Saravelli's Stance...

Mr. Miyagi and the Painful Pedicure

2011-06-27T04:41:00.009-04:00

It has been way too long, my Dear Readers. But I have a tale that is itching to be told this morning so I have returned to you for a brief visit. I say brief because I don't want to overwhelm myself with too much commitment, or I will quit before I even start the telling. I have discovered that I am a writing commitment-phobe. I am glad this affliction doesn't extend to my interpersonal relationships because I can see how frustrating it must be to always have the urge to walk away. Not because the relationship is bad; in fact, it can be quite fulfilling and wonderful. Just because staying is scary. Franklin D. Roosevelt said that the only thing we have to fear is fear itself. I have begun examining this theory to see if there is truth in it for me personally or not. Perhaps I shall delve into this in a later post...(or maybe not). See? Too much talk of future writing forces me to add parentheses to my sentences.

Anyway...

Each summer my family vacations in Atlantic Beach, North Carolina for two weeks. I have been fortunate enough to partake of this tradition since it began when I was two. Though we all overpack, we rarely do much more than go to the beach, the pool, and the local bar that serves the best burgers that you could ever taste. We are currently one week in on this year's sojourn, and my pregnant sister-in-law Lisa and I decided that we must find a place to get a pedicure. Lisa is unable to paint her toenails due to her bump* and I never turn down the opportunity to get this lovely treatment. I located a nail salon in the plaza down the street and we arrived just in time to get the last appointments of the day.

We decided that we'd also get manicures and were ushered by an older Asian gentleman to our luxury recliner massage chairs. These swiveling La-Z-boys** are perched above welcoming foot baths filled with swirling blue-ish water. We sat and I immediately grabbed the remote that activates all of the massage options to make sure it was turned off. Anyone who knows me well can testify that I detest the concept and the feeling of massage for the following reasons:

1. I don't like getting nakey and being told to get under a warm blanket by a stranger.

2. I don't like having said stranger put oil on me and lovingly knead my flesh.

3. I feel silly listening to a recording of waves crashing, birdsong, and gongs.

4. It hurts!

This aversion also extends to chair massagers, which always seem to feel like painful punches that one can direct to specific areas of the upper and lower body. No thank you.

My pedicurist turned out to be the older gentleman, and I was instantly chagrined. As a rule, I stay away from male pedicurists. For whatever reason, I feel uncomfortable, and the leg massages are usually too painful. As he began my treatment, I quickly determined that this pedicure was going to be more like a painful boot camp; my feet were going to get whipped into shape by a humorless drill sergeant. He smacked my foot or leg each time he wanted me to switch. He relentlessly tore at my cuticle and sandpapered my nails with his buffer. All of this was administered with the scary detachment of one who has done this task so many times that it's second nature. I began to see him as my personal Mr. Miyagi***. A firm teacher, with impressive results. At this point, I was fearful of the upcoming massage.

To distract myself, I began to pay attention to the goings on in the nail salon. Lisa also had a male technician, and there was one other female employee present. There was also a tiny, adorable little girl running around a little bit. I quickly determined that this was a family-run business; Mr. Miyagi was the father of Lisa's tech, who was married to the female employee.

As my torture continued, their little girl became antsy, and began to interrupt Lisa's pedicure by trying to climb on her father's lap. He successfully shooed her away but she quickly began fussing and trying to crawl under her mother's work station. Both of her parents were attempting to get her to behave in soothing dulcet tones. This was completely ineffective, of course, even in another language. As the little girl began fussing more earnestly, I noticed that Mr. Miyagi was getting irate. He didn't like the disruption. Seconds later he snapped. He twisted to face the little girl and reprimanded her in the exact same voice I have heard my own father use with my daughter, nieces, and nephew countless times. Sharp, authoritative, and final. The little girl immediately quieted, and began to behave herself.

At this point I realized that the watered down parenting that my generation is currently administering has permeated other cultures as well. No one wants to be firm anymore, in fact, it is looked down upon. But a firm tone can work wonders. Problem solved, Mr. Miyagi returned his attention to my wayward feet.

He drizzled cotton candy-pink lotion down both of my shins and began the dreaded massage. He snaked his fingers repeatedly up and down the sides of my shin bone, applying an incredible amount of pressure. It hurt like the dickens. Next he kneaded, kneaded, kneaded my calf muscle. This too, quite painful. But the piece de resistance was yet to come. Once all the kneading was finished, Miyagi picked up my foot and made eye contact with me for the first time. He then pressed into the middle of the ball of my foot. Hard. So hard in fact that I wondered if he was using a sharp object. As he continued to stare me down, he pushed deeper and harder into my foot. The white hot pain was almost unbearable and in my agony I began to wonder if he was trying to hit my reset button or exorcise a demon. I wondered if riding the wave of pain was going to take me to an unknown, utopian state.

