Sol Y Sombra

I lucked out last night. Of course this is a conclusion I'm making after the fact. I did my first performance of the year with the Sol Y Sombra Dance Company in Huntington Village. What made this experience special was being billed (my name) on the program this time. I suppose dancing in 4 numbers instead of the usual 2 had a little something to do with it. I'm not quite sure what to say. My nerves were relentless. We had to be there at 4pm for sound check. That's 4 hours of pacing, applying makeup, pacing, prepping, putting on my poker face, and pacing some more. It was painful. The rain never came, which would have meant cancelling the show. I guess, in some way, Mother Nature knew what I needed. She brought in the sun right when shade would soon follow. I felt ill. Then of course I actually fell. It was during rehearsal for sevillanas - an old traditional flamenco dance from Sevilla that is typically done with a partner & castanets. All the musicians asked me if I was OK. Try "yes, but my ego just jumped over a cliff." Anyway, the worst had passed & it could only get.. sunnier. By curtain time, I had forgotten all about fear & sunnier arrived. Aside from the occassional misteps & flowers flying out of my hair, I made it through unscathed. My family showered me with compliments afterwards. They took it a step further by saying some of their friends, whom I've never met, thought I was the best one. Ego boost? Check! Even if they were biased, it's what I needed. The best part was the salsa piece we did with a little flamenco peppered throughout. I had a chance to showcase everything I ever learned from the salsa queen herself, my mom, since I was like 3 years old.

The whole day I had made up my mind to give up dancing. The stress wasn't worth it. Truth is I really wasn't "the best one," far from it. But I felt alive. And I just can't say no to alive.

Review: Fiona & Damien

Last night I went to go see two very different performances. First, Damien Rice. A straightforward, honest, bare-your-soul type of show. There was a lot of electricity, so he rocked out, sang a lullaby, then rocked out again. An amazing guest vocalist, Lisa, who gave Fiona a run for her money in the sultry & deep tones department, a cellist, a kick ass drummer, and the bassist stood on stage. No backdrop, no cool effects, no sharp threads. I was smitten. Then came my dear Fiona. She's so lost. I kept waiting for paramedics to take her away in a straight-jacket. Then I thought a group of priests would storm in from the Vatican to perform a very special exorcism. She was breathtaking at times. There were moments of pure brilliance. But something happened once she crossed that very strange line. It got awkward. The edge of insanity is usually occupied by geniuses like Bjork or Iggy Pop, but a Ms. Apple? Hmmm... All in all I had a great time. I still love her, found a new love in Damien, and became inspired. That's a damn fine time if I do say so myself.

A Pocket Watch -

Since I was a little girl, I’ve wanted one. I thought enclosing a watch into a little round metal compartment meant controlling time. The idea that time could be kept hidden appealed to me. That it was tangible and vulnerable. That maybe it could be stopped! There was also all this history, or so I imagined. Like maybe a pocket watch belonged to someone very special, someone from centuries ago. I figured the mechanical ones (of course) would never tick endlessly and haunt me when I was typing, rubbing my chin, riding a bike, painting my nails, or any other ordinary activity that might become a reminder of time running out. It would simply sit in my pocket until I was ready. Time waiting on me for a change. Clearly, I didn’t know what pocket watches really were… that they were even more magical.

My father’s side of the family is planning this huge surprise party for my grandfather. He will be 80. Someone in our pretend 10-person committee (only 5 of us are doing all the work) suggested the gift be a wrist watch. I pulled the “head of the committee,” my uncle Nacho, to one side and made my case for the pocket watch. Majority has ruled for it. Finally, I’ll get to see an heirloom in the making for someone who’s been around a long, long time. Ah, yes, someone very special.

Noche Flamenco

Flamenco embodies everything that I am. If you really want to know me, watch a gypsy glide and with one swift move take your breath away. Ok, so maybe I don't have that kind of presence since I am a bit clumsy and bubbly, but I'm tellin' ya I can migrate (figuratively speaking) like there's no tomorrow.

On a more serene note, I sat in Central Park on this very still night and watched "Noche Flamenco" by a small company of musicians and dancers from Spain. I'm completely rejunivated. Tomorrow when I stand with the other girls in class, I'm going to dance with some... class.

IndepenDANCE

My weekend was filled with so much dancing I thought my feet would grow some... feet & walk away refusing to carry the rest of me, so I'd simply collapse. It was either a death wish or some insane obsession to move freely. I danced Thursday evening at my cousin's salsa lesson. I persuaded him to meet friends at a lounge where I danced some more in my pumps and business suit. I danced on Saturday for flamenco class and again at a garden party under the Brooklyn stars. I danced on Monday for salsa and flamenco rehearsal. Later that night I went out again for some goth/new wave/punk/alternative dancing. I can't stop dancing even if today my feet have left the building.

