Enough About Me... How About You? What Do You Think Of Me?
Monday, January 17, 2005“Pink shirt girl, you’re a mess”
I love that in this city I can decide on a whim that I want to try something new and then just do it. Greektown Girl suggested a few weeks ago that I tag along to her hip hop dance class which I did with great excitement (yes, I was the whitest girl there – wearing running gear while the rest of the class was skeezed up in Puma sneakers and Madonna gear circa 1985 complete with wristbands).
This being Toronto, hip hop dance class isn’t held at the Y. Our class is at a dance studio, with Keisha Chanté’s choreographer, Lenny. Word must have gotten out that I’m the worst dancer in the history of the world (making me the ideal person to bring along to these things, because I make whoever I’m there with look like a rock star), because this past weekend, Midtown Girl invited me to try ballet with her.
So off we go, down to Union Station on a bright Saturday morning, jump on a streetcar and arrive at Queens Quay and Spadina (Saint John Flames (tee hee), I am ruined for pronouncing Spadina correctly because I will forever hear it in singsong as Spa-dee-nah). We walk a half block west and arrive at the door of what else… the National Ballet of Canada. Those of you who have seen me dancing just cringed! Yes, it was like watching a car wreck… I am that bad. But I had the most fun ever! Both hip hop and ballet classes are drop ins, which means that you jump in and try to keep up with what’s going on. There’s very little “instruction” in ballet, and none in hip hop – we just learn a new “routine” (makes it sound very cheerleader-y) each week. I’ve learned that in hip hop, if I skip a move in every eight count, I can sort of keep up. In ballet, I’m going to have to take extended water breaks during anything resembling pirouettes. Die! pirouettes, die! (I got called out in ballet during our pirouettes or whatever those psychotic turns were called: “pink shirt girl, you’re doing that all wrong”).
So now I’m hooked on each. Where else in the world can a (below) average girl hang with a real choreographer and learn a routine as he’s creating it? Or take ballet lessons with a pianist playing a grand piano in the corner of the studio? Only here, with my crazy friends! I’m drawing the line at belly dancing though…
Posted by Brown Eyed Girl :: 1:33 PM :: 3 Comments: ---------------------------------------