Lost Lessons from Footloose

In 1984, the movie Footloose was released. You know you know it. Kevin Bacon? Lori Singer (of Fame fame)? Crazy Christian town that has a ban against dancing? Don't be shy. You know what I'm talking about.

When I first saw this movie (somewhere around the time it was first released -- fuck, I may have even seen it in the theater), I fucking LOVED it. That much I remember. But its been ages, probably decades, since I last saw it so the details are a bit fuzzy.

But tonight I couldn't sleep. And there, on HBO Family, there it was. Had something else been available for my insomniac viewing pleasure, I might of skipped over it. But it was the best thing on (which actually says something pretty shitty about late night TV). And so here I sit, wishing for sleep, and watching.

And the crazy thing is....to my own surprise, I realized how political this movie actually is. Was. Whatever.

My point...Um. hello. Crazy right wing psychos forcing their religion down the throats of everyone else? Sound familiar? It could be the same fucking bullshit that is floating around today except instead of dancing, the question now is whether poor raped women should be able to get abortions on the public dollar. Not exactly the same, I know, but its still the same religious fucking douchebags trying to force their beliefs on everyone else.

Anywho, 1984 was quite a while ago, and yet tonight I realized that Footloose still has a few things to teach us (apparently because our society is led by a bunch of ignoramuses who can't learn from the past)...

1. It is SO not cool to punch your girlfriend. No matter how cute you are. And whether she was talking to another guy, as liberal as he may be, or not.

2. Book burning is bad. Even preachers agree. (On a side note.....yes, you are allowed to control what your kid reads. Of course you are. They're your kids. BUT, you are NOT allowed to control what MY kid reads).

3. The devil is not found without. He (or she or it or whatever -- I'm nothing if not an equal opportunist) is found within. So stop projecting you silly silly religious wingnuts.

4. People will follow the shittiest, most draconian, bullshit rules for no other reason than they're afraid to confront the status quo. Kind of like gays raised in Republican homes.

5. One person can make a difference. At least on a small scale.

6. Dancing can be good for the soul! (Even the bible agrees -- for example....."a time to weep and a time to laugh, a time to mourn and a time to dance" Ecc. 3:4; "Let them praise his name with dancing" Psalm 149:3; "Thou has turned for me my mourning into dancing; though hast put off my sackcloth and girded me with gladness" Psalm 30:11)

There are probably others, but I'm already up WAY past my bedtime and am done thinking for the evening. Feel free to share your own Footloose Lessons in the comments. :)

No wonder the arts in the public schools are suffering...

So I go SMAPA on Monday night to take my usual super-awesome jazz class with super-awesome Taylor. On this particular night, there were 2 brand-newbies who obviously were friends and had come together. The first brand-newbie, we'll call her Willing, was, well, how do I put this nicely, a touch on the not-so-skinny side. The other, we'll call her Lazy Bitch, had more of a 'dancer's body' but definitely didn't just walk out of some company rehearsal or anything. Or even a different class. The point being -- these women LOOKED like newbies, not like dancers. Not that there's anything wrong with that.

The class is, after all, a "open" level adult class. And yay for Sharon that she's getting new faces to her studio which, sitting as it does above one of the more sought after shopping areas in town, must fetch a crazy penny in rent.

But whatev...

There we are with the 2 brand-newbies. Taylor runs us through the warm-up (easy), on through stretches (super-easy) and then into the combination. Which he went over so many times I lost count. The whole thing was maybe 8 counts of 8. Which is NOTHING. And considering some of the other numbers he's choreographed for us, this was pretty low on the skill scale too. Anyway, after a couple of run-throughs with music as a class, we break into smaller groups so we can really 'dance' the piece. And of course, Taylor makes sure a 'regular' is in each group so the newer folks have someone to follow.

