in his life have been convertibles, so I suppose the novelty wore off about 50 years ago.) He didn't want to go out to dinner, either, but when I pulled up in the driveway, he met me in the yard, grinning. "You want to deep fry a turkey?" he asked. What could I say? It was interesting, this joint project of deep-frying a turkey. If you've never done it, the goal is to get about 5 gallons of oil to about 350 degrees, whereupon you slowly dip the raw carcass down in the vat, wait about 20 minutes, and then pull out a fully cooked meat of your choice. Sure beats that 5-hour timetable for roasting a Thansgiving bird! So Dad was in charge of the fire and making sure the oil got to 350 degrees, and I was in charge of ... well, holding the forks, I guess. We puttered around the propane tank, Dad slowly adjusting the regulator bit by bit until he got a temperature that was a satisfactory solid 350. I stood back while he dipped the bird, and he laughed. "It won't pop out," he assured me. And it didn't. "Have you done this before?" I asked, and he shook his head. "No, but it's all about physics." I had to laugh. Everything with Dad is "all about the physics." When I was younger he used to get drunk and curse the government (well, he still does that) and tell me a long story that would end in the simple explanation: it's all about the physics of the thing. One of my favorite childhood stories was the Staircase to the Moon. In brief, according to my father, humankind had the ability to do anything it turned its collective attention toward. Including, but not limited to, building a staircase to the moon. Of course, we might have to wait for the technology to catch up, but we were capable of it, just the same. It's all about the physics. "It would take a helluva lot of cooperation though," he would say. Cooperation was his buzz word. When he wanted me to do something as a kid, I was supposed to "cooperate" rather than obey. It's a subtle difference, but I can see how he was able to use that difference to make his point. Dad never understood children. He expected children to think and behave like adults, only with really short legs. I tried my best as a child to think like him. As a teen and young adult I tried my best to make decisions that I thought he would make. But somehow they were never good enough. I always felt as if I was JUST missing the mark he had drawn on the bar, and as a result he had to set the bar lower and lower. I think, now, that he felt he too was missing or failing. While other little girls had Daddies who humored their baby antics, I had a Father who just desperately wanted me to understand "the physics" of the situation. It seemed as though he decided that he could never be Daddy but could stand in as Father, and make sure I didn't screw up any decision TOO royally. It was still unconditional love, just a little different than most. He distanced himself from me when I was young, mostly because of Mom, and I knew that even at the time. When she got mad at me, I was "just like your father!" Meaning, I suppose, stubborn and uncooperative. When I got in trouble at school, I was "Your Father's Daughter." I actually sort of liked the sound of that, which was probably why I was SUCH a problem student throughout high school. Ah, memories... We have fun together now, in these later years, and being "just like your father" is something I've grown used to. Of course I'm like my father: I can read a map, I have no tolerance for nonsense, and I catch myself every now and then telling my co-workers, "it's all about the physics of the thing" when I don't feel like explaining in detail. Dad and I had a good day yesterday, and we hugged and shared "I Love Yous" when I went home. He waved at me from the front porch. It occurred to me then that he had never told me that my new car purchase was a bad decision, or criticized it in any way. I went outside last night, after I got home from my parents' house, to water the tomato plants. It was dark, and just beside a bright star hung the tiny sliver of leftover moon. As the dog checked the yard one last time for predators, I stared at the moon. In the darkness, I could see that staircase. I could see that potential. I could see all the GOOD decisions I made in my life, and how many times I could have screwed up, but didn't, because I had considered "the physics of the thing" before acting. I could see the intellectual legacy my Dad had givien me, and the individual courage and responsibility that his emotional distance helped to cultivate. I could see that I truly WAS my Father's Daughter, even if could never go back and be Daddy's Girl. And in the darkness, that was Good.

