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Life, or Something Like It

Grad School Check-Off

(or, How Tiff Will Become a Teacher by the fall of 2011)

1. Application.
2. Entrance Essay.
3. Recommendation Letters.
4. Transcript.
5. Gen. Knowledge Tests - there's two!
6. Endorsement Test 1.
7. Endorsement Test 2.

... Then the actual program.



Dance camp 2009 is officially concluded ... which means a weekend of taking it easy and catching up on fic.

Things I have learned from camp this year:

               * If one is suitably interested, one can find videos from camp on youtube. Embarrassing videos, mostly.
               * I have a gay boyfriend. I did not know that this is what we call good homosexual friends, but, apparently, this is the case.
               * Some people really are terrified of cartwheels.
               * I need to get myself to a ballet class. Pronto. We're adding it to the curriculum next year. Argh.

On another note, my  mother went and judged the second round of an NBA dance team audition this afternoon. Like ... JUDGED. How awesome is that?

Oh, except for the fact that I have serious beef with professional sports' dance teams, as they require almost no dance training at all and are only outlets for the skinny beach-blonde faux-dancers to teeter around in bikinis and pretend to be seductive in front of thousands of people.

She had a good time. I'm a little jealous.

Just don't tell her that. :)


I know, I know. It's predictable, us dancers grieving horribly for MJ.

But ... I think we always could look "beyond" the freaky shit and just appreciate him. I always could. I could champion that twisted up genius all day long.

My heart is sad. I think my childhood died a little today. :(

I'm still blaming Trout

My body picked a hell of a time to get sick.

I really do think its just a cold, because, seriously? Am I that much of a hypochondriac? I have a sore throat and a deep cough and am pretty lethargic, but no temperature. Which means cold. Not ... um ... pandemic. 

And even if it IS ... um ... pandemic ... that's just a flu, yeah?  

Also. Trout may have given me whatever the hell it is that I have, if you exclude the fact that she's not as sick as me right now. This, because we shared marinara sauce last night; the mozarella sticks were fantastic, btw. Also, popcorn.

Really, I can't blame Trout. My mother and grandfather were there, too.

The Blazers lost. :( Ah, well. Am still proud to be a Portlander, born and raised.  


So yesterday I bitched about how sore I was after opening night of "Love" - my dance company's newest show - and I have to TOTALLY apologize my heart out, because I think I cursed a friend! 

A company member - we'll call her B - fell doing a tilt jump in the show last night, which sorta looks something like this:

She landed on her bottom leg wrong, tweaking her knee and it sounds like she tore her ACL in the process, which is a killer injury and takes up to like nine months to recover. ACL injuries are the bane of a dancer's existence, seriously. I have nightmares about them.

And you know the part that KILLS me? B and I are partners in the stalker dance - which really was just a jumble of lifts and acrobatic jumps and stuff in which you never lose contact with your partner. Her injury means that I'm being pulled out of the piece for tonight and tomorrow. Which, really, I can't whine about that, because what else am I going to do? Do the partner routine solo? :) Still, I'm sad. B and I were just getting a handle on a couple of the trickier lifts, and we rocked it last night.

So. I cannot whine about hurting any longer, in fear that I'll jinx someone else. I'd known she'd fallen - she went to urgent care during intermission last night - but I didn't realize she'd torn her ACL. That pulls her from the show for the last three performances. I am happy to be whole and able to dance tonight! YAY!


I hurt everywhere. You should see me. I'm covered in athletic tape.

Newest show opened tonight, which means that I'm all beat up and exhausted. The stage we're at isn't the greatest, either; it's a great space, but the stage itself is all chipped wood with no give to it at all. The stage has literally eaten my left foot thong and two pairs of black socks that I need for tap.  As far as dance ghetto is concerned, I'm the poster child.

And you thought dancers were all just dirt poor. There are LEVELS of dancer poverty.

Three more performances to go. I love this show, I do. It's the best yet. But it's taking a toll on my body. Physically. The rolling and the sliding and the throwing myself around like a madwoman. I used to think older dancers just whined for the hell of it, to get sympathy, whatever. Um, NOT SO. I'm a month away from twenty-four years old, and I'm feeling every jump and leap in places I didn't know were involved in jumping and leaping.


Feb. 26th, 2009

I have learned a couple things recently.

1) I am not only a decent cook, but I can actually wash dishes, vacuum and be a pretty decent housewife ... without the husband.

2) I can write multichapter stories in Twilight fandom without the overwhelming pressure to make the chapters perfect. I've been posting twice a week on Twilighted, without going out of my mind with nerves. I think it has something to do with being totally anonymous over there; no one knows who I am at all.

3) I can't do Lent this year; I don't have the emotional energy for it. Giving up Diet Coke last year nearly killed me. :(


Dance team

I'm kind of superstitious when it comes to the dance team I coach.

I'm all sorts of nervous about this year.

Routine number one: hip-hop. Kids hate it, coaches hate it, judges love it. Go figure.

Routine number two: dance. Looks like it'll be a contender for a top spot at state; the highest we've gotten in this category at state is fourth place, and that was just last year.

Routine number three: prop. We're two out of two so far this year. Two first place trophies, even on last Saturday when it was a hot mess. We win at state in this category, not in the season. Our long-standing joke is that if we win at districts, we will lose at state.

Something is wrong this year.

And what does it say about our coaching staff that we get afraid when our team wins?  


Tap Fail

I had my ass handed to me at company rehearsal yesterday. It was so fantastic and fun that I don't mind, but it was pretty humiliating nonetheless. :)

I'm classically trained, as far as dance goes. I started my real dance classes the day I started tap. My tap master was a classicist and a purist; no Savion Glover wailing about on the stage. Her style of teaching always aligned with Gene Kelly, never Fred Astaire. We watched Gregory Hines because he hit his sounds, though his posture and port de bras had some flailing issues. I studied with her for five years, then, at thirteen, started master classes in Portland until I could call myself pretty damn good, all things considered.

So yesterday at rehearsal we were asked to bring our taps because we were starting our tap piece for the April show. Awesomeness. I was ecstatic. Tap! The song is a Fiona Apple bit of gloriousness that I've loved since the day I first heard it three years ago, and it's HELLA FAST. Unreal.

I should post a vid someday of this bit of craziness. I'm either rusty on my sounds or am truly in over my head. I have no idea how I'm gonna manage this, but I suspect I'm going to have to dust off my old practice floor - something I haven't had to do since high school.

My toes bled in my taps for the first time in five years. That's how intense this bit of tappage was. I love it. I'm gonna kill this thing in a few months, but for now, I'm going to have to figure out how to make sixteen sounds in two steps without making a complete fool out of myself. :)