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One Moar For The Road
In the interest of reminding myself that, yes, I have progressed in the last six months, I cringed my way through the videos from last year’s ballet intensive the other night. Here are some screen shots so we can commiserate or what have you.
First one is definitely from Albrecht’s variation (with Don Quixote hands because #fml); second one is also, I think, but from the opening sequence with the gigantic sissones ouverts of doom, maybe? I think it’s also the part where I’m going, “Oh, shizzle, I’m way down stage from my mark!”
I used up too much of my ballet mojo in class and rehearsal, and my legs were dead (note complete turnout failure and shoulder feckery), but I did manage to swing the straight-pirouette-right-into-attitude-turn bit through sheer force of all our a minor miracle or something. And, yes, I looked 12 years old the whole time. I promise I’m not really 12.
I’m including this one as proof that you REALLY should always pull your tights up until the word “Nutcracker” takes on an entirely different meaning. Dat sag, doh. (Big obnoxious box is a screenshot-process artifact; stupid tablet.)
Off to Rep!
danseur ignoble 