An Early Start

People always ask me how I got interested in dance, coming from a farm in the middle of no where. My first answer is that a girl from church, Tanya Willet, who was also our babysitter, took dance at the local studio and invited us to see her recital. I must have been about 7 or 8. After the recital I was hooked, my sister too, and we asked if we could take dance lessons the following year. It was my idea, I wasn't forced into it by my mother! That is my answer. However, the official answer goes back a lot further. My dad played in a polka band as a young man. (I wonder if Polka Bands had roadies?) So from as early as I can remember, my dad would get out his accordion and play music and we'd skip and dance around. The Ukrainians are a very dancy people! Probably how they stayed warm in "the old country." Also, my mother had a big love of Rock and Roll. 50's Rock and Roll. Usually during our Saturday morning chores she would put on one of her records and we would dance around and sing and play while dusting and cleaning up the house. I guess it made it more fun. Other Saturday mornings, we would listen to Mickey's Mousercise! We must have worn that tape right out. (yes tapes and records, I am that old) The Mickey Mousercise tape was about an hour long, filled with such hits as Step in Time, Bug-a-Boo, Zipity Do Dah, and Get the Money! It also had various Disney characters calling out different exercise moves and things that you could do. I remember sitting down, pretending to pull yourself across the floor while pulling on an invisible rope, scooting you butt along. There were jumping jacks, skipping, hops, flap your arms like a bird; all kinds of silly things designed to make you forget you were exercising at all. It really was a lot of fun. Of course I don't know if exercise and lemon pledge fumes are a good mix, but regardless we got the chores done and more importantly, I was hooked on the dance and set on the path that would lead me thru all kinds of adventures to the state of unemployed New York bliss in which I currently reside. I am reminded of a line from the musical Into the Woods. "careful the things you do, children will see, and learn."

About a week ago I was at the mall, just as it had opened. I had a few hours to kill and decided to meander thru the stores in shoppers paradise, taking my time to look in each one and putting up my had at the desperate kiosk people trying to peddle their hand creams and eyebrow threading. The mall walkers were just finishing up. A little creepy in their matching track suits but good for you Mr. 85 year old man for getting some exercise. I then heard what can only be described as the most annoying blood curdling sound I can ever imagine. Some young lady, mid 30's I'd guess, yelling at the top of her lungs. "The ants go marching 5 by 5, tight abs, tight abs. The ants go marching 5 by 5, tight abs, tight abs....." I turned to see a herd of young mothers with strollers all circled around their pack leader. The mothers were marching in place, the Drill Sargent checking on each one to make sure their "marching" form was spot on, and an assortment of crying, screaming, giggling kids strapped down in their strollers. Some fast asleep! There must have been about 30 of them. Mothers I mean. A few with those 2 child strollers and one poor mother had a stroller with infant, and toddler in harness in tow. About this time their leader couldn't think of anything to rhyme with 9, so I guess those ants weren't "doing fine." I thought, good for you young mothers of New York. I also felt sorry for whoever worked the mall that morning, as that ants song was a little long. I walked into Old Navy, as one often does when in the mall, and the sounds of mothers cootchie-cooing was drowned out by some Talyor Swift song. About 15 minutes passed and I emerged from the Navy of Old with my 2 tshirts, $5 each thank you very much, only to avoid a sideswipe by the NASCAR event of strollers now circling the mall. These ladies were no joke. Sweat beading down their faces. Some short of breath as they struggled to keep up with the pace of their fearless leader. Of course it was easier for her to jog, she wasn't pushing a child in a stroller, with a 40 lb diaper bag, toys, yoga mat, coat, purse, water bottle, snacks for later, change of clothes, and dishes to return at Target. I was pretty impressed with these ladies. As the last of them circled past I saw in the distance this poor mother, frazzled hair, screaming child. She was panting like the little engine that could. "You can do it," I thought to myself. I should have handed her some Gatorade. Then, as if someone lit a fire under her, she began to pick up speed and started to sprint, for the pretzel stand!!!

Dear diary, I wonder if that marching ant lady knows Bug-a-Boo?

