Ole

The moment was perfect.

Standing in the hallway, listening to the music on stage, waiting for my turn. The nerves. The giddy anticipation. The pained smiles from my fellow level one flamenco dancers.

This is the moment in the movies where everything slows down. Where the music cues as the dancers line up back stage. Where every look is nuanced and every stretch of muscle looks like a moment of epic proportions. Where the heroine makes her final stand.

There would be a flash back to the hours of practice. To the dance rehearsal the night before, in the crowded, sauna of a dance studio. To the support shown to all dancers. To the moment where the class danced their dance before their peers. To the shaking legs and nervous smile.

There would be a flashback to tech rehearsal from the morning of, to bumping into Joey trying to hit marks and trying not to think of how full the hall would be when showtime came.

There would be a flashback to backstage, putting on makeup, sticking the flower in the hair and finally feeling a sense of camaraderie with the other dancers, just as it is all about to end.

But this is not a movie.

And as the moment came, I stepped on stage and felt... right. Sure, there were nerves. But no shaky legs. No dread in the depths of my stomach. The music came and my head turned on cue. After that, my body just took over. Sure, I didn't look at the audience that much but I don't think that matters. Sure, I stepped on the trapdoor and nearly turned my ankle, causing me to loose time and bump into someone. Sure both hands went into the air when only one was supposed to.

Whatever.

The moment was perfect. As was the moment when the lights went down and the applause came.

Ole.

S.

I GOT IN

I try to keep it out of my blog but my overwhelming boredness at my job is killing me. So finally after much, much, much deliberation, I finally applied to Photography school.

Months ago, Nadine asked me what my dream job was.

It is and has always been photographer for National Geographic.

She asked me what I was doing about that dream.

Nothing.

She then said "maybe you should do something about it or change your dream."

Ouch.

But very true.

So after hemming and hawing, I looked around my office and had the realization that this was not where I wanted to be. And that going back to school, even going into debt over it, could never be a bad thing as long as I learned something from it.

I filled out my application (at work no less) and sent it in.

A few days later I got an email saying accepted.

In September I will be on my way to a diploma in professional photography, which I can hopefully mix with my anthropology degree in someway to get me experience, so that when I apply to National Geographic in a few years they will say "we gotta get this girl on board."

S.

Bruised Beyond Belief

On Friday work decided to have a volleyball game on top of a local pub. They have sand courts up there and what is funner than drinking and playing volleyball?

This was a practice round because we have been challenged by a local solar panel company to a game.

I went because I like volleyball and really, what else was I gonna do. Bonding with work people is good.

It started out nice. No rallies. Basically those of us on the court at that point weren't any good. I used to play but it has been 10 years since high school. If I used to be good (which I wasn't) then it has since leeched out of me into the abyss of non sport.

Then slowly, as more colleagues came, one by one, the players disappeared from the court and were replaced... by more hard core people. Suddenly I found that I had to actually concentrate and get the ball up for a second hit, not just send it over the net. It actually turned into a game. Gods forbid.

I could see it coming. It was an actual spike. I moved into position and actually returned it. But I did it slightly wrong. I caught it only on my right arm. All I could think afterwards was "ow, ow, ow." Actually, that's all I said afterwards.

When I finally hauled my ass off the court, I could see a bunch of tiny veins had been burst in my arms. Well, that happens when you haven't played in a while.

Some of us went out for drinks afterwards. My arms were aching a tad but not much so I thought nothing of it.

Went home that night, took off my hoodie and there it was. A bruise the size of a fist on my right arm. Purple, pink, green and yellow. It looked like someone had beat me.

So, 5 days later it is slowly fading. But now it is mostly yellow. And I look seriously diseased.

Thanks work. You made me look diseased.

S.

Indy

I admit it. I'm an Indiana Jones nut. I once had a hamster named Indy. He was an escape artist, able to push his whole cage away from the wall in order to escape. I named him well. I once found him, after having escaped his cage, in the cat's food dish, stuffing his face. He lived for danger.

I might have also gone in anthropology with a vague notion of wearing a fedora and crawling through ancient ruins deep in some jungle. This was promptly stomped on by my first anthropology prof who, in Archeology 200, announced the first day that "anyone who thinks they are going to be Indiana Jones might as well park their whip". Another dream crushed.

But I wasn't sure about another movie. The trilogy is perfect. Why mess with such a wonderful thing? But seeing as they were hell bent on it, I was willing to give it a chance.

So last night, my mom and I went. I had read reviews that people said they thought the storyline crazy and such. But come on.... were any of the previous movies plausible? The second one featured a crazy priest who would pull people's still beating hearts out of their chests and eat it while the person looked on.

The movie was campy, cheesy, and pure Indiana Jones. I enjoyed it. I think I will enjoy it even more with subsequent viewings... which if my past viewings of the first three are any indication, there will be many subsequent viewings.

Anyways, enjoy this tribute.




S.