I DO NOT envy restaurant dancers!!!

aziyade — Mon, 18 Jun 2007 20:30:00 GMT

I'm pouting. Ignore me. Okay I take back everything I ever said about wanting a regular restaurant gig. It's hot, there is NO room to dance, and half the people look at you as though you're a freak. I should have learned from Anne Soffee's experience and tried to scout out the lesbians in the crowd. To make matters perfectly wretched, I dropped my FREAKING SWORD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ARGGGGG! I NEVER drop my sword. Never. I didn't even feel it start to slip, which is weird. Thank G_d it was a cheap chrome girly sword from CatsPaw and not one of those Cas Iberia monsters. I could have taken a kid's arm off with that! So despite the best efforts of Stacey, Elina, and Barb to cheer me up, I'm going to pout around for a few days, weeks... And with tomorrow being the last episode of Deadliest Catch for this season (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!) I'm going to be in an ultra foul mood. Maybe I need to rent "Quills" again and keep rewinding all the best parts :) That's it -- I'm going to make a movie! (Independent film-making as a means of relieving that living past 30 frustration. ) I'm going to film a bunch of guys lifting weights, and working out on the rowing machine, and I'm going to put those clips together with movie clips of Joachin Pheonix, Jude Law, Tarkan, the guy from 300, Hugh Jackman, and Capt. Phil, with voice overs of Neil Gaiman reading ... well, anything. I'm going to edit all the clips together in one two-hour long film and I'm going to call it "Buffet." The women in the audience will get it.

So I talked with the trainer on Monday ...

aziyade — Wed, 06 Jun 2007 19:10:49 GMT

I knew it was coming. Still... Two weeks ago she told me to fill out a food and activity diary. I followed the instructions religiously and listed every morsel of food, and every activity I thought might be mildly beneficial to my health. Honestly I didn't think it looked all that awful. I mean I actually rarely eat anything -- I don't have time. And I'm pretty active. She took one look at my food diary and proceeded to scold me for not filling it out completely. I protested -- "This is it. This is EVERYTHING. See I even listed the handfuls of M&Ms I stole from my boss." She countered: "You're telling me on Thursday you had yogurt for breakfast, skipped lunch, and had a serving of string cheese for dinner?" (Um, yeah ... Thursdays are busy.) "And on Wednesday after, you had no breakfast, no lunch, but had 3 glasses of wine and half a loaf of sundried tomato bread?" (Tomato counts as a vegetable.) "And what proteins are we showing for Thursday and Saturday -- Pepperidge Farms Cheddar Cheese Goldfish? Oh, and more fish on Monday!" (I have no joke to make. She glares at me.) See, apparently even if you DON'T eat, you can still get fat. I'm blaming it on the goldfish. The trainer thinks I need to eat MORE, actually -- just better stuff. Complex carbs and proteins, lay off the bread, that kind of thing. I can do that. It's not that I don't WANT to eat, I just sort of forget to do it. ( I am, however, prohibited from eating goldfish for four weeks. I'm not sure how I'm going to manage, so pray for me.) "Not a lot of water, I see. And no, Arizona Raspberry Iced Tea doesn't count. We're nipping that RIGHT out of the diet." ??????????!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! No raspberry tea?!?!?!?!?!?!?! I'll go mad, I tell you! "It's nothing but corn syrup. Water and iced tea with lemon for you. No sugar. And no more alcohol." WHAT???!!!!! We agree to compromise on the alcohol. I'm limited to one bottle on Friday. One bottle of sparkling white, to go with my weekly pizza, which is also a compromise. As a result of this compromise, it looks like I'll be eating pretty low on the calorie count the rest of the week. But that's okay. I like veggies and I can stomach some shrimp and salmon for the protein requirements. But then we get to physical activity... Now, I figured I couldn't get away with listing knitting as an aerobic activity, but I sure thought bellydance would be! "That's an okay exercise, but I'd like to see you on the stationary bicycle 3 times a week." Bellydance is an "okay" exercise? Does this woman have any IDEA??? Has she done the Suhaila Fitness Fusion DVDs?? I resist the urge to pinch her. "And we're going to add some strength and resistance training exercises. We'll start slowly and build up to about 45 minutes 4 times a week." Like I have TIME for this???? Sigh. Okay, whatever helps me get rid of the blubber. So last night I did the stupid strength training exercises and I thought I was going to have a stroke. I sort of knew I was a puss, but I didn't realize the extent of my puss-ness. I'm maxed out at about 10 pound weights and I can do about 8 squats before my knees are screaming. I hope I can live through getting healthy again.

To everyone at the Keep Safiyyah Dancing Benefit...

aziyade — Mon, 04 Jun 2007 20:46:47 GMT

You girls ROCKED! I was SOOOO happy to meet all of you in person and to finally see the lovely Safiyyah herself dance. Thank you SO much for inviting me. I had a fabulous time! Amazing music too -- I don't mean to leave you guys out! Sure wish Il Troubadore would release some CDs ... :) THANKS!!!