Audition 101

My first real audition was when I was about 12 I guess. We went to Saskatoon to audition for The Nutcracker. The Alberta Ballet was doing it, and used local kids for lots of the parts. We were separated into groups by age and height. I was the only boy there. Now if you're familiar with Nutcracker there is a little girl named Clara and in most productions she has an obnoxious brother named Fritz. I figured I'd have a good shot since I was a boy. We went through a couple of little dance combinations and they would eliminate people (cut them) and narrow the field down. Our ballet mistress for the day was Juliette Perie-Perez. She was a very thin woman, dark hair tucked under a newsboy cap of some kind wearing a very tight black vest, black riding pants and boots, carrying a small cane and wearing far too much makeup. I seriously wish I was making this up, but you can't write this. Her studio was every shade of pastel you could think of. By the end of the day 2 kids had been narrowed down for Fritz, myself and a very tall thin girl. I thought I had it for sure. Nope, I was made the understudy to the GIRL. For a boys part. First day of rehearsal said girl had been removed from the part as she was too tall and in her place was an Asian GIRL. So we spent the day learning the dance, and this GIRL kept on getting notes that she wasn't falling like a boy and could I show her how it was done. Well, duh she couldn't fall like a boy! Later on that day we were measured for costumes and I was unceremoniously cut from the part as I was too fat for the costume!!! I was made a bonbon, who's costumes consequently were large pajama jumper type things, and another GIRL was made the understudy to the Asian GIRL. I should have learned at that moment that the business of show was cruel and relentless, but I continued on my path of abuse. Now of course I've had some great auditions. I've gotten the part and beat out other kids. I have also been strung along for quite some time, only to be trodden upon like 3 day old road kill on some prairie back road. (That's right Billy Elliot, I'm talking to you) Along the way there have been some very memorable auditions and some hateful ones. I will never forget auditioning for a production of Chicago where the choreographer handed us each a paper towel and asked us to work some kind of magic trick into the very simple dance combination she was so proud of. I think my magic trick was not laughing hysterically at the sight of 25 grown men hiding paper towel bits in their shoes and pants. I've never left the room crying but once when auditioning for Tarzan I wished the floor would open up and swallow me whole.

On Sunday I went to yet another audition. This time it was for a Reality TV show that Fox is doing called Master Chef. The premise is that Chef Gordon Ramsay, of Hell's Kitchen, will mentor some budding home chefs. No one with professional training was to attend. You had to bring a dish you made for the judges to taste plus, and I quote, "your personality." So I presented myself at the location, Sur la Table, a kitchen store, with my White Mac and Cheese in hand. Well actually in a keep-things-hot bag, along with a pizza stone I had in the oven for almost an hour. The line was around the block. So I stood for a total of 3 hours waiting to get in front of said judges. I was not naive, knowing full well that the judges were probably some pee-on from the casting department, an intern maybe and some foodie wannabee. PS, have you ever tried to keep mac and cheese warm when standing outside for 2 hours when its 32 degrees out? Then another hour inside, where it was maybe 20 degrees colder cause they didn't want to turn on the lights. The people in line were from all walks of life. Miss thing in front of me smoking every 5 minutes. Seriously, who still smokes? That is so 80's. Some lady behind me with no concept of personal space, chewing gum like a horse. And behind her the most talkative man on the planet. If I heard one more thing about him slicing fish at the bagel store.......I don't think I'll eat bagels again. He ruined them for me. No wonder your wife left you, Mr. Bagel Ruiner!!! I'm hearing people talk about all their fancy dishes they prepared. About this time I'm thinking, why didn't I bake a cake? Heck I could have made ice cream, it would have kept. Finally, after making it thru a line that would rival DisneyWorld, it was time to meet the judges. We were ushed into a kitchen with 2 long thin tables. Each person was given a space of about 1.5 feet squared and 5 minutes to plate their dish before being judged. People are pulling out knives and herbs and little bottles of oils and sauces to decorate their plates. It felt like the last few minutes of Iron Chef Alaska. I finished plating my mac and cheese (took the little ramekin out of the heating bag, now stone cold, plated my small salad out of tupperware and drizzled it with oil and lemon juice from another tupperware with a spoon) I raise my hand for the judges. Some old guy that said 5 words and a girl who's nose was buried in her clipboard. Hi! They take a tiny bite of my dish, ask what it is. Its chocolate cake! I tell them about my white mac and cheese, what kinds of cheese I used. They then ask what else I like to make. I say I love baking and joke that had I known how long the line was I would have baked something instead. A tumble weed passed by. Or was that someones Parmesan crisp bowl shaped thing?! I wait for them to ask me some questions... an opportunity to use my killer personality. The guys says "its good" they take my 12 page application with 3 pictures attached and go to the next guy. THAT'S IT I thought? PS, no TV cameras anywhere. No "please go this way when you are done." No "thank you for waiting in the cold and bringing us your dish." No "please get the hell out you talentless goon." NOTHING. So I pack up my sad tupperware and 1 bite taken mac and cheese, grab my coat, wish the blonde lady with taco's good luck and start to walk out. I stop some woman with a name tag to ask how to get out of the place. She points me to the stairs that lead thru the store and hands me a 15% off coupon for Sur la Table. I browsed for a minute but couldn't seem to find my dignity anywhere. Not even on the sale rack!

