meditations on the sunshine state

I'm not a fan of Florida.

I know. Blasphemy. My bad.

The thing is, it's flat and it's muggy and it has about a gazillion too many amusement parks. It's just not my ideal vacay spot. Sorry.

I like Disney, but walking around Magic Kingdom in 95* heat, with about 853.92% humidity, buffeted by the 4th of July crowds for twelve hours straight was not enjoyable. If that's the happiest place on earth, than I have doubts as to where this planet is headed.

I don't like breaking a sweat when I stroll a block to get breakfast at 7:30am every morning, and I don't like the way it pours rain every afternoon, yet stays just as hot. I don't like the fact that there are no mountains, no valleys, no variation to the swampy flat landscape as far as I can see in any direction. I don't like that there are amusement parks everywhere, and of every theme and variation you could imagine--too many water parks to count, every movie-based ride imaginable, and even the Holy Land Experience, an entire park based around the Bible. Granted, my visit to the Wizarding World of Harry Potter is probably on my list of top-amazing-moments-in-my-life-ever, but that has nothing to do with Orlando and everything to do with a genius British woman and an entire universe that she just randomly thought up.

Sorry, was that a rant? I seem to be very good at those, don't I?

Could you tell that I'm a little homesick? I absolutely cannot wait to get home. Have I mentioned that my mom is an amazing cook? Have I mentioned that it's cool and dry in Switzerland? Have I mentioned that there are these really amazing mountains everywhere? Have I mentioned that I'll be landing in exactly 9 days?

Excited? Me? Noooo.

the sunshine state

My first week as an RA at the Orlando Ballet School summer intensive has finally come to an end.

It just might have been the longest and most exhausting week of my life.

Summer intensives are exhausting to begin with, but I didn't expect my RA work to be quite so intense as well. It's not that I have a lot of duties, per say. It's more that I have to be the emotional support for eight fourteen-year-old girls, and then help lay down the law for a hundred and twenty more.

I love my girls. Most of them. The first couple days weren't a problem--we had to have a lot of meetings, spew out an endless number of rules, but everyone seemed well behaved and nice. By the end of the week, everyone was exhausted, and--as tends to happen when you stuff a hundred plus worn out teenagers in a dorm building with nothing to do and no freedom--the problems started emerging.

Bullying. I never expected that to be my biggest problem as an RA. I was prepared for homesickness, injuries, eating disorders, rule-breaking, and general girl cattiness, but I did not expect to find bullies. Maybe it's because I never really experienced bullying as a kid. I was exposed to, and partook in, that general obnoxiousness of pre- and young teen girls, but I never experienced the problem of the bully.

But here, where competitive, determined and aggressive girls from all walks of life are asked to live with each other in harmony, a bully has emerged--and of course, it had to be one of my girls.

I'm pretty sure that she's not aware that most of the hurtful things she says are wrong at all. The racist slurs that have been brought to my attention seem to be the fault of ignorance, not maliciousness. But still, she has a certain manipulative quality; she can make her little friends do exactly what she wants them to do, and she tries to manipulate me by cheerfully threatening an angry phone call from her mother.

I'm not sure how much of a problem she'll pose. She was relatively responsive when we had a little chat about being really careful about the things you say about other peoples' homes and cultures, and her bullying seems to be more of a consequence of her lifestyle than an outright attack. So we'll see.

Overall, it's going to be an interesting and valuable experience, I think. Exhausting, absolutely; frustrating, undoubtedly; but valuable just the same.

winding down

Things seem to have a way of falling into place. It takes effort, of course--sometimes it's more like jamming something into place--but things do seem to work out eventually.

The past two weeks have been ridiculously stressful as I've attempted to wrap up my last days at UC, finish all my papers, projects and finals, perform in Giselle, figure out my move to Barnard (which includes shipping and storing all my stuff and figuring out how/when to fly from Switzerland in time for move-in day, which only lasts from 9am-12pm), and find someone to take over my lease. None of it has been terrible, awful, teeth-pullin'-horrible, but it's just a lot to have on my plate, and a lot to juggle.

But it's finally seeming to fall into place. We've arranged for all my boxes to be picked up, shipped and stored. Giselle culminated fantastically. I turned in my last paper yesterday, and now all I have to think about is my last final tomorrow. I have an amazing friend to stay with on my first night in NYC, so I can fly in the day before move-in. And I have officially found someone who is taking over my lease.

