We Take The Dance Party To India

Bharatanatyam is one of the classical Indian dance forms, begun in the Hindu temples of Tamil Nadu. It is a dance that expresses emotion, melody, and rhythm; an “illustrative anecdote of Hindu religious themes and spiritual ideas emoted by dancer with excellent footwork and impressive gestures”

It’s also just plain captivating to watch…

Since We're All Dancing...

Let's bring Spock in on the fun, too!

 

(Small, but please appreciate it. 

It was unbelievably torturous to get this gif embedded correctly...)

Dance Party!

Because it IS a holiday weekend, after all…

I know it’s nearly 5 minutes long and you may be thinking, “Who has time for that?” but I just fell in love with this compilation and had to share it. It’s got everyone - Fred Astaire, Shirley Temple, Gene Kelly, Anne Miller, Bob Fosse… even Groucho Marx!

I was particularly taken with the scene of James Cagney dancing down stairs. 

          Who knew James Cagney could dance?!? 

I was sad, however, that there wasn’t more Cyd Charisse. IMHO, she was far and away the best old movie female dancer (and holy heck, those legs!!!) but all she got in this piece was one paltry second of a fairly mundane turn. I'm going to have to spotlight Cyd another time…

But enough of my nitpicking... It's the weekend! 

Get out there and dance!  :-D

Rhythm Revisited

(For gg and Bleue, who requested that I expand on my idea of rhythm in touch…)

This is one of those ways of seeing that is absolutely clear in my head, but feels muddled in words, so I'm not sure if I can do the question justice.

But I’m going to try, so here goes…

Much the way that dance instructors will remind you that arm movements originate in the shoulder, it seems to me that a compelling touch originates in the seemingly-removed component of rhythm. After all, rhythm is abstract, yet touch is concrete...

But rhythm is at the heart of any smooth progression - in music, dance, and certainly in touch - it is unifying, a common element that creates a whole out of otherwise disparate pieces. 

Good touch has an internal cohesion to it, a consistency of pace and pressure.

It may seem like a simple outwardly-directed movement of the hands, but you are actually absorbing a lot of sensory input, as well. Friction, texture, contours, differences in muscle thickness… all are variable conditions. For touch to be pleasing, you need to account for those differences and adapt your touch… to orchestrate the interaction of input and output.

In the way I see it, rhythm is the thing that harmonizes those adjustments, smooths them into fluidity, keeps the components of pace and pressure at a constant level. It’s more of an over-arching element, rather than something that exists in or from your hands.

Rhythm unifies touch into something smooth and enjoyable, something you can relax into. Without it, touch is somehow discordant and distracting, uncomfortable at best, if not downright jarring.

(how’d I do?)

R is For...

rhythm [ˈriT͟Həm/]

noun

     1:  a strong, regular, repeated pattern of movement or sound

     2:  an ordered recurrent alternation of strong and weak elements in the flow of sound and silence in speech

     3:  the aspect of music comprising all the elements (as accent, meter, and tempo) that relate to forward movement
     4:  a particular type of pattern formed by rhythm

     5:  movement, fluctuation, or variation marked by the regular recurrence or natural flow of related elements

     6:  a regularly recurrent quantitative change in a variable biological process 

     7:  the effect created by the elements in a play, movie, or novel that relate to the temporal development of the action

(If the tap sequence from “An American in Paris” was worked into this mix, my happiness would be complete!)

Rhythm has as many forms as it has definitions - because it’s a funny thing to pin down.

It’s not just a pattern or a beat… it’s a flow, a way of proceeding forward, in both movement and sound. Rhythm can express itself in different forms, as well. Many people have a fairly comprehensive sense of rhythm, finding it in everything around them. Yet I know musicians who never lose a beat, but who cannot dance to save their souls; writers whose words create a gorgeous symphony but who can’t find the beat in a tune, and people whose internal clocks never fail them but who struggle to flnd a flow to anything… 

And then there are those people who can’t find a rhythm At All.

I myself have a pretty decent sense of rhythm. Not flawless, by any means, but pretty deeply ingrained - the result of both genetics and training. (The dance instructor I had as a kid was of the opinion that you start ‘em early, at 3 or 4, and spend those first couple of years teaching, not so much dance techniques, but how to hear the rhythm in the music.) 