I ended up in Group 3, Willing in Group 1 and Lazy Bitch in Group 2. Which was cool, cause I wanted to see what these chicks looked like on the floor. I was actually surprised by how well Willing did -- she struggled some, sure, but she muscled through and her attitude was great and performance quality decent. I wouldn't say I was impressed, exactly, but I wasn't horrified. And then it was time for Lazy Bitch's group to go. I wondered if Willing's somewhat smaller compatriot would do as well. But! instead of trying the routine, Lazy Bitch took a seat on the window ledge. I though Taylor was going to lose his shit.

But wait, it gets better.

When asked why she was sitting and not getting ready to dance, Lazy Bitch responded in a tone of voice dripping with disdain, "We're dance teachers. And I learn best by watching. It's what I teach my kids."

Dance teachers? FUCKING DANCE TEACHERS? That has to be a joke, right? These two brand-newbies got paid to teach dance? Really? I was astounded. Not to mention the fact that no dancer worth their toe shoes would ever say they learned best by watching. Dance is something you learn best by doing you stupid cow. It's why on SYTYCD people re-do the steps for the choreography session over and over and over again. It's called muscle memory, and that shit works.

But anyway -- the show must go on, so to speak, so we kept running the number, all the while Lazy Bitch sat on her lazy ass. After a few run throughs, class finished, as it always does, with some across the floor work. Again, with Lazy Bitch sitting on her lazy ass with her holier than thou attitude, basically giving up on the whole class after Taylor tried once again to get her back on the floor. (Willing, on the other hand, proved that while she may not have a dancer's body, she sure as hell has a dancer's spirit cause she worked it across the floor -- maybe she wasn't technically gifted, but she had the right attitude at least).

And then, just as I was putting on my shoes and feeling those awesome endorphins and that super stretched sweaty wonderfulness, my post-class bliss was shattered. Decimated. Because that's when I learned that Lazy Bitch isn't just a dance teacher in some shithole studio somewhere, like I'd been telling myself since her first mention of it earlier in class. Oh no no no. NO. Instead, I learned that fucking Lazy Bitch is actually a dance teacher in a NJ public elementary school. And that's when I threw up a little in my mouth.

Because I could dance circles around this bitch and would possibly consider killing someone for that job. How the hell did she get it? I mean, seriously? I've been dancing all my life, hold 2 degrees, and even I don't qualify for a job teaching dance in the public schools.

And those poor fucking kids. Come. On. They're being introduced to dance by someone who can't dance and who thinks you learn by watching. Someone who basically gives up when challenged by a teacher. Hel. lo. Nice fucking life lesson whore. Next why don't you teach them that reading is overrated and college doesn't matter? It makes me sick still to even think about it.

And it makes me wonder if there will be any arts left in the public school by the time I can manage to get my license to teach there. If Lazy Bitch is any indication of the direction things are headed, I'm guessing no. And that sucks even worse.

No future in dance?

Have you ever had someone tell you that something you wanted to do, something you were passionate about, was a waste of time? And not had anyone to tell you different? Not had a single soul to tell you that nothing is a waste of time if your heart is in it? So that you were left with no real choice but to believe the line of crap being fed to you? No? Well, I have. And let me tell you...that shit sticks with you. It's not something you're likely to forget. Ever. Even if at the time you brush it off; even if you think you've managed to let it go, forget it, get over it, get past it. You can bury that shit far in the recesses of your mind but someday it will come back to you. I guarantee it.

You see, in what feels like an eon ago, when I was but a wee little thing in 11th grade, I had this "guidance counselor." I don't remember her name but I do know that her job was to help me find my way in the world. And I don't know what she had to do to get her job, but whatever it was, it wasn't nearly enough. Because this woman, this supposed authority on what's good for young people, this alleged guide for a great number of very impressionable young people, had the audacity to intentionally distract me from something I was actually quite good at. Something I wasn't just good at but something that I loved. Something that gave me joy. And was a bright light in what was otherwise a sometimes very difficult adolescence. Something that was as much a part of me as my big ass mouth and my blond, never-dyed hair.

I distinctly remember when I had my big official meeting with her -- that meeting in the beginning of 11th grade where you go see your guidance counselor and discuss your future. I showed up at her office at the allotted time. We reviewed my grades. My extracurriculars. She asked me what my parents did for a living (I still don't know why the fuck that should matter) and what my plans were for the future.