Long weekends ... and crab fishing

aziyade — Wed, 30 May 2007 16:45:49 GMT

Long weekends rock. Especially when they sort of ooze into Tuesdays. - Friday I talked to B (I won't yet call him "my drummer" but I think it's going to work out nicely) about doing a show for the children's library. I'm looking forward to dancing to the Conga, even though I know zip about Latin rhythms. - Saturday night I skipped the wine with dinner and headed down to the studio to finish up the so-called choreography for the drum solo for next weekend. There were only a couple of sections that had "issues" and I knew I could work those out later. It's amazing how much I can get accomplished without a buzz. - Got up early Sunday and went to Louisville for a private class with Jo; and although we didn't get around to anything Turkish, I managed to work out the last fussy bits of the drum solo and isolated a MAJOR issue with upper body layered shimmies that I'm going to be working on for about a year, I swear. "It looks ... spastic," Jo said, trying to be nice but still authoritative. Spastic is NOT a word I want to hear when referring to my dance. Back to drilling... - Went over to Taletha's and chatted with her for a bit about teaching/dancing/living and then we went to Liz's going-away party and laughed it up with the gals from Malek. Liz is just adorable, and Kentucky is going to miss her. I love her spirit and her attitude, and she's SUCH a cute dancer to watch. She's dancing one last time at the Kentucky Ren Faire and I'm committed to going because I just can't wait to see those period fusion dances she does so well. I think there's ONE weekend in June where I'm not already in Kentucky. (I really do consider it my second home.) And now I'm all jealous because I really want to bellydance to bagpipes too. - On Monday I sewed all the seams on the eggplant-colored cardigan (except setting the sleeves) and came to the realization that I was working on a mohair cardigan sweater when it's 87 degrees outside, and maybe I should learn to better estimate my finishing/blocking time on the hand-knits. - Emailed Amma about the Red Tour on the 30th and claimed the Snakes Rising song "Layla" which is entirely unlike ANY other version of Layla I've heard, but it has sort of an old-school Am Cab sound to it and it matches the work I'm playing with right now. One less stressful thing to fantasize all kinds of horrible things about. - Planted the twig that my neighbor gave me that hopefully will grow into an "Empress Tree" ( I think.) - Decided, at least for the time being, that I am actually going to abandon my ridiculously high-heels on stage (!!!!!!!!!! Oh the horror !!!!!!!!!) and go back to dancing barefoot. Sigh. I hate the look, but I don't have NEAR the control on the floor in shoes that I do in bare tootsies. Gives me an excuse to get an expensive pedicure. - Found out that it IS possible to carry a watermelon home from the grocery on a motorcycle. - Watched part of the marathon run of "Deadliest Catch" and decided to write a fan letter to Captain Phil. (I'm such a geek.) And oozing into Tuesday ... Last night I sat around for a while and contemplated the bizarre ability the Discovery Channel has of romanticizing even something like crab fishing to the point that the crew on the show are nothing short of rock stars to the general public. I mean, the crew of the Northwestern has a freakin' MYSPACE page! And on said Myspace page are dozens of pictures of half-naked 20-somethings trying to say "Hi Sig -- luv u" in their sexiest style of typing shorthand. The Cornelia Marie WEBSITE (?!!!!) has a note to let you the viewer know they are not accepting applications for crew members at this time. And to rub it in, when you email them they give you that generic message like, "due to the fact that we're getting over 1500 message every 4 minutes, we can't answer you right away." My website mailbox contains four messages from people from Nigeria and Senegal who "want to make sex" with me and one from a lady who wants to pay me $25 to do a 'gram for her granddad's birthday in Illinois. I wanna be a fisherman. It's way more glamourous than bellydancing these days.