I tried to maintain my dignity and a stiff upper lip but I had to shift in my chair and steel myself to bear it. He kept staring at me and I wondered if I was passing his test or if I was a weakling in his eyes. Probably the latter. He eventually released my foot and it throbbed as it resided on the foot rest for the remainder of the pedicure. Unfortunately, I knew that my poor left foot was now going to receive the same treatment. The pain began for lefty, and again culminated in the eye-contact ball push. Yikes.

Finally, it was time for polish, glittery gold as you can see. I figure it'll look good peeking out of the sand. Miyagi did an expert job on the polishing front, for which I was grateful. Once I got away from the suffering, I felt as if I had accomplished something by being able to endure the experience without whimpering. I've been told one feels the same after Bikram yoga. Opting to embrace this theory, I decided that the pedicure was my form of exercise for the day.

Lisa told me that her tech was too soft, and that her massage was ineffective. Much like his parenting technique, I suppose. If I had to choose between the two, I suppose I would go with Mr. Miyagi, because he definitely got the job done. However, methinks we will try a different place should we get the urge again in the future.

As of now, I have not experienced any utopia due to the ball press. I'm disappointed. My feet are sore, too, and I swear I'm receiving phantom pains even now from the middle of my foot-balls.

My luxury vehicle clearly rejects Mr. Miyagi's reflexology.

*Baby bump is a gross phrase.

**La-Z-Boy has the most ridiculous brand name and spelling ever.

***It should go without saying that no offense is meant by using the name Mr. Miyagi, yet I feel compelled to say I mean no offense. :)

2010-06-01T17:51:00.009-04:00

I have just discovered that I am a total slacker by blogger standards. I vow to do better, my dear readers, and thank you for sticking by me even though I have probably disappointed you with my lack of frequency on the posting front. I humbly apologize. Now onto the pressing issue that I must address: whining obnoxious complainers that complain for no reason.

I am moonlighting this week as a photography assistant for a shoot at a dance recital dress rehearsal. This means that I get to sit and collect order forms, make sure that there are no errors on said forms, and eavesdrop on the conversations parents have with each other and on cell phones as they wait for their offspring. I say "eavesdrop" like I am straining my ears, but au contraire, I try to tune out their chatter. Nine times out of ten I have to fight the urge to snappishly order them to go elsewhere for their little bitchfests.

Take, for example, the bespectacled granola-y youngish aunt of one of the little tap dancers. She arrives with her giant camera on a strap around her neck, broadcasting her disdain for our offerings by criticizing the backdrop and refusing to place an order. Now, I believe that everyone is entitled to their own opinion, but really lady? Is it necessary to hate on a lovely product in order to justify not purchasing a photo? I understand being thrifty; surely if I had purchased such a monstrous camera I would want to get my money's worth and snap my own pics too. However, deriding what others are happy to purchase in an outdoor voice is just not cool in my book. Granola Gal then proceeded to regale her audience with her photographic philosophies and bore them to death.

Also milling about in close vicinity are the passive aggressive parents who act like they're out of earshot because they aren't standing directly in front of my table. A well put together, by-the- books mom (sensible sandals and appropriate mom attire) purchases her photos then comments on how all of these expenses are beginning to add up "real quick" after she takes 5 steps away. A waiting father (a rare sight at these events) complains about forgetting how long pictures take until he finds himself standing right where he stood last year. A scary sporty exerciser mom complains on her cell phone while not even a foot away from me. Please keep in mind that there are thirteen three and four year olds that have to sit still, look at the camera, and smile long enough to get the group shot. The majority of them then get individual pictures too. Not a sitting down to smile individual pic. A DANCE shot. Which means they have to hold still in a pose and not wiggle around and pick their noses. Suffice to say it is a long process.

As I continue to sit at my post I marvel at the self-centeredness I am witnessing and wonder if I would act this way if the roles were reversed. I know that all of us have self-centered tendencies, but we have to at least TRY to fight the urge to be bitchy assholes when things automatically don't go our way, don't we? I believe that we should.

If I were queen, I'd require it.

