The Dream

I'm walking in the park with Tammy and elanya. They keep discussing someone named Desdemona. Apparently, Desdemona was recently buried. They keep going on and on about her until finally I blurt, "Who the fuck is Desdemona?"

They stare at me in surprise. "You mean, you don't know?" asks Elanya.

"Of course I don't know! Why would I ask who she is if I already knew?"

Tammy says, "She's the main character in my book."

"What book?"

"That book," Tammy says, pointing at me.

I look down and realize I'm encased in a hardcover book with a powder-grey dust jacket. I leap into the air, somersault three times. While I'm twirling in the air, I spin right out of the book and land naked on my feet in the grass. I reach out and catch the book. It looks like a schmaltzy romance novel.

"What's it about?" I ask.

Tammy rolls her eyes. "I thought we were friends. Why didn't you read my book? Friends support one another."

"I didn't even know you were interested in writing," I said.

Elanya sighs and says, "The book is about Desdemona--Desi. She's a very quiet girl who tries to keep beneath everyone's notice. But she becomes a terrorist."

And then I wake up.

Dreaming of the Dead

Last night's dream has put me in a thoughtful frame of mind. I rarely dream of the dead, and when I do, it's usually about long-dead animal friends, not human ones. But dreaming of Tammy triggers some long-forgotten memories, like the way her black hair contrasted with her ghost-white, freckled skin, the way she loved soap opera actors cum terrible, terrible ballad singers, the way she'd beg me to stay with her in the school sick room every time she was having her period, and her increasing insanity as she drew closer to death. This is the first time I've dreamed of her.

Usually, I dream about my old collie dog, Buoy. He always talks to me in my dreams, and whenever I criticize anything he has to say, he answers simply, "Well, what do you expect? I'm a dog."

I can't argue with that.

Dreaming of the dead awakes my dormant sentimental side. Although Tammy was my friend, we didn't exactly have good times together. The slice of life I spent with her was not a good one. I dealt with lots of tough, after-school-special issues like bullying, child molestation, and various flavours of religious fundamentalism. But somehow, I miss her. I have my doubts that she would have become more than a welfare mom had she lived, but who knows? Maybe she would have become the country/western star she dreamed of becoming.

It's a weird thought.

Media Darling

snowy_kathryn brought me this week's edition of The Aquinian. The feature article on us was nowhere to be seen, and neither were any of the many photos we'd posed for. Instead, a captioned photo announced "Promoting Multiculturalism: Bellydancing at its finest at STUISA Multicultural Fair." There is no accompanying article to explain even what the STUISA Multicultural Fair is. ( Weird. )

What Am I Doing?

I'm a dancer. But what kind of dancer am I? When I do my own thing, incorporating elements of Middle Eastern, modern, jazz-lyrical, modern dance, martial arts, tumbling, yoga, and flamenco, I always refer to it as experimental dance. That's not my usual variety of dance, though. I'm mostly hired out as a "belly dancer." Now, I really dislike that term. I think "belly dancer" is very misleading, partially in that I use a whole hell lot more of my body than my abs when I dance, and also because the term is fraught with stereotypes. A belly dancer is seen by the vast majority of lay people as a Hollywood hoochie-coochie dancer, mesmerizing her (and it's always a her) audience with lascivious looks, sensual wriggling, and a big ol' plastic gem in her navel.

Now, I do my damnedest not to fulfill those stereotypes when I dance. When I dance at multicultural events, I choose music from Lebanon, Turkey, Algeria, or Egypt. I usually perform raqs sharqi (Egyptian, with more than a hint of Turkish). I generally wear costuming representative of dancers from those regions. On occasion, I wear American Tribal Style tassel belts. Whenever anyone asks about these belts, I'm always sure to tell them it's representative of a North American style of Middle Eastern dance.

But doesn't that seem odd? To say North American Middle Eastern dance, I mean? It's either one or the other, isn't it? So what exactly am I doing when I wear these costumes yet use a Middle Eastern vocabulary of movement?

So what the hell am I doing up there on stage, anyhow? Is it still raqs sharqi even if I'm wearing North American costuming? I'd love to call what I do just plain ol' dance, but that's just not specific enough. How can I do a decent job educating the populace when I don't know how to describe what I'm doing?