The care and feeding of a drummer?

aziyade — Fri, 25 May 2007 20:18:16 GMT

Oddly enough, Santa took my Christmas wish seriously this year, albeit a little belatedly. He sent me a drummer. Now, I'd gotten really excited about working with Dale, but of course, he's preparing to leave the northern cornfields for the Big City and for a client base who can really appreciate him. I understand, but I will miss him -- and I will miss the opportunities to dance with someone who isn't completely crazy and who doesn't mind me asking him a thousand questions in 45 seconds. So it was serendipity? synchronicity? something? when I got a phone call from a friend's husband who said, "You know we should probably talk -- I'm a drummer; you're a dancer. We should talk." Some part of my brain knew he was a drummer (because my friend had mentioned it a couple of times) but I also knew he was invoved in African drumming and Afro-Cuban music, and I guess I figured he wouldn't have much experience or interest in Middle Eastern drumming. I was quite wrong. We met, and we hit it off pretty well! He has some neat ideas, and I'd like to see what he would do with some Middle Eastern music. I'm also wondering what I might do with some Afro-Cuban music. So many ideas fanning the fusion flames... But now that I've met him, I have no idea how to keep him. I don't know what the relationship is like between drummer and dancer. I don't want to stifle his creativity, nor do I want to spend a lot of time messing around with music than doesn't move me. What do drummers expect of their dancers? And what can dancers expect of their drummers? Can I play finger cymbals with him, or is there some unwritten law of etiquette that would prohibit that? I have no idea what to expect or what to guard against. Any suggestions from the peanut gallery?

On the question of shoes...

aziyade — Wed, 23 May 2007 15:32:49 GMT

I love shoes. Really cute strappy sandals, ridiculously high heels, knee-high boots -- shoes rule. These days I perform in shoes, mostly because I hate the look of these gorgeous sequined and beaded ball gowns with bare feet. I know I'm in minority, but I just think it looks unfinished. And don't you even DARE wear soft ballet slippers. YUCK! The only thing more jarring than bare feet under a Sim Moda is a pair of pink ballet slippers. Usually I'll dance in strappy heeled sandals with higher heels than common sense would dictate. I have four pair each in gold and silver, and I think I paid all of $12 for each at a Payless end of summer sale. They're just fashion sandals, which means you can't really put ALL your weight on the heels, or they're likely to snap off. Therein lies the problem, I think. On carpet, I do fine. But last night's gig was on a tiled floor, and while I wasn't sliding around, I certainly didn't feel "grounded." I've noticed my dancing is different when I'm in heels -- I like the look, but the feeling for me is a little odd. Or off. Even when I rehearse in heels, I notice a diff. I prefer dancing barefoot, because I can feel the floor better, but I hate the look. Any suggestions, dancers? I thought about investing in ballroom shoes. The $120 a pair kind. At least I know the heels won't snap off. I also thought about just getting a really expensive pedicure before each show, and buying some of those crystal ankle drapes and "faux slippers" that rest on the tops of your feet and sort of look like shoes. I like the pedicure idea...

When are you going to start getting serious?