Summertime

Today, the first day of summer, we had a memorial for the president of my company. He died. Some people in the industry spoke. Others played musical pieces they had written just for the occassion. A month has passed since the wake, so it was different than grieving. We were in a dark place - all of us - knowing the sun was beating down hard and heavy like a drum. But - all of us - wanting to risk going outside. Listed on the program was an executive and the widow. She stood there in silence as he began to play the first notes of jazz. Her voice was shaken. At times I thought she wouldn't make it all the way through...

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

Livin' ain't so easy sometimes.

Sex Without Love

Sex Without Love
Sharon Olds (1942- )

How do they do it, the ones who make love
without love? Beautiful as dancers,
gliding over each other like ice-skaters
over the ice, fingers hooked
inside each other's bodies, faces
red as steak, wine, wet as the
children at birth whose mothers are going to
give them away. How do they come to the
come to the come to the God come to the
still waters, and not love
the one who came there with them, light
rising slowly as steam off their joined
skin? These are the true religious,
the purists, the pros, the ones who will not
accept a false Messiah, love the
priest instead of the God. They do not
mistake the lover for their own pleasure,
they are like great runners: they know they are alone
with the road surface, the cold, the wind,
the fit of their shoes, their over-all cardio-
vascular health--just factors, like the partner
in the bed, and not the truth, which is the
single body alone in the universe
against its own best time.

Ain't No Mountain High Enough

I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay silent for all of June. I’m in love and I want to shout it out from the mountain tops! How would I get up there you ask? With my new love, the Lava Dome. It’s only the coolest, chromoly (steel), purple (almost violet blue), Kona mountain bike ever. It was so much fun test riding it around Sayville. One of the boys at the shop even took me on a mini trail just so I could really feel the weight and choose the best frame size. There was no question that I needed the 14, which is pretty damn small. In fact, if you put some training wheels, a bell, and tassels on the handle bars, I’d look like a 7 year old. No worries though. I plan on making it to the top of a mountain with or without the frills and the training.

I ordered my Lava Dome yesterday and will pick it up next week!

Silent in June

I promised myself that in June I'd revamp my "space" with colors, a picture of happier times, and a song for a project I'm working on. I did it. I met the first part of my goal and so far I've gotten a nice response. I'm not sure if people are just being kind, but it doesn't really matter right now. I'm happy I was able to overcome whatever was keeping me silent.

On a Date

I'm on a date with a man, who I can't for the life of me understand. We are polar opposites, but I agreed to meet him again. Connections are important and I am still hopeful. The problem is I might as well be alone. Here we are. I'm typing this while he reads and I wait... for him to go home.

May Leaves

I feel the tension fading steadily.
And the sadness sets in like a curled
Leaf resting on my cheek. I twirl
It from the stem and pray for trees.
Make them dance for me –
Let it rain leaves.

My Poseidon Adventure

Since the trailer for “Poseidon” (2006) was unleashed, I’ve been having this recurring dream. A giant wave that looks like a sculpture under the moon strikes. I drown in darkness. Oh, and there are sharks surrounding me, too. Then I wake up mistaking my sweat for saltwater, so for a second I’m thinking, “That was no boating accident!” First of all, what the f*ck am I doing doggie paddling in the middle of the ocean? No lifejacket. No flippers. No oxygen tank. No fins. No capsized ship. No icebergs. No floating trunks that I can hop on. Anyway, I haven't had the "wave/shark dream" since I was little. Thanks Richard Dreyfuss (again).

Case of the Missing Tree

I am on a mission. I must recover the trees. They’ve gone missing in my neighborhood. It’s my number one pet peeve…. Yes, I’ve got a long list of them (honestly, I wouldn’t be a New Yorker if it wasn’t long). Trees are being chopped down as if we all lived in some forest. I’ve been given many possible reasons from the NYC Department of Parks and Recreation, Forestry Division. They tell me it could be disease, beetle nesting, obstruction, improper growth, etc… Something tells me they don’t really know. Instead of these cats extracting the root, they chop them at the limb. Most inhumane. I stand in front of a stump on my block sometimes to inspect what’s left. A solid mass of patterns, rings, and memories. The root claws into a patch of dirt and concrete as if it had felt the pain of her execution. Cold bloody murderers! Yet, those very same claws were lifelines once. What’s worse is that the tree has not been replaced, which was supposed to happen in March/April – tree planting season, thereby allowing it to regenerate and all other living things. The Department asked me to call back in August after they've conducted an investigation or as they call it, “a survey.” Hopefully, a new tree will be planted soon. I asked if they could check out 8 other stumps I found around the way, but was told that I can only report one. One tree on the block of a neighborhood in a careless city full of missing trees. There’s something wrong with this system, but I'll find a way around it. I’ll never stop until I make things right, kid. That’s my mission

(light up cigarette, pull fedora down, lift collar up, cross my street, and fade to black).