*sigh of relief*

Now, all I have to do is finish packing (ugh), study a bit, and cherish my lovely lovely friends here at CCM. Dawwwwww :)

Our special and most fabulous freshman class! :D

partyin' partyin' yeah!

Disclaimer: this post is kind of a rant. I'm kind of sorry, but I figure that if you're putting in the effort to read this blog, you won't mind.

We've already established that I'm a total Harry Potter dork and ballet fanatic, so that pretty much solidifies my place in the circle of nerd-dom (a place I proudly occupy, might I add). In case you weren't entirely convinced of the extent that my nerdiness reaches, let me assure you that thesaurus.com is my favorite website, I thoroughly enjoyed all the books assigned in my high school English classes, and I sometimes read Wikipedia articles for fun.

But at the same time, I also pride myself in being relatively socially adept. I'm not ridiculously outgoing, but I can hold a normal conversation, function properly at large social events, talk comfortably to strangers on the phone and make new friends with relative ease. So while I embrace the dorkiness of my character, I have not quite yet reached the epitome of what society defines as nerd--the allergy-ridden, glasses-sporting, stunted, fashion-challenged string bean. I concede that I am pale to the point of translucence and have an obscene amount of freckles, but I haven't quite reached archetypal nerd image.

Yet I definitely do seem to have an ineptitude when it comes to functioning at college parties. Not all college parties, mind you--frat parties. And it's not that I can't handle the situation; it's that I don't understand how to enjoy them. Personally, a muggy room full of half-dressed people rubbing up against each other to the throbbing base of some terrible music does not sound like a good time to me. I just can't comprehend what is supposed to be enjoyable about the aforementioned scenario.

I mean, I like parties--just not that kind. I love being with people, I love music, I love dancing, I love socializing. CCM students actually throw some mean parties, but that's probably mostly because they're all zany, fun and slightly nerdy people themselves. I like other kinds of parties, but I just don't get the typical college party. Really, if I wanted you to rub your crotch against my butt, I would ask you to, but the fact that I'm a female and in the same room as you is not an automatic invitation to grind. C'mon people, common decency! Maybe at least ask my name and ask me to dance first! And no, thank you, I have zero desire to drink beer that tastes like pee, but knock yourself out; goodness knows you'll probably be unconscious at some point tonight.

It's not that I'm condemning the illegality or sexuality of a lot of what goes on at frat parties. I'm not a total square, I'm simply bored of seeing the same exact thing at every frat party I go to. I just want to understand, if I have to get dragged to these parties, please tell me how the heck I'm supposed to enjoy them!

So that is why, on this most poignant of Saturday nights--my last one as a CCM student in Cincinnati--I am sitting alone in my dorm room writing this blog, after having spent the last few hours packing and watching Friends. I don't mind; it's been productive and fun--and at least I won't wake up with a hangover tomorrow :P

in transit

Today was my last ballet class at CCM. It's bittersweet. I've had a great year, but I'm incredibly excited to be moving on. As of today, all that's between me and the end of freshman year (!!) is six days, one paper, and one final.

It's a very interesting feeling, when an experience is ending forever. I know I'll be able to see my wonderful friends from Cincinnati, but I'll never be a CCM ballet major again. Up until a few years ago, my life, while wonderful, had been so consistent that I had never really experienced the true ending of an era (except, of course, eighth grade graduation from my most magical grade school). Change consisted mostly of new paint colors or moving from the fourth grade to the fifth. But recently, my life has been nothing but change, transition and new experience.

The summer before my senior year of high school, my parents and I moved from our shady little suburban town to a postcard village near Geneva, Switzerland. My life was absolutely upside down. It was a fantastic experience, and I am so ridiculously grateful for the year that I got to spend in Switzerland--and all the school breaks and holidays that I still spend there. But as I left California, a drop of regret seeped into the excitement. The realization suddenly hit me that I could never again live my experience in the Bay Area. The time in my life when I lived with my cozy little family in a shady little town near all of my relatives and friends was coming to an end. This was not to say that I could never visit the Bay Area again, or see my friends. This was not to say that I was leaving my parents yet or that Jamie would stop coming to visit us for holidays; however, my life as I had known it was taking the biggest and most permanent turn I had ever experienced.