I was 16 so of course to me the future didn't extend much farther than the next couple of weekends. But realizing I wasn't there to talk about which party I would be attending the following weekend or who I was hoping to hook up with at that party, but also not realizing that she wasn't really all that interested in my future and was just looking for me to say "I want to go to an Ivy League school" so she could check me off her little list (because if she really cared I can't imagine why she would have said what she did), I was honest. I told her the truth -- I wanted to be a dancer. Or do something involving dance. Sure I wasn't clear, but so what? I had a general idea right?

And do you know what that fucking bitch said in response? Well, she didn't say, "hey, good for you, you're only 16 and you know what you want"; she didn't say, "congratulations, you've managed to find something you love." NO. What she said was:

THERE IS NO FUTURE IN DANCE.

No future in dance? Really? None?

Not "wow, really? that's a going to be a tough road, it's really competitive, it won't be easy, have you really thought about that?" No.

Not, "dancing, huh? why dancing? what kind of dancing? are you going to go to college for it? Or just move to NY and start auditioning?" No.

Not even "Hmmm, that's interesting. What else?" No.

NO.

All she said was, THERE IS NO FUTURE IN DANCE.

And the really fucked up part is....I believed her. I didn't even question her opinion. And all these years later I want to kick myself for that even more than I want beat the shit out of her.

Sure, I could have ignored her, I could have told her she didn't know what the hell she was talking about. But I was only 16. What the fuck did I know? She was my fucking guidance counselor. for fuck's sake. All I knew was that I loved my dance classes. And there wasn't anyone else to tell me she was an idiot. So I listened. And while I kept dancing (and still do), the idea of dancing for a living slipped from my mind like one of those amazing dreams that you can't remember 5 minutes after waking up.

From that point forward I started wondering what I would do with my life. What it was that I could claim as my own. The problem was, that although I was really good at quite a number of subjects, really, whatever I set my mind to (what can I say, I'm a smart chick), nothing I did, no classes I took, moved me the way dance did. Nothing came even close. And so I floundered.

I eventually went to college -- changing both my major (once) and my actual college (twice). Hell, it took me 7 years to get a 4 year degree. In a subject that turned out to be even more useless than dance. Granted, I made some great friends at those schools (some of whom may even read this entry), friends I wouldn't have met if I hadn't been to those schools, but still. I never really felt like I'd found the right path. I even eventually went to law school, but even that was a fluke, not something I had actually chosen for myself.

And so here I am, 20-plus years later, finding myself in a career that I don't particularly enjoy and which recently is sucking the very life out of me. And all I can think is, what if?

What if I ignored that stupid bitch? What if there had been just one person to tell me that she didn't know what the hell she was talking about? I wonder what might have happened had I just went ahead and moved to New York and started auditioning. Or even, if I just lived at home and went into the city for auditions (I am only 12 miles away after all). Or even, what if I majored in dance instead of business (my first major) or anthropology (the second one)? Would I be as dissatisfied with my life as I am now?

I obviously can't answer those questions, but my guess is that maybe, just maybe, I might have found myself in a place that felt more "right." That felt more "me." So much so that I've started thinking about a mid-life career change. Started wondering what I could do with dance at this point in my life. It's probably a little too late to get into the whole audition scene, but there are tons of options. No future in dance? Bullshit. I've managed to come up with a few decent ideas just in the last couple of months.

And do you know what happened when I told some friends about these ideas? It's probably not what you think. Because friends are supposed to be supportive, right? Yeah, well, apparently not these particular friends.

It was like 11th grade all over again. When I told a couple friends about one idea (teaching dance in public schools -- no up front investment, summers off, and I get to dance for a living, hello)...can you guess what they said?

It wasn't "wow, what a great idea, I know you've been unhappy and it's so cool you've found something you're so interested in."

It wasn't "cool, a teacher, huh? Teachers rock!"

It wasn't even, "really, are you sure? there aren't that many dance teacher jobs out there."

NO.