Lately, I have been lamenting the fact that no one has appeared at my door and presented me with a crown. I am positive I am perfect for the job and could evoke the real change that this world needs. Queen Saravelli even has a nice ring to it. I am going to start penning my manifesto for your reading enjoyment. I will then lobby for votes and all of you, my dear readers, will be informed enough about where I stand on all of the truly important issues to unanimously vote me onto the throne.

I shall begin at once...

5 Minutes.

2010-05-31T14:24:00.011-04:00

Well, dear readers, Nancy said that I should force myself to blog for 5 minutes a day, so I am forcing myself to take her advice. I have been quite blocked as of late, for reasons that I fully recognize are quite ridiculous, so I have decided to find out if her advice is sound or not. So here it goes: I'm starting my iphone timer right...now.*

I just got back to my luxury flat (I love calling it that) from a long jaunt around my new neighborhood on foot with Ayodele. We stopped at Robeks (smoothie mecca) on the way back on this very humid day. We did so because I was choking on the pollen fluff that kept getting sucked into my mouth as we were chatting. I kept making a hacking coughing noise and couldn't seem to rid myself of the awful throat tickle. I laid eyes upon the sign and we gratefully trotted over. I am mystified by these protein shake/smoothie establishments, though I love me a good smoothie when I get the hankering for one. Nevertheless, I entered the oh-so-green (in every sense) shop with confidence, though I know that I'm not a member of the Cool Kids Organic Nutrition Club.

I was feeling proud of myself for knowing that I wanted a "Strawnana Berry" when it was my turn to order, but then the very friendly teenaged employee (wearing way too much makeup) asked me what I wanted my "nutritional boost" to be and just like that.... I was naked in the spotlight. It became glaringly obvious that I am not a health nut. I felt judged, if only slightly (read: insecure) and as I stuttered and admitted I had no clue what a boost was, I felt like a lazy junk food lover in the midst of a healthy Utopia. Then, my sense of self-worth returned and I realized that these boosts are quite ridiculously named and entertaining. I have no idea if any of them actually work, but the idea of a "trimbek boost: chromium and thermogenic herbs to increase metabolism and burn fat" is fantastic. Is this shit for real? Can one of these boosts actually do that?

I doubt it but I'm game to give it a shot. I was also intrigued by "kidbek" and "intellibek" for Sophia (daughter, 9) as these are designed to boost memory and "essential support for growing kids". I can't decide if all of these healthy alternatives that have sprouted up everywhere are designed to fleece all of us out of more money...but they are compelling. I'm going to try to find the time to give this a bit of study, but if one of you knows something on this topic and can save me the time, please post a few compelling facts.

In the meantime, my smoothie was delicious.

33 facts for 33 years.

2010-05-05T19:51:00.009-04:00

Hello my dearest readers! Some of you may be wondering why I haven't been updating very often. I apologize to you for my absence and promise to shed some light on that via poetry sometime soon. In the meantime, however, since it is the magnificent day of my birth, Cinco de mayo, I have decided to post thirty three random facts about myself for you to enjoy. So... enjoy!