aziyade — Tue, 15 May 2007 15:26:06 GMT

The above was the subject line to an email I received last night. My first reaction was "I'm a very serious person; what's she talking about?" My second reaction was to laugh and say, "Me, serious? Who do you think you're kidding?" My third reaction was to read the body of the email, which was probably what I should have done first. I'm so reactionary. "When are you going to start getting serious about your dance" was the actual question posed, and it's an oddly-timely one at that. Inspiration, for me, occurs in the weirdest places: A phone call between meetings. A happenstance mention of something over chocolate margaritas. A comment from a student. A comment from a stranger. A look. A wink. A nudge. An invitation to a tea party. An invitation to a dance party. An out-of-town show. An email from Mona. April and May have been full of inspiration. I wasn't realizing it at the time, but I think the Universe might have been dropping hints that, "Um, if you wanna do it, now's the time, kiddo." Julia Cameron tells us that the Divine in the world WANTS us to succeed. It WANTS us to achieve our goals and reach our dreams. But we have to want it, too. I believe the Universe has been cleverly crafting an intricate web of actions and reactions, causes and effects, all of which lead to the molding of an environment that is conducive to me getting what I want. I also believe that this neat little roadmap to success isn't going to be visible and workable forever, and if I don't start paying attention to the subtle hints the Universe is throwing at me, then said Universe is going to give up and direct its attention elsewhere. Part of the body of the email contained this penetrating question: "What are you waiting for?" and this one: "What do you want?" Oh, that's the real kicker -- knowing what you want. For some people it's easy. They want money, they want good health, or a fast car or a really expensive purse or liposuction or a house in the woods or to have a new variety of seahorse named after them. But the first sub-question is easier: Q: What are you waiting for? A: I don't know. I don't! I have no idea what I'm waiting for. I live day to day, watching the sunsets get later, and the roses get taller. Watching the dog shed and Jeff's tan get darker. At the most, I think about two months in advance, to the next major out-of-town workshop or to the next project to cross my sewing table. It's not a question of putting it off, or waiting -- I just don't think about setting long-term goals other than generic ones like "be a better person" and "be a better dancer" and "get those tomato plants in the ground THIS YEAR." It's this one that gets me, and has me at a weird stopping point: "What do you want?" And to put it into the context it was intended, "What do you want to do with your dance?" This is a tiny tiny little town I find myself in. If you shake a really big stick, you might find 3 or 4 other "Middle Eastern" dancers at my level who are actively pursuing dance as more than just something to do in the basement. Even if we worked togther, it's not likely we'll ever take Evansville by storm and bring in Bal Anat or anything. Since it's such a small place, there are no steady-paying jobs. And even if there was an outstanding Turkish or Lebanese restaurant here, and even if they paid a great rate, I doubt seriously I'd be interested in spending EVERY Friday and Saturday night there. Private parties and weddings keep my workshop savings account full, and teaching is helping to build back up the "Travel to Turkey and Egypt when we get a Democratic persident in office" fund. I'm happy with the money I'm making, so I can't really say that money is what I want. For a while I was dancing the workshop circuit. I went to all the workshops I could (in an 8-hour driving radius of the cornfield) and danced at all the shows I could. I got a great response, and was asked several times if I would dance as a guest at area restaurants (which I would have loved to have done, but it's hard to justify a 6-hour commute for a free meal and pocket change). BUT, that was then; this is now. I really do enjoy workshop shows. I know some dancers who won't bother with them because of the lack of $$$ and what they perceive is an amateurish display of local talent. To me, it's not about $$$ and amateur local talent is what keeps this art form ALIVE. My hat is off to every student who steps onto that stage. It's HARD! I'm terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought at the idea of dancing to live music! EEK! But ultimately, performing is its own reward, and at shows like these, we're dancing for each other and for ourselves. How could someone NOT want to be a part of that? What do I want? I want to be a great dancer. I want the audience to feel what I feel, and to love what I do as much I as love it. I want precision in my hipwork, fluidity in my torso work, and dynamic stage presence. I WANT to have that same thing Sohair Zaki and Samia Gamal had -- I want that grace and elegance and energy. So when am I going to start taking myself seriously? As a serious student, a serious dancer, a serious practitioner of this art form? The Universe is throwing down cue cards like Dylan in the video for Subterranean Homesick Blues. I just haven't been reading them. That ends now. I have no more excuses. I have car; must travel. I have friends and family to stay with, and more and more of my students are ready to go with me to workshops. Gas is expensive but so is life. I'm committing to events and classes in Louisville and Indy. I'm finding my favorite flavor of dancers in INDIANA, no less, and the Universe is again conspiring to bring them to me via workshops. I need a LOT more study -- my technique has gotten, as T puts it, "squishy" and I'm becoming aware of "issues" and bad habits that are going to need to be broken. But I'm actively ready to change that. Plus, I'm watching T start actively taking HERSELF seriously and end that second-guessing of herself she's been doing for so long. Her enthusiasm and determination is contagious. She's going to be famous someday (remember, you heard it here first) and I'm all atwitter wanting her to get there NOW. I want her to be famous. She deserves it. I don't want me to be famous, though. Not like that. Not like "instructional video, workshop tour circuit" famous. I just want to know that in theaudience somewhere there was maybe just one person who was having a horribly crappy day, but then they watched me dance and that crappy day feeling went away for just the tiniest bit. That's really all I want. Seriously. :P