What I got was "Dance is a hobby, not a job. If you're going to leave the law you need to get a real job."

A real job? WHAT. THE. FUCK?

Am I crazy? Am I missing something? Is it really that crazy to want to make a life from dancing? Really? Because it seems to me that there are more options for dancers today than there ever were (umm, hello, Katie fucking Holmes was singing on SYTYCD tonight...I bet no one ever told her the arts were a waste of time). And so the fuck what if it's hard, or competitive, or whatever? If it makes me happy, shouldn't that be enough?

Luckily, I'm not that impressionable young 16 year old anymore so I can ignore the bullshit. But I still wish I didn't have to. I still wish someone, anyone, would say, "dance, huh? that's awesome. good for you. don't forget to invite me to your first show." I really don't think that's too much to ask.

But hey, if people don't want to support me, fuck 'em. Because I know there is a future in dance. I just need to find MY future. And then rub it in all of their faces.

Flirting with Disaster

Have you ever found yourself in a place where you totally didn't want to be and yet you weren't really sure how to get somewhere else and so there you were, lost, basically, hoping someone would come along and push you in the right direction? That is my life right about now. Lost. And in need of a push.

If you've been to visit here in the last few months, you have surely noticed that the law has lost its glamour for me and that I am floundering in a place of uncertainty, trying to figure out what the hell to do with the rest of my life. I've a ton of ideas, but one which I keep coming back to involves dance. And one way to make a living with dance is to teach it. Sure I could open a studio, but that scares the shit out of me (and requires a ton of money upfront anyway). So I thought, hmm, what about teaching in public school? I could be happy as a dance teacher. Because not only do I love dance, I'm stone cold jealous of teachers with their regular schedules and their summers off. Straight up, no bullshit, hard core jealous. And yeah, teachers make shit money, but not a little as you might think, considering they are home by 4pm and have summers off. Especially not here in NJ. Sure $50Gs a year won't make you rich but you ain't starvin' neither. So, I figured I get licensed, I line up a job, bang, I'm outta here.

Which led to me spending the better part of today researching what it would take to become licensed to teach in NJ. As turns out, if I want to teach Social Studies -- very little, thanks to my fancy-schmancy anthro degree, but if I want to teach anything else -- like dance -- I'd have to take a bunch of college classes...upwards of 30 credits worth. So I thought, hey, no biggie, I can take some classes. I like dance classes. I can make it work. I'll give up a yoga night. Or come in late a couple mornings ort whatever. And then I thought, oh fuck, the best I can do while still working is one class a semester -- and if I need 10 classes, that's 5 freaking years. And I thought, oh hell no. And so I stopped looking because I can't stay here, lost, for five years.

And then, last-minute-Charlie (one of my many bosses) sent me an email telling me he needed xyz done by Monday morning. Luckily, its the weekend of my high school reunion so I had an excuse to get off the hook, this weekend, but I know he will fuck up my next weekend and the one after that and the one after that. Cause god forbid he should consider that maybe, just maybe, I might have a fucking life worth living. Or, god forbid, he should assign the fucking work when he finds out about it instead of waiting until the last fucking minute. the mother fucker. Last time I had to work with this guy, I didn't have a day off for 33 days, and that was just last month. I wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but that probably wouldn't be good for me so I said sure, I can work my face off all next week and for the rest of my natural born life until I have another acceptable excuse to run away. So you see, I definitely do not have 5 years to give.

And then, just a moment ago, I read about even more layoffs in the legal world (30 senior associates, like myself, let go from one of the nation's most prestigious law firms). And I thought, god I wish they'd lay me off.

Yes, I actually wished to be laid off.

Because as financially devastating as that would be, I know it would also be completely liberating. It would, for sure, be the push I seem to need to get the fuck out of this indecisive place.

Yes, hoping to get laid off seems counter intuitive and a bit nuts, but what are my other options really? Sure, I could go to some other shitty law job but what's the point? I'd take another job and a salary cut to go along with it and end up just as miserable but without the advantage of being able to escape to the islands a couple times a year. So, maybe like pulling off a band aid, a swift kick in the pants right out the damn door is what I need. And without a job, I could get my 30 credits in one single year. Granted, unemployment would barely cover my mortgage, but I'd get at least a few months of severance first, and I do have a little bit of savings, so I'd be OK for a bit. Scared as hell, I'm sure, but not starving.