9 Years

the president of my company died today. he had been battling lukemia for 9 years and came to work like the rest of us. only a select few knew about the illness. i suspect he preferred living a normal life over pity. the vp called everyone into the cafeteria at 4:30pm and made an announcement. it was weird watching the most intimidating man, more so than was the deceased, break. the controller broke and so did the director of human resources. next were the marketing and accounting managers. the web designer and purchasing agent followed. i didn't know our president. in fact, i'm not sure anyone did. he only spoke to a select few. my brief encounters with him were in the hallway and i didn't really exist there. i've been working at this place for 9 years, so it's fair to say he had other, more important, things on his mind.

when i left my company, i walked into rain. just the right amount of rain with the kind of gray skies that bear a hint of the future.

A Day Off

I didn't go to work. Instead, I went to school on a day that the sun, though not visible, tormented. My goal was to start my research paper. There was no shade around so I parked my car under a blinding, flourescent, yellowish-white patch of nothing else. I finished "Passing," by Nella Larsen, then drove off in search of a tree. Once I found it I felt quenched. I sat for a while to watch young students passing by. I wasn't quite ready to make that transformation.

Later, I walked into the cafeteria and blended in. It must have been the Pumas, bookbag, and water bottle. Either way, I knew I was one of the oldest. A 20-something year old passed me in a Misfits t-shirt with a smirk on his face. It reminded me of those days when I thought I knew everything. He went back to his corner where the other gothic/punk rockers wore black. They were probably tormented, too.

Right now I'm in a computer lab. The blinds are closed to keep all the machines from overheating. I wonder when this heat wave will pass, so I can go home.

Weekend Rain

I was angry Friday night. I cried until it actually rained outside. It hasn’t stopped. First drizzle, then plain rain. Afterwards a downpour. Now it’s giant droplets that keep banging sporadically against my air conditioner. Loud as guns. The cars drive by in waves washing away dirty streets. Maybe I can stick my feet out of the window and wait for the coming tide. That could be a relief until Monday's weather.

My Neighbor

My neighbor came over to say hello. Me being the industrious gal that I am I asked him to help me lift up my mattress in order to place a freshly washed bedskirt on the boxspring. It's such a waste of time anyway because I have hardwood floors and the dustballs form in a matter of seconds after I sweep. They manage to cling on to the cotton, so I have to wash the darn thing all over again. But if I don't have a bedskirt, you'll be able to see the boogie-dust monster underneath and he likes his privacy. Now this neighbor of mine tends to drop by unannounced, which is probably not proper etiquette for a gentleman trying to impress a lady. Maybe I'm no lady... I just assume all men try to impress (anything in a [bed]skirt) as best they can, so of course he complied with my request. We are both standing against the wall of the bedroom/living room that is a complete mess thanks to my bright idea of Spring cleaning on NY's first gorgeous weekend. I straighten out the sheet. Then he grabs my arm and kisses me on the cheek. Really he was shooting for my lips...twice! You can imagine the shock. I took a wild guess and asked in between giggles, "I thought you were seeing someone?" Much to my surprise he responded, "I am." What the ^&*%(!? He apologized about 7 times before he left my apartment. Did I give him some kind of signal that says, hey I'd like someone with a girlfriend (of 4 years!) to f*** me tonight?" Jeeez. Maybe he's no gentleman...

D-n-B

If we are all but
dreams
and bones,
then why must
an awakening
break them
both?

Drifting

Lately I find myself drifting from dream state to altered states to reality to reality television to driving long distances to daydreaming to fighting sleep to crunching numbers to falling in love to falling out of love to finding past loves to avoiding the future to sunsets to moon gazing to outer space to my-very-own-space to blogging or just reading what writers won’t say to struggling with words to drifting like a piece of broken wood that was once a sailboat on a windless sea.

V

"Remember, remember, the fifth of November,
The gunpowder treason and plot.
I know of no reason why the gunpowder
treason should ever be forgot." - V

I need to learn how to throw knives.