So, annoyingly picky as it may sound, rhythm really is something I notice.

I don't require it in others, however. For the most part, if you have it, great; if not, oh well. 

Man does not live by rhythm alone, after all..., right?

Except there's one situation that makes me eat those words... one arena where I do require rhythm... and that would be in touch.

I absolutely cannot get past someone lacking rhythm in their touch.

Touch may seem like an odd place to house that requirement, particularly at such an uncompromising level, but rhythm creates flow… and touch without flow is one of the most unsatisfying things in the world to me. I might date you for a short while if you lack it, but you can be pretty sure you’re off my long-term radar. 

BeachMan once said: 

“If you can’t move well together, you probably won’t do well in bed, either.” 

Well, this is a corollary:

"If you can't make me crave your touch, I won't be craving much else."

Shallow? Yeah, maybe... 

Won't argue it with you one way or the other. 

Won't change my mind, either.  ;-p

Who needs rhythm?

Me.

B is for...

Feeling the way I do at the moment, you nearly got Bronchitis for the B-word… but I’d have to be feeling a whole lot better than I do at the moment to make that an interesting post.

So we’re going with another B dear to my heart… Bagpipes.

Talk about your divisive instrument!

Alfred Hitchcock spoke for many when he quipped,“I understand the inventor of the bagpipes was inspired when he saw a man carrying an indignant, asthmatic pig under his arm. Unfortunately, the man-made sound never equalled the purity of [that] achieved by the pig."

Harsh, to be sure — but when you hear those long droning notes that the piper warms up with, you cannot deny a certain validity to the words. 

This is not music that fits neatly into our modern conception of All That Is Tuneful.

And yet, I (along with countless others,) absolutely adore bagpipe music. 

It may be because bagpipes are part of my own cultural collective unconsciousness. Droning start or not, this is indeed the song of my people. As Michael MacDonagh put it, "This old barbaric music has magic in it. It transforms the Gael. It reawakens in the depths of their being, even in this...century, impressions, moods, feelings inherited from a wild untamed ancestry for thousands of years, and thus gives them, more than strong wine, that strength of arm and that endurance of soul which makes them invincible.”

Bagpipes also feature heavily in the soundtrack of my childhood. We had Sunday evening tattoos on the record player every week (just before Lawrence Welk!) and I learned to dance the highland fling as a Father’s Day surprise for my grandpa. This is music with a rhythm that has always surged through my blood.

Despite being steeped in the traditional of the pipes, however, I am still a child of rock and roll. Which, I will admit, gives me a preference for a more modern approach to bagpipe music. Still heavy on pipes and drum, but with a kind of “rocks the house” approach that swoops up the listeners and carries them away.

Something like this…

(Nor does it hurt that, where there’s a bagpipe, there’s generally a man in a kilt nearby!)

In Which I Briefly Get It

If you've read here any length of time, you know I'm not particularly visual when it comes to Things Erotic. On the whole, I'm much more aurally or intellectually triggered -- my optic nerve is not the most direct path to my libido. 

But there are moments… and I had one of them the other day.

A thirty-something in lycra running gear (something I usually find rather off-putting) had slowed next to me to check his watch and catch his breath. I was observing, in my usual detached sort of way, that he had an unusually attractive butt/leg proportion going on, neither scrawny nor overly-buff (which seem to be the kinds that usually fill lycra tights,) when he started running again...

And the angels sang.

Just like that, I was transfixed. All pretensions of detachment flew out the window and I found myself reduced to a mindless, blinking ninny, enthralled by the very visible interplay of muscle. I was lost to a beautiful symphony of movement, wanting nothing more than to follow the music and dance.

Sadly, reality would not let me succumb to the siren song. Even if ankle and overall fitness would permit me to chase after him, responsibility would not. I had an elderly companion who could not be abandoned to the perils of dark city streets while I sprinted off in pursuit of visual bliss. (Not to mention the likelihood of stalking charges.)

Still, for a minute, I caught a glimpse of what it is like to lust by sight.