Converting the cornfields -- one church at a time

aziyade — Fri, 11 May 2007 15:39:51 GMT

So last week I belly danced at a church banquet. No, for real! It was a fairly liberal Lutheran church, and they were hosting a "Ya-Ya Sisterhood" party (in honor of Mothers Day.) I did an Egyptian piece, a sword balancing dance, and a drum solo, and the ladies in the audience actually seemed to dig it! As always, a couple of people came up to tell me they thought bellydance was something else, something lewd and lascivious, and they were pleasantly surprised. If I get a couple of students out of it, I'll consider it a WILD success. Mona actually suggested to me to start doing sword in our shows. I love sword balancing, but when you do it for other dancers, the attitude is kind of like, "oh yawn. Sword AGAIN! Do a trick or something, at least." On the best of days I can't compare to the amazing swordplay of Awalim dance company in Atlanta, so I haven't really pursued it. But, man the straights LOVE IT! You do that sort of shaky, faky thing like "oh it's gonna fall off any second now," and add a few "close calls" and the audience goes wild. And then you spin with it on your head and they freak out completely. I had forgotten how much fun that was. Anywho, I have two more church-related gigs this month and that's got me thinking I should try to get more of them, and quietly fantasizing about someday dancing for the Pope. It could happen.

Camping? You've GOT to be kidding.

aziyade — Tue, 01 May 2007 18:42:31 GMT

So my new favorite Turkish dance teacher tells me he's going to be teaching at Mendocino dance camp and I should try to get out there because it's fun and all that. I look it up and it sounds like a BLAST -- great teachers, great performers, lots to learn and do and ... ... ... um... It's an actual Camp. A Camp. A Camp? Like the bears and sleeping bags and poison ivy kind of camp? oh yeah. Wait, it gets worse. For this camp, you have to bring your own SHEETS! ?????? In America, no less!? Now, I realize this is California, and you California folk do things a little differently than we do in the cornfields, but honestly, can't you host this workshop in the proper way: like, in a hotel ballroom? :) Camping, for me, is staying at a hotel that doesn't offer room service. I do this periodically because I believe I should suffer for my art. Of course that suffering DOES NOT include sharing a bunk with wood spiders or packing my own towels. I've never understood the attraction of "roughing it." As a kid, I had to do all the crappy campy things -- pitching a tent, singing songs, tying knots, picking tics out of your friend's hair, and roasting s'mores over a fire. I suffered through "Band Camp" wihout dark chocolate (how much more "rough" can you go???) and actually tried that freezing- cold gawdawful outdoor shower nonsense. Fun? No. Not really. So magnify that a dozen times, add bears and snakes and big hairy spiders and JASON and whatever else lives in those woods, and add an extra checked bag full of bug spray and snakebite anti-venom and mosquito netting and SHEETS and TOWELS and an extra-large loofah to scrub all that "great outdoors" residue off my skin, and it just doesn't sound like a thrillsville weekend, even if Ahmet and Sahra Kent and Sohair Zaki herself were teaching there. My friend Diana sings the praises of Cassandra's dance camp in Florida, although she is quick to point out that it's on the beach and the "camp" is really just a suite of beachfront hotels. Now that might not be altogether unpleasant. I'm thinking of organizing a dance "camp" for other spoiled prissies like me. We'll call it SequinFest and we'll have it at a nice Hilton hotel, with an on-site massage therapist and a heated swimming pool with a swim-up bar that serves mimosas and mojitos 24-7, and classes won't start until around 2:00 so you can sleep in every day. Who's with me? I promise you won't have to bring your own sheets.

I'm going topless!

aziyade — Fri, 27 Apr 2007 20:12:04 GMT

Once you go topless you never go back, or so I'm told. I can relate. My first car -- and I call it a car because it does fit a very limited definition of the word "Car" -- was a 1976 MG Midget convertible. Painted a screaming bright yellow-green, it weighed all of about 600 pounds, and the guys at the theatre where I worked used to pick it up and move it around the parking lot. Literally picking it up. With their hands. I would get off work at some ridiculous hour in the early morning and spend half an hour searching for where they had hidden my car. Once, I remember coming out the glass double doors and seeing 6 people RUNNING down the street carrying my car like pallbearers carry a casket. They found this kind of thing infinitely amusing. The convertible top was NOT automatic back then. You had to physically take it down and pull it up yourself, and it was hard to get latched shut. Which meant most of the time I just left it sit with the top down. And always, always I tell you -- some kind soul would see the clouds gathering and put the top up for me JUST before it started to rain. You can't buy luck like that. The MG had its problems, and I ended up garaging it for an RX-7 which sounded and looked incredibly cool, but drove like a cow. Plus it only had a sunroof, which I thought would be enough, but just wasn't. There's a wind-in-the-hair feeling you get on a droptop that you don't get with t-tops or sun and moonroofs. Later cars were more "family style" with full back seats and automatic transmissions. Yet still I yearned for that wind-in-hair feeling, and still I dreamed of possibly un-shelving the MG, getting it fixed and repainted and .. and .. sigh. No, it wasn't going to happen. The MG is a shell. It's not coming back. Once I accepted this, I moved on. Sort of. When the Olds conked out (after the fire and water pump issue and a million other problems I didn't bother to blog about) I decided it was going to have to be time for a car payment. Went looking one day and found a Mustang convertible, but that relationship was not to be. I found several that had everything I wanted -- the 2005 model, with the triple white paint/leather/top. Lovely car. But priced about $7000 more than it should be. As an adult we learn patience. I was patient for a year. Still no Mustang fit my requirements than wasn't terribly overpriced and I neede some kind of transportation, but it had to be at least a LITTLE sporty and a LITTLE flirty. So I settled on the Chrysler Sebring, which isn't as sexy as the 'Stang, but way cheaper. And I got the leather/suede 2-tone combo seats that I wanted. And they make them with automatic tops these days so it's just a flip of a switch and I'm basking in the sunlight. I'm ever so pleased with it, and if it will ever stop RAINING here I'll post a picture. I did get to drive it twice with the top down, and you know what? Going topless RULES!