Dear Diary, I wonder what that Asian girl is up to?

Sing Sweet Nighting Gale

The first movie I can remember seeing in the movie theater was Cinderella. I must have been 5. I remember our whole family went, we got popcorn and candy and the whole thing. I was completely entranced by the whole movie, big picture thing that I stared at the screen. Consequently I didn't get any candy or popcorn. I digress. It became a favorite of mine. While at Disney World 2 years ago I even did the whole wait in line to get my picture taken with Cinderella. A nice enough girl who was probably some wanna-be actress getting her equity card from the Mouse. The girl playing Sleeping Beauty however looked dumber than a box of hair!!I interject here that Rob's nieces just got back from Disneyworld and sent out a bunch of pictures. Low and behold miss thing as Sleeping Beauty is still there. (All performers are hurting for work) A favorite scene of mine from Cinderella is when the step sisters are singing, one is playing the flute, and its not going very well. The other is tone deaf, while the flute playing sister is making a mess of things. Cinderella is down stairs singing, and scrubbing. She gets carried away in song only to find that the stupid cat has made muddy paw prints all over her nice clean floor.

I have recently moved into a new apartment. December 1st to be exact. I have two roommates who shall remain nameless. And they are young. I mean fresh out of college, never lived on their own, probably had mom doing everything for them and took their laundry home on the weekends young. Most apartments you move into are "cleaned." I use that word loosely. Probably "cleaned" the way I used to "clean" my room as a kid. I'm sure what ever maid service the landlord uses doesn't do things like wash the walls. So me and the nursery twins get this new apartment. 4 bedrooms, 1 bath. Nice sized kitchen and living room. I didn't move my stuff in until Dec 15th. Yesterday was Jan 5th. The bathroom had not been cleaned since Merry Maids or Rosario was hired to "clean" this apartment so the new tenants could move in. Neither had the kitchen been "cleaned." Who lives in a place for a month and doesn't think to wipe down the toilet or tub? I mean who knows what filth was in there before you. And you can see if a tub is clean or not. We also had this wonderful problem with the drain being clogged. You usually ended up in a couple inches of water by the time your shower was over. I'd say my feet are probably infected with who knows what but as my brother says, "Steven has the most disgusting feet on the face of this planet. It is a truth!" So I call the super, who speaks the official language of New York City, Broken English, to come up and unclog the drain. I had had it!! After about half an hour of snaking and drilling he pulled out some girls weave. GROSS. It was the size of a healthy rodent. For all I know it could have been a dead rodent! I got to work. 45 minutes I scrubbed that tub, toilet, and bathroom floor. I collected enough dirt to start a farm. Maybe I'll plant canola. No one here seems to know what that is. I washed the walls, the bathroom door, everything. I'd have tackled the growth on the ceiling but we have 10 foot ones here. Ceilings, not growths. Then on to the kitchen. Same thing. Scrubbed down everything. Mopped, polished, you name it. About this time one of my roommates walked by. Apparently he had been home the whole time. Not a word. Not a "hey, are you cleaning" or even "is there anything I can do to help?" Nothing!!! Had he said, "hey Steve, why don't you let me finish that" I'd have replied with, " no it's fine" which is code for "the reason I'm doing this is because it took you too long to do anything and if you think I trust you to finish you are sadly mistaken." I also add here that before Christmas I left the boys with a task, to take out the recycling. We have a 4th bedroom by the door to the apartment. Its empty right now. Well, except for the 10 bags of recycling that were supposed to be taken out before Christmas!!! There is even a note on our mail table saying, "Steve, I will take out the recycling." So, Steve is going to put his foot down. Hard. It might land on some one's face. I am going to hang a job chart in the kitchen. It may be a little childish, but when in Rome.... They can live in whatever war zone they want to in their own rooms. I don't care. But come hell or high water we will be able to eat off that kitchen floor. And I will continue to make comments such as, "why is every light on in the house?" I guess I really have become my parents. This morning I woke up and my knee was hurting. Guess there is a change in the weather.

Dear Diary, I'm going to Staples later to buy some colored push pins for that job chart.