And for one fleeting, shining moment, I understood.  :-)

About that Shakin' and Bakin'...

For someone who almost never gets takers when she puts out a call for questions, this is turning into, "All Answers, All the Time!"

But I love it -- (and hopefully you guys enjoy the ride, as well.) :-D

This time I bundled a few of monkey's questions:

"As the Queen of the naughty bloggers on-line cookie exchange, what is your favorite cookie? I truly have wondered." 

OK, first the disclaimer - I do not claim royalty.

"Queen" sounds lovely, of course, but I feel I should stop you at the "Organizer" tier -- it's more apt. Our cookie exchange is a group thing, I just get the (dough)ball rolling.

But to the more interesting subject of COOKIES!, I luuuv the Cherry Winks that I posted for the first ever cookie exchange. But I only make them at the holidays. (They're easy for a holiday cookie but choppin' those cherries gets a bit fiddly in everyday life.)

My favorite cookie for the rest of the year would have to be my Grandma's oatmeal cookie. But I am quite fussy about the "Grandma's" part. There many perfectly adequate oatmeal cookies out there, but they generally lack the amazing balances of Grandma's. 

It's crunchy -- with some chew to it, buttery and brown-sugary-sweet -- with a nice tang of salt to mellow it out. Nom!!

I don't make them often, however, because I find myself hoarding the entire batch of 4 dozen. For a single woman, living alone, who has lost the metabolic vigor of her youth, this is not really a sound policy.

(But don't even think about sneakin' your hand into the cookie jar, you! *slap!*)

"Your old icon, the big gorgeous green eye, was it yours?"

What, this ol' thing?

Yes, that's mine eye. I think of it as grey, to be honest, altho' I recognize that it looks pretty darned blue here. And of course, I love that you remembered it as green because that's totally exotic. 

But sadly incorrect...

"and do you still practice belly dancing? if not, why not?"

No, the belly dancing has kind of fallen by the wayside once more.

There are several reasons for this -- primarily, of course, laziness.

My front room, which is where my DVD player sits, catches the afternoon sun and is hotter than the hinges of hell in summertime. Which means I generally bypass that room, go outside where there's a breeze, and weed for exercise, mesmerizing hips be damned! 

This naturally kills any kind of momentum -- and I haven't yet been bothered to revive it.

Additionally, there's the fact that the DVDs get to be old hat. I've taken actual belly dancing classes, and they were much more sustainable, interest-wise, but they got pushed back to a time that's just not suitable for someone who has to (grudgingly) rise with the lark.

And finally, while the belly dancing was great to do during my recovery, once I got feeling better, I itched to return to the big-air, fast-twitch muscle moves of the modern dance I'm more used to. In the words of my mama (as she yanked me head first out of ballet classes,) "you do better with a faster dance, honey. Leave the ballet for the girls who are graceful." (As the quicker tempos actually suited me better, this wasn't as nearly hurtful as you may worry it felt.) 

I do still periodically work through the yoga portions of the yoga/belly dancing DVDs on hand. (For whatever reason, a lack of flexibility can motivate me to exercise much more persuasively than any mere pooching abdomen.) Plus, I occasionally don my finger cymbals to *clink!* around the house - just because.

But for the most part, the cymbals and bindis and DVDs lie dormant right now.

Pranayama-weenie

So, I decided to kick the bellydancing up a notch and incorporate some yoga moves into my workouts. I am assured by Ms. Rachel Brice that this will greatly enhance my dance form. And I think it fair to say that if I end up being able to bend like this, she is correct...

(Altho' if that ever does happen, be on the lookout for flying pigs, 'k?)

Yesterday was Day One of this new initiative and I was ready, by gum!
I rolled out my mat, turned on the DVD player, assumed a half-lotus position, and promptly hit a snag.

Yoga Breathing.
Way, WAY too slow for me.

Apparently, I've also lost lung capacity along with my other Gumbyc traits -  and trying to match my breathing to the glacial pace of hers had me gasping before we even started the poses.

(Does it count as an aerobic workout if  your heart is racing solely from the fact that you're wheezing like a consumptive water buffalo? Because if so, this may be the most effective exercise I've done in years! Just think of the benefits when I add actual movement!)