The end of April thing...

aziyade — Fri, 27 Apr 2007 19:51:17 GMT

Wow. Just wow. It's been a whirlwind month. April entered with a bang: Suhaila's Bal Anat workshop and show in St. Louis. I wrote all about it on Suhaila's tribe, but for the record let me say it was fantastic. The energy on stage was .... hmm, if I say "electrifying," would that be too cliche? Well it was, anyway. The workshop was great as usual. We got a full class with Tiffany, Kendra, and Rashid, plus two days with the big S herself, and we did more of the folkloric fusion I'm so crazy about. This time I managed to keep the cymbals going almost the whole time. Rashid -- what can I say. I'll just pull out the "Book of Heroes to Worship" and add his name to the list. Why couldn't I have discovered him years ago when I was actively looking for old-school Ren Faire style tribal? Tiff's class was rather surprisingly challenging. I'm told she's the toughest of the Suhaila teachers. I made it through the warmup without having a stroke, which is always a good sign. Her choreography is kewl. Kind of tribal-fusionesque, in my limited experience, but she just calls it bellydance. I have the notes. Think I can put it together by myself? Oh, and I was unpleasantly reminded of how WHITE I am during Kendra's Hip-hop fusion workshop. Maybe after a few drinks it gets easier? Kendra is really cute, though, and I love watching her move. Although the combinations we did made me reflect on my youth and "Breakin' 2: Electric Boogaloo." Unfortunately for me, Duquesne University Tamboritzans folk dance group were performing the SAME night in St. Louis as Bal Anat. This is the second time I've missed seeing them due to scheduling conflicts. When did life get so complicated? My SCA class was on hiatus this month for some reason, but I had a new beginners class start and my "advanced" ladies came back for a new challenge. The space I have is wonderful and open and inviting and DOESN'T smell of small children and feet. It's much more fun to teach here, and this way we can have an East side and a North side location if I can convince Mona to continue teaching. The International dance group did some Russian folk dances for Shelly's place last week, which seemed to go over pretty well. I ended up dancing with Erich, with whom I had only rehearsed one or two dances, and who (as usual) kept me laughing and giggling such that the choreography fell completely out of my head. Erich is a Brit who used to live in Uzbekistan (among other strange and exotic places.) He's also a US Army veteran, which, coupled with his bizarre and secretive personality, makes me wonder if he wasn't some kind of special forces secret service hush-hush green beret kind of soldier. He's extremely cute and extremely gay and he persists in making jokes about "cock" that STILL make me blush. I HATE THAT! I'd like to embarass him at some point, but I don't think it's possible. Erich was hosting some kind of lame hoedown this past weekend so he didn't get to go with us for the most awesome and amazing AMHET LULECI workshop in St. Louis. He would have loved it. Ahmet is a ball of energy. I would LOVE to see him dance full-out, but of course his group is in Boston, and we're in the cornfields. He was so willing to share his knowledge and talked with me quite a bit on the fusion thing. I'm motivated and inspired, and I'm adding a new name to that Book of Heroes to Worship. This was my first official "folk dance" workshop and it wasn't exactly what I expected but it was a LOT of fun! Once I realized that somebody ELSE was going to be responsible for remembering the choreographies and styling, it became even more fun! Several people, including Ahmet, complimented me on how beautiful Gina is. Yep, she sure is. She's a cutie. But we are NOT related in any way. Although if I had a daughter, I'd like to have one like her. She's terribly sweet yet terribly naive, and I do feel a little like I need to watch out for her. She'll believe anything you tell her, including "no really, I'll respect you in the morning." So listen up, guys. She isn't my daughter, but that doesn't mean I'm not overprotective of her. Break her heart and I'll break your head. It's that simple. So last night we actually tried to remember some of the dances we'd learned over the weekend and managed three of them fairly well. I'm hoping we'll be able to add them to our repertiore. Oh, and I have spoons now, and I can play one rhythm on them. Whee. Took me 20 minutes to figure out what he was doing when he demonstrated the rhythm, but I have it, all the same. Sunday is the Beledi workshop with Nashwa, where I get to see T and all my Louisville babes. And then the month is complete, and I get to turn the page to MAY where I have two definate gigs (and 2 probable ones), a new session of classes, and maybe just maybe a 4-day trip to Scottsdale to get rid of these stupid allergies. Maybe by then it will have quit raining and I can go topless for a while.... in the car :)