I had the same feeling when I left Switzerland last summer, but with much more sadness. While I was excited for college, there were so many more things in Europe that I wish I could have had time to explore. Leaving California, I was so ready for something out of the ordinary; Switzerland still feels new and exciting. Or course, I plan to go back and live there someday, but that will be a new experience, another change.

And now, here I am again, on the brink of a new change, a new transition. It's a bit daunting, to be making so many big changes in three years, but I've found that I love the adventure and the discovery. That probably has something to do with why I love traveling so much.

NYC is on the horizon. But for now, a visit to California, ballet in Orlando, and then home to Switzerland--summer!!

the boy who lived

Pretty fan-freakin-tastic, huh?

I might as well admit it right away: I am a huge Harry Potter fanatic. There. It's out.

I grew up on the series. The first book came out in the US when I was seven, and my brother Jamie received it for his birthday a few months later. We read it together as a family--all four of us would squish onto the not-quite-black, not-quite-blue, not-quite-grey couch after dinner, my brother and I would curl against our parents drowsily, and they would take turns reading aloud. Daddy did Hagrid's voice better, but Momma could say the spells right.

We read other books together, but I always loved Harry Potter the most. By the time Prisoner of Azkaban was released, we were going to the midnight release parties at the local bookstore. We tried to read them slowly--only a chapter or two every night--in order to make them last. Jamie and I weren't allowed to read ahead (though we often did), and nights when one or another member of the family was at a meeting or had to work late or was sleeping at a friend's house were torture, as the book lay unopened until the four of us were together again.

When the fifth book came out, we were far too engrossed to adhere to our strict after dinner regime, and took to gathering in the front yard while my dad worked on his car; Momma would have to project through the balmy summer air, and Daddy would poke his head out from under the car to ask her to repeat lines. After we completed the book, Jamie and I discussed theories for weeks. I poured through our copies--the paper covers were beginning to turn soft and cloth-like from years in the hands of children.

Half Blood Prince came out while I was on a school trip to England and my brother was at a creative writing program in Southern California. Before we left, we agreed to wait until we both returned home to read the book, so that we could once more read it as a family. It was a torturous three weeks for me--I was even in Harry Potter's country, and I couldn't read the book!--but I held out. I was furious when I found out that Jamie had caved and read the book. I still might be holding a tiny grudge. We read the book together anyway, though at nearly-fourteen and sixteen respectively, it was much more difficult to fit the four of us on the couch. Jamie would sometimes sprawl on the rug. I still curled up against Momma. Daddy still did Hagrid's voice better, and Momma still said the spells right.

I had begun getting the audiobooks for my birthday a few years before, and I listened to them obsessively--while doing the dishes, folding my laundry, completing my math homework, or simply lying in a patch of sunlight on the floor of my room. If you asked me, I could have quoted whole chunks of dialogue to you, voices and all.

The seventh and final book came out the summer our entire extended family took a trip to Europe, and I was once again in England the day of the book release. It was incredibly bittersweet. The movies were well underway--we had just seen the fifth movie before flying across the pond--but they different entirely. The books carried a huge symbolism and meaning for me, and held so many memories of my family. The culmination of the series meant the culmination of a family tradition that had held strong for ten years and created some of my favorite memories with my family. So while I was excited to the point of fanatical--would Harry defeat Voldemort? How would he do it? Could Dumbledore come back to life? Who else would die in the process? Could Harry and Ginny ever be together forever???--there was also a tinge of melancholy in the air as the four of us stood in line in a bookstore in Cambridge to purchase the final book.

We couldn't read the book on our couch back home, since the release was at the very beginning of our trip, and we were surrounded by a ridiculous number of cousins, aunts, uncles, and other family members, so we decided to read it separately. Once the four of us got to Italy, maybe we would read it aloud together, while the adults sipped limoncello and I ate nutella from a spoon, but in the meantime, the important part was the final installment of an epic series. Jamie and I devoured the book, and it's a good thing we finished so quickly, or else we would have missed the spectacular sights in St. Petersburg and Rome. When I finished the book, an incredible nostalgia consumed me, as I thought back to days on that colorless, squishy, sunk-in-the-middle couch. Once we got to a lovely house on the Amalfi coast, the book came out of the suitcase again, and we sat on a deck overlooking the Mediterranean and everyone sipped wine and Daddy still did Hagrid's voice just right.

