Wednesday, November 02, 2005
tiny, remedial dancer.
okay.
every time i go to a dance call, i remind myself that this is not something i do, that i have no business having an ego about it or thinking that i am actually in some way prepared to dance when it hasn't been a part of my life for the last fifteen years (or, really, like, ever. the dance lessons i took in the strip mall behind the bowling alley as a child hardly count).
but sometimes, when i know the group will be a group of actors, *none* of whom dance, i think that i might actually look good in comparison. i do viewpoints. i do a little yoga. i'm not sedentary. i climb a crapload of stairs everyday, and i have an excellent, cupcakelike ass. i even sometimes fool myself into thinking that because i am thin, i'm in shape.
none of this is true. i am now officially the retarded one in class. i have seen this girl--actually, usually it's a guy; the one who is so bad you are like: come on, guy. are you *trying* to look like that? that was me.
two things have gotten way worse since i was a younger person: this spatial dyslexia i was diagnosed with as a child must be having a field day in my brain, because just like i can't read a map anymore, i can't learn a combination even in twice the time it takes normal people. and--this is so gross (but unrelated to things dyslexic): my FACE. my FACE turns SO PINK. it's red, actually. and then there's this terrible figure in the mirrors with a giant meatball face and some sort of stick body with none of the right bendy places. how i can manage to look chunky in the mirrors is beyond me, because i am not thick or curvy, but the fact remains: the person in the mirrors is a broad plane with no muscle definition.
so, i got through it. and today i feel like a pile of old bones held together with beef jerky. the decision i made to do some movement work in the spring is now highlighted and boldface. will they be calling me back? i doubt it. i did good in the acting part, but . . . i think they were afraid of the spasmo limbs and meatball face. i know i was.
every time i go to a dance call, i remind myself that this is not something i do, that i have no business having an ego about it or thinking that i am actually in some way prepared to dance when it hasn't been a part of my life for the last fifteen years (or, really, like, ever. the dance lessons i took in the strip mall behind the bowling alley as a child hardly count).
but sometimes, when i know the group will be a group of actors, *none* of whom dance, i think that i might actually look good in comparison. i do viewpoints. i do a little yoga. i'm not sedentary. i climb a crapload of stairs everyday, and i have an excellent, cupcakelike ass. i even sometimes fool myself into thinking that because i am thin, i'm in shape.
none of this is true. i am now officially the retarded one in class. i have seen this girl--actually, usually it's a guy; the one who is so bad you are like: come on, guy. are you *trying* to look like that? that was me.
two things have gotten way worse since i was a younger person: this spatial dyslexia i was diagnosed with as a child must be having a field day in my brain, because just like i can't read a map anymore, i can't learn a combination even in twice the time it takes normal people. and--this is so gross (but unrelated to things dyslexic): my FACE. my FACE turns SO PINK. it's red, actually. and then there's this terrible figure in the mirrors with a giant meatball face and some sort of stick body with none of the right bendy places. how i can manage to look chunky in the mirrors is beyond me, because i am not thick or curvy, but the fact remains: the person in the mirrors is a broad plane with no muscle definition.
so, i got through it. and today i feel like a pile of old bones held together with beef jerky. the decision i made to do some movement work in the spring is now highlighted and boldface. will they be calling me back? i doubt it. i did good in the acting part, but . . . i think they were afraid of the spasmo limbs and meatball face. i know i was.