In Memory of Reema

aziyade — Wed, 18 Apr 2007 14:18:30 GMT

Bellydancer Reema Joseph Samaha Killed in the Viriginia Tech massacre, April 16, 2007 Our hearts and our prayers are with your family and loved ones.

Library fishing.

aziyade — Tue, 07 Nov 2006 23:06:01 GMT

I have a game I like to play with our local library system. Some time during the week, I will access the online card catalog and request the most obscure and outdated novel I can find listed as being housed in "The Stacks." The "Stacks" is a nice word for the oubliette in the main library basement where old books go to die. Once a book is relegated to the Stacks, it passes through something like the event horizon of a black hole -- it's sucked in and never seen again. Until I request it, that is. Doing the request through the automated system serves two purposes. First, it guarantees that the book will actually be brought up. Requesting a Stacks book, face-to-face with a librarian, is a feat worthy of a Greek hero. So reluctant are the librarians to venture down there, that I always imagined the entrance being guarded by some kind of sphinx. The hallway was surely littered with dismembered body parts and bloody pages -- a place so truly terrifying that the attendants would always try to talk you out of requesting that tattered Robert E. Howard "Conan" novel, and try to sell you instead a Mack Bolin or Robert Ludlum, or worse, something inappropriately girlish with unicorns on rainbows on the cover. (I very specifically remember one instance when I was ten years old and requesting a long-out-of-print book of Roald Dahl's short stories, coming home instead with "The Story of O" which happened to be sitting quietly on the return counter. The stacks were THAT frightening, apparently.) Anyway, using the internet system puts your request into a queue, where someone who can't look you in the eye and talk you out of your request is forced to descend into the underworld to retrieve it. This system also stamps the request with your name and borrower number, presumably so someone can track requests, or at least keep tabs on those people who keep checking out "Mein Kampf" or "Catcher in the Rye." The fun that I have with this system lies in my Johnny Appleseed approach. I request an obscure book, pick it up from the desk, but I don't check it out. Instead, I walk around with it for a few minutes, then leave it sitting in a place where it's not likely to be immediately reshelved. I wait. Sometimes I wait for a very long while. I wait until someone picks up the book (and they always do), decides it looks interesting, and checks it out for themselves. The librarian at the check-out counter almost always looks somewhat puzzled, when the borrower's name doesn't match the requestor's name, and sometimes a small fuss is made. Sometimes the person who happened upon the book gets nervous,or a little too self-conscious, and offers to put the book back to end the confusion. But the librarian, not to be daunted by such a silly thing as technology, spends the next five minutes getting everything straight, and everyone walks away happy: I get a childish sense of amusement out of the chaos; I've introduced a person to an obscure book; and I've rescued said book from the oubliette. All in an afternoon's work. I still fantasize about being locked in the library all night, where I am free to roam the Stacks and read until morning, (or until my glasses break.) I always figured if we had a nuclear war, I'd head to the library, since the Stacks function not only as a nursing home for old books, but also as a bomb shelter, and we were always told in school that the survivers were the lucky ones. At least ... those survivors with library cards.