Now, the final movie is coming out in forty-two days, and while the movies do not hold anywhere near the significance that the books hold for me, it is still the ending of an era. The story of a boy wizard, a scrawny kid with glasses, has captivated me for thirteen years, and I have continually looked forward to see what new adventure he will have. Now, his last adventure is about to conclude. Of course, Harry Potter will live on, in my well worn books. And maybe someday, I will sit on a sunk-in-the-middle couch with a girl and a boy and a Mr. Right squished in around me, and then, I will know how to do Hagrid's voice and say the spells just right.

that one ballet where pretty much everyone dies

So, you might have picked up that I'm a pretty avid ballet freak. I go to school for dance, I use the word in the title of my blog, I geek out over ridiculously cheap NYCB tickets... you probably got the idea.
Last weekend, the CCM Ballet department performed Giselle, which is probably one of my favorite classical ballets ever. There is absolutely nothing happy about this ballet. It's supposed to have some message or another about the power and strength of true love, but I don't really see it.

Basically, the ballet is focused around a peasant girl named (surprise!) Giselle, who is sweet and naive--and also happens to have a weak heart.

Along comes a spoiled rich boy named Albrecht, who is bored with his life and takes a fancy to Giselle. Basically the entire first act is about their cutesy little courtship and life in the village. I was a peasant woman (or, more specifically, Giselle's Friend #6, thank you very much), so I spent most of the first act jumping around and acting genuinely ecstatic about my impoverished, boring, and difficult life as a villager in sixteenth century Germany.

The real drama in act one happens when Giselle's other lover, Hilarion, exposes Albrecht as a prince. Albrecht's princess fiance comes along and Giselle is heartbroken. In fact, she literally goes insane, has a heart attack of some sort, and dies. It's really dramatic and was actually an incredibly fun scene to be a part of. As one of Giselle's friends, I got to act completely and utterly traumatized and generally sob hysterically over her dead body. It was fun.


Then, the second act is wayyyyy darker (if it could get much darker beyond someone going insane and dying over the fact that her bf was cheating on her). Basically, Giselle is turned into a Wili, which are ghosts of women who died of broken hearts before their marriage. They chill in the forest after dark with their hands crossed iconically in front of torso--which supposedly either symbolizes the child they will never be able to carry or an attempt to catch their broken heart; whichever you pick, it's damn depressing. The queen of the Wilis, Myrtha, is not only heartbroken, but also a really hateful, bitter woman who likes to make any man who ventures into the forest dance until they die. Hilarion, weeping over Giselle's grave, is caught by the Wilis and forced to dance until he dies.

Albrecht comes along hoping to make amends for his generally obnoxious behavior, and is caught by the Wilis, but Giselle (for some reason unbeknownst to us--she still loves him even though he was totally just playing with her heart??) defends him and asks Myrtha to spare his life. Giselle and Albrecht dance this super iconic and gorgeous pas de deux, but Myrtha refuses to spare his life.

Here's were some versions differ. Some say that Albrecht was screwed, and danced to his death. Others say that Giselle managed to keep him alive until dawn, when the Wilis lost their powers, and Albrecht was spared. Either way, there is absolutely no happiness or solace in it. If Albrecht lives, then he's stuck with a huge pile of guilt and a marriage to a snobbish princess for the rest of his life, and Giselle gets to glide around in a veil for the rest of her eternal existence as a ghost. If Albrecht dies, well then, you don't even have that lovely thought that they're together in death like you get from Romeo and Juliet, because Albrecht sure as heck can't become a Wili, and, like I previously mentioned, that's what Giselle is stuck being for the rest of eternity. Which sucks.

I don't know why I love this ballet so much, but despite my sarcastic summary, it is seriously incredible. There is something so terrifying about Giselle's mad scene, and so very touching about the way she throws her arms out in front of Albrecht to protect him from Myrtha. Their second act pas is so tender and delicate, and she really does seem like this otherworldly creature.
I had so much fun being in the ballet. I hadn't done a full length classical work in ages, and I've never done actual corps work besides Snow and Flowers in Nutcracker, so Giselle was an incredible experience.
Overenthusiastic peasant :)

All photos copyright Rene Micheo!