Sunday, March 8, 2009

Those Who Can’t, Write

I wanted so desperately to be a dancer when I was in college. I took my first dance class first semester, sophomore year. It was a Beginning Modern class and I found out very quickly that I could neither turn, leap nor spin to anyone’s satisfaction. As soon as I lifted one foot off the floor, I invariably toppled over. None of that stopped me, however, from summoning my inner-Jennifer Beals and wearing leg warmers pretentiously around campus, filling half my schedule with Modern and Jazz classes and nonchalantly affecting Fourth Position whenever someone engaged me in hallway conversation.

I never worried about appearing foolish, but I did worry about my grades. I was such an incompetent dancer, it was impossible to grant me an A or a B solely for my in-class routines. But, lucky for me, part of each class grade (a surprisingly big part) was based on reviewing professional dance performances.

We had to do a two-page paper on two shows for each class. I’d go into the city and see Martha Graham, Alvin Ailey, Pilobolus. And somehow – by some small miracle – my dance ineptitude was mitigated by my (often tenuous) ability to string some sentences together, and I managed to make Dean’s List every semester, dance classes notwithstanding.

I don’t remember who first sent me this video. The quality is poor and doesn’t do the performance justice. But watching it gives me a lift like little else can.


My New Year’s Resolution was to learn this dance before the year was up. But I’m not making very good progress. I guess I’m just destined to write about it instead.

1 comment:

  1. Another of your endlessly fascinating blogs about a side of you of which I was unaware. I'm still getting used to the idea of you being a tennis player and now I have to add would-be dancer to my mental profile of you.