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Feb. 28th, 2004
Watch This!
Feb. 28th, 2004 02:38 pmHere are two little movies bound to intrigue and entertain. The first is a spooky little tale of a Cat With Hands (thanks, ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
curtana). The other is a cautionary tale about the life-altering effects of pornstorms in the workplace: Farm Sluts (thanks, zombienought). Enjoy!
curtana). The other is a cautionary tale about the life-altering effects of pornstorms in the workplace: Farm Sluts (thanks, zombienought). Enjoy!
Another Reason to Zaghareet
Feb. 28th, 2004 10:38 pmWhat a crazy night! First of all, I danced at a multicultural potluck dinner with snowy_kathryn. One of my brand new students showed up to watch us dance, which was nice. And during the intermission, the three of us danced with some Iranian ladies, one of whom is an awesome dancer, with delicate moves and gestures. Once again, I performed to Rachid Taha's "Habina Habina" and a drum solo by Mokhtar Said. I wore a silver skirt with black insets, silver pantaloons, and a silver coin-covered bedlah which shed like a collie in the springtime. Kathryn wore a fabulous new black and silver beaded bedlah. We wanted to match, because we were doing the drum solo together.
Unfortunately, my energy was lacking. You see, at the beginning of the evening, there was a cleansing ceremony by a First Nations medicine man, and the smoke from the burning sweetgrass set off my asthma. So much for cleansing, hmm?
I hate dancing while I'm asthmatic. I get jitters, which isn't too bad as far as shimmies go, I suppose, but it does the opposite of wonders for my strength and stamina. I could feel my arms and hips getting heavier and heavier, and I fought to give a spirited performance. The audience was small but great. There were plenty of Iranians, and I find Iranians and Latinos are the most responsive audiences. Add children in there, and you have a dream crowd. And yes, there were children. They were hopped up on sugar and caffiene from all the cola they'd been guzzling all night, and were thrumming like hornets in upended shot glasses. Somehow, they were well-behaved, despite this chemical handicap. Everyone clapped along to my music, rather than sit there passively and wait until the end to give a polite golf clap (the typical Frederictonian response).
But like I was saying, these guys were awesome. At the end of our dance, Kathryn and I were approached by plenty of appreciative people. I may also have landed myself at least two more gigs, including an Iranian wedding this summer. One little girl came up to me with her eyes filled with abject adoration.
"Your clothes are pretty," she said, solemnly.
"Why, thank you!" I answered.
"And your jewellery is pretty, too."
"Thank you again!"
"And you dance pretty," she added.
"Thanks!"
"In fact, pretty is everything about you."
Wow. I gotta keep this kid around me all the time.
I wanted to stay and watch Kathryn dance (she had a candle dance after the intermission), but I had to skedaddle. You see, I had yet another performance tonight. I booted it down to the Tier Two club and danced for a guy named Jack's 8th birthday. He's actually 32, but being born on a leap year kind of cuts back on accurate birthday celebrations. Jack is Lebanese, and was sitting back on a couch in front of a giant tv smoking a cigarette. I was nervous the smoke would make my asthma kick in again, but my lungs decided to take it easy on me. I danced my way in front of Jack, trying to kick aside the many balloons that littered the floor with grace.
Jack watched coolly, but as my dancing progressed and the audience got rowdier, his smile grew and grew. My costume continued to shed coins, and he picked two of them up, placed them over his nipples, and said to his friends, "Look! I'm Janet!"
By the time the drum solo started up, I had him up there dancing with me, and boy, that man can shimmy! I suppose it didn't hurt that he was half in the bag. I slowed my moves down a little bit, increasing slowly into more and more intricate combinations, and he copied me pretty darned heroically. He even did a passable backbend with a shoulder shimmy. I zaghareeted in appreciation, and he copied that, too.
f00dave was my escort, and from his position at the back of the bar, he heard a drunk say, "Thash watcha call a matin' call!"
Bwah! In other news, I think I'm retiring that coin bedlah until I can give it a serious reworking. The poor thing is worn right out.
snowy_kathryn. One of my brand new students showed up to watch us dance, which was nice. And during the intermission, the three of us danced with some Iranian ladies, one of whom is an awesome dancer, with delicate moves and gestures. Once again, I performed to Rachid Taha's "Habina Habina" and a drum solo by Mokhtar Said. I wore a silver skirt with black insets, silver pantaloons, and a silver coin-covered bedlah which shed like a collie in the springtime. Kathryn wore a fabulous new black and silver beaded bedlah. We wanted to match, because we were doing the drum solo together.Unfortunately, my energy was lacking. You see, at the beginning of the evening, there was a cleansing ceremony by a First Nations medicine man, and the smoke from the burning sweetgrass set off my asthma. So much for cleansing, hmm?
I hate dancing while I'm asthmatic. I get jitters, which isn't too bad as far as shimmies go, I suppose, but it does the opposite of wonders for my strength and stamina. I could feel my arms and hips getting heavier and heavier, and I fought to give a spirited performance. The audience was small but great. There were plenty of Iranians, and I find Iranians and Latinos are the most responsive audiences. Add children in there, and you have a dream crowd. And yes, there were children. They were hopped up on sugar and caffiene from all the cola they'd been guzzling all night, and were thrumming like hornets in upended shot glasses. Somehow, they were well-behaved, despite this chemical handicap. Everyone clapped along to my music, rather than sit there passively and wait until the end to give a polite golf clap (the typical Frederictonian response).
But like I was saying, these guys were awesome. At the end of our dance, Kathryn and I were approached by plenty of appreciative people. I may also have landed myself at least two more gigs, including an Iranian wedding this summer. One little girl came up to me with her eyes filled with abject adoration.
"Your clothes are pretty," she said, solemnly.
"Why, thank you!" I answered.
"And your jewellery is pretty, too."
"Thank you again!"
"And you dance pretty," she added.
"Thanks!"
"In fact, pretty is everything about you."
Wow. I gotta keep this kid around me all the time.
I wanted to stay and watch Kathryn dance (she had a candle dance after the intermission), but I had to skedaddle. You see, I had yet another performance tonight. I booted it down to the Tier Two club and danced for a guy named Jack's 8th birthday. He's actually 32, but being born on a leap year kind of cuts back on accurate birthday celebrations. Jack is Lebanese, and was sitting back on a couch in front of a giant tv smoking a cigarette. I was nervous the smoke would make my asthma kick in again, but my lungs decided to take it easy on me. I danced my way in front of Jack, trying to kick aside the many balloons that littered the floor with grace.
Jack watched coolly, but as my dancing progressed and the audience got rowdier, his smile grew and grew. My costume continued to shed coins, and he picked two of them up, placed them over his nipples, and said to his friends, "Look! I'm Janet!"
By the time the drum solo started up, I had him up there dancing with me, and boy, that man can shimmy! I suppose it didn't hurt that he was half in the bag. I slowed my moves down a little bit, increasing slowly into more and more intricate combinations, and he copied me pretty darned heroically. He even did a passable backbend with a shoulder shimmy. I zaghareeted in appreciation, and he copied that, too.
f00dave was my escort, and from his position at the back of the bar, he heard a drunk say, "Thash watcha call a matin' call!"Bwah! In other news, I think I'm retiring that coin bedlah until I can give it a serious reworking. The poor thing is worn right out.