And no, the answer is NOT to take up breath play, OK?!
Bad idea.
Just, really... bad idea.

Vanity, Thy Name is Gumby...

A sweet elderly friend of mine was bemoaning the fact that her 88 years of life have caught up to her and her ankles are now a bit puffy, no longer the neat joint she's been so proud of most of her life. She fretted that I'd think she was being silly to mourn the loss of such a trivial vanity -- but I completely get it.

We're all vain about something, even if it's something sort of ridiculous. For example, my vanity is my collarbone. Not the favorite of most, perhaps, but that has always been my body part of choice.

A small thing but mine own...

Recently, however, I discovered that I had another vanity that was so deeply ingrained, I hadn't even realized it was one. I had thought it was just a thing. But that thing is currently AWOL - and the degree of betrayal and annoyance I feel toward my body for "failing me" makes it quite clear this wasn't "a thing" - it was a (*hair toss, studiedly casual shrug*) "What, this ol' thing?" thing.  (*preen, preen*)

See, I have danced since I was three -- and was been blessed with Gumby genes from both side of the genetic equation. Whether fat or thin, in shape or out, I have always been able to make my body do pretty much whatever I want, without even having to think about it. Except, … well, it's been a rough year.

I had a foot injury over the summer, ripped a muscle in the fall, and then concussed myself this winter. By the time I got around to working on moving normally again, disconnect had set in.
My normal? - ain't no more.
I've got shortened muscles, flexibility at about half of norm, and most alarming to me, I've lost my dancer's square. (Well, I still see it, I just can't stay in it anymore!)

Yep, Gumby has left the building.

Now, the good news is that this is not the same as 88-year old ankles.
I can remedy this situation, and I WILL, by golly!
But how? I'm still occasionally tippy and nowhere near ready to join a gym. What can I do at home, reliably, in any kind of weather?

Weeding through my iPhoto albums, I found my answer.
Not to mention a new hero:



I now own every single instructional DVD of this woman's that I can find and I'm going to do them over and over and over and over -- until I dance  Just. Like. Her.
It will probably take until my next lifetime, but it'll be worth it, don't you think?
It's good to have a goal...

A Mechanical Girl

I had a Popcorn and Old Movie night the other evening and re-watched "White Nights". So if you heard strange, uncontrolled whimpering noises in the distance, it was probably me - when Mikhail Baryshnikov did this:

Holy Mother Of God Stabbed With A Knife!

My mouth watered, my hands ached to grope...
I hit rewind several times.

All the while laughing at myself as I did, because this is honest and truly not a typical reaction for me. As I have mentioned before, I'm not particularly drawn to strictly physical attributes. Parts is parts.

However, while laughing (and wiping fingerprints off the television screen,) I did recall once when I had experienced a purely physical reaction to the mere sight of a man. I couldn't tell you a thing about his looks. All I know is that he was hula-hooping -- and I was a puddle on the floor, mesmerized by the sway of his hips...
Mercy, could that boy move!

Then I thought about my years of dance training.
My love of gymnastics and Cirque du Soleil.
My fascination with sumo...

No, it's not any one shape or form that does it for me.
But apparently I am a complete sucker for how a shape or form is used.

It's body mechanics, it's control.
I like to see the body pushed beyond what most people consider normal limits.
(does any of this ring a bell?)

I realized then that it's probably no coincidence that I'm so satisfied by my submission to BG, because one of the things we both enjoy doing is precisely that kind of pushing. We each love to get me tied up into strange, esoteric positions and then given a seemingly impossible task.

Whether I succeed or not, there is much mutual enjoyment in the challenge.
(Plus, I kinda like the fact that he can stalk like a flippin' panther...)
oh my yes please sir...

Yeah, parts is parts.
What I like to see is what you can do with yours.
So I can think about what that will let you do with mine...  :-)

Bad Moods

Sometimes, you can deal with them by eating chocolate.

 Sometimes, hard work does the trick.

Sometimes, the serenity of nature performs miracles.

But sometimes,
you just need to put on some music and DANCE!!


(And had that youtube not been removed, you could dance along with me...)