So yeah, I'm flirting with what would likely be a total disaster, for a little while at least, but really, what's the point of money if you are too damn depressed to spend it? Or worse, if you aren't even allowed out of the office long enough to spend it? And what's the point of life if you don't get to live it? So please, bring on the layoff.

PS - my prayers will not likely be answered. Unfortunately my firm is financially sound (unless they're totally lying to us). Best I could do would be to get "asked to resign" - but you don't get severance for that. Ergo, still damn stuck.

Dancing to the Music in Your head

Most people hear music in their heads. A song comes on, they can feel it, so to speak. They remember the tune; they know all the words; maybe even they see the video in their mind's eye. And of course, everyone is familiar with that desperate moment when you get some god-awful song stuck in your brain You know the one -- that song that you wouldn't admit listening to is suddenly repeating itself over and over and over and over and over and, well, you get my point.

Or maybe not.

My point , you see, [oh, and on a total tangent, I just watched the most obnoxiously smug commercial -- 'don't be so vanilla' some 7 year old quips; why the fuck does a 7 year old know what the hell that even means?]...oh, right, my point...

My point is that while some people hear music in their heads, I don't. Well, I mean, I do. But I don't just hear the music. I also SEE dancing. Or rather, its like I FEEL dancing. I choreograph. In my head. To everything. Almost all the time. And what is really crazy is that I can almost feel the movement coursing through my body. Even though I'm usually on a train or subway or some other public place where it would not be exactly appropriate to break out into dance. Maybe it's some weird psycho thing I've created in my mind, but I think breaking into song would be looked upon less strangely than breaking out into dance. Not to mention that you can sing no matter what you're wearing. Try dancing in a suit with 3 and a half inch heels, and things could get ugly.

But yeah, I dance in my head. ALL. THE. TIME. On the subway. In line at the grocery store. At my desk. Ev. ry. where. Always. If there's music on, you can bet I've got a number going on in my mind. Hell, the other night, at the post-last call cocktail at my place, I started actually randomly dancing. And not like oh I'm at a party, dancing. Lyrical dancing. Mia Michaels type shit. My friends, and the DH, all thought I was totally nuts. But regardless, the dancing never stops.

And I think I know why. Up until the last, say, 5 years, give or take a couple of year, I was a rabid club goer. I wasn't there for the X, or the potential hook-ups like some folks I know, I was there to dance. In fact, for as long as I can remember, I've always tried to get my friends to go out dancing with me. And it has always been depressing how few of them would ever actually go. Oh, they'd show up at the club but then just stand at the bar and refuse to dance, leaving me to dance alone (hello, if I wanted to go dance by myself at some random club I wouldn't have asked you to go with me) or not at all. A few years back, the few who said yes was depressing, but now no one EVER wants to go dancing. No one. Never. And it fucking sucks.

Plus, thanks to the new job and the crazy fucked up hours associated with it, I've not been able to take this dance class I used to take every Monday night.

And then, there's this little part of me that thinks maybe it's more than just missed classes and a club-free existence. Maybe I see dance in my head where others hear music because, simply, I feel most alive when I'm dancing. Maybe, just maybe, like George Balanchine once said, I HAVE to dance. I know that sounds, like, wow, coming from someone pushing 40 who is not a professional dancer and I realize its probably too late for me to become some star dancer, but maybe I could still become some hotshot choreographer. Or even just a great dance teacher. Maybe.

Of course any of these choices, or paths, would require leaving my job and taking some ginormous risks. Which I believe I made quite clear in my last post, I am nowhere near ready to take. But, perhaps the winds of change will sweep in faster than I can see. For they are definitely starting to blow.

For now, however, me and my Dior bag will have to keep dancing inside and maybe make some new friends to go clubbing with until I can figure the rest out.