I like having my hair played with. It puts me to sleep. So do commercials. I hate commercials.
I am the only person in my family who is left handed.
I am obsessive compulsive about random things. For instance, when I fill out a deposit ticket, I check and recheck repeatedly to make sure I have counted and added correctly, even when I use a calculator.
I hate all seafood, except tuna from a can, and I detest the smell of it... especially the strong odor when you walk into a seafood restaurant.
I am really happy that I got divorced and blissfully content with my loved ones.
I’ve always wanted to be a tap dancer and do exactly what I’m doing, but sometimes wonder what I could have done instead had I chosen the academic route.
The concept of pregnancy kinda freaks me out. I can’t wrap my head around the idea of cells morphing into a tiny human being that you push out of your body upon which it then continues to live and thrive.
I love the feeling of getting into bed when the sheets are clean, crisp, and cool, putting my head down on my pillow, closing my eyes, and knowing sleep is about to come.
I love pita bread, string cheese, and Haribo gummi bears. Haribo are the best ones in my book. I have no idea how to pronounce Haribo.
I wish that more women would fight against living a stereotypical unsatisfying life.
My current mantra is "choose happiness."
I broke up with bagels last year. We were too co-dependent, and I needed a little time and space to make our relationship more healthy.
I also ended it with potato chips for the same reason.
We only see each other occasionally now, I swear.*
One day I would like to write a book. I have various ideas but it seems like an overwhelming endeavor.
I played violin for ten years, and wish I hadn’t quit.
I want to be a great pianist, but don’t have the time or energy for the learning or practicing part. I want to wake up one morning and just have that talent.
I don’t get the hype about sports, and am mystified as to why homophobes are okay with wearing jerseys with other mens’ names on them.
I prefer honesty to ass kissing, and it has proven to be a hindrance more often than not.
I wasn’t raised with pets in my home. I am allergic to them and uncomfortable with them in my personal space. I don’t like the hair, the saliva, the germs...
This has also been a hindrance. I swear, people get more offended if you don’t want to spend intimate time with their animals than they do about just about anything else, which I don’t understand or appreciate!
I love to read. I always have.
The concept of outer space completely boggles my mind.
I want to move! I vow to move to somewhere that is warm year-round. I don’t know how or when I can make this happen, but I still have hope that someday I will.
I abhor doing anything on anyone else's time schedule. I procrastinate as long as possible and have difficulty getting in the shower to start my day.**
I have four tattoos: a star, a flower, a bird, and a symbolic circle.
I love to shop. I believe that I would make an excellent stylist/home decorator. I enjoy perusing clothing racks and slowly walking down aisles filled with merchandise. I love filling up empty space with a blend of quirky items and traditional pieces that don’t match, yet somehow work together. FYI, that is also my clothing/fashion philosophy.
I hate working out, and have always been skeptical of the endorphin rush everyone speaks of that I have yet to experience.
My daughter, Sophia, who will turn 9 on June 9th, is one of the sweetest, coolest people that I know and I’m grateful that I get the chance to be her mother.
I am afraid of knives and hate to cut anything out of the fear that I will somehow slice my fingers open.
The sight of blood makes me queasy, as does any injury of any sort. I can’t even watch Sophia wiggle a loose tooth without my stomach flipping.
I currently live atop the stores at a gorgeous outdoor mall, which has to be just about the best set up I can possibly think of for an avid shopper and people watcher.
I wish that I had been born with super powers, and on each birthday I run a teleportation test (squeeze my eyes shut and think of somewhere I’d like to go) just to see if I happened to get them for a super sweet birthday present. Ran the test this morning; thirty three is not the year that I receive them. Bummer.

* It's a little more often then occasionally. Don't judge.

** This one wasn’t written by me, but alas, I must say that it is, in fact, quite accurate.

You had no idea I was so gifted, did you?

2010-02-24T14:20:00.015-05:00

As I was shopping online for Christmas gifts this year I stumbled upon the perfect outlet for my creative energy. In my youth I learned how to cross stitch from my mother, and worked on tiny little teddy bears and other sweet, cute little patterns. I hadn't done any since then and had forgotten all about it. Until I found "Subversive Cross Stitch" at Amazon.com. This little gem of a book and its projects had me eagerly perusing the aisles of Jo-Ann Fabrics and Michaels to find all of the necessary supplies to begin my Christmas crafty projects. I looked up the word "subversive" in my lovely macbook dictionary (get a Mac) and its definition makes me kinda happy. The fact that it means "to undermine the power and authority of an established system or institution" inspires me to continue to try to do just that in my everyday life. I find many flaws with the accepted standards of today. The roles that women still feel that they need to play. The intolerance and ignorance of many. The "sheep" mentality that most deliberately subscribe to just "to get along". I strive to protest against these issues whenever possible... at least in my own life. Which probably helps no one and hurts me and my lofty ambitions plenty.

I can't help it though.

Anyway... imagine my immense joy when I discovered that I had in my possession counted cross stitching patterns that allow me the privilege of stitching such brilliance like "kiss my grits" (with a darling little home next to it) or "babies suck" (with a pacifier, of course) or "fuck the dumb shit" (with pretty little floral designs). I leapt to my task and began with "fuck the dumb shit" for my mumsy, who I knew would absolutely love one or two of my projects for Christmas. This one was surprisingly easy for me to do...apparently once you know how to cross stitch it comes back to you like the proverbial riding of the bike. The author, Julie Jackson, also generously gives a brief crash course to stitching and a shopping list at the beginning of her book. She also penned a very humorous forward explaining why she decided to embark upon creating all of these fantastic patterns for people just like me! I'm not alone!* I did run into one issue...you see, part of the skill in cross stitching is making sure that the back of your work is as neat as the front, with all floss ends neatly tucked and stitched properly placed. In other words, one can't just jump from row to row, because those who know anything about it will check out the back and judge your handiwork accordingly. I needed clarity about one stitch in particular that wasn't covered in Julie's tutorial, so I figured I could ask my eighty-seven year old grandmother. Surely she had done her fair share of cross stitching back in the olden timey days.

I called her and asked if she had any knowledge in this particular department, and she informed me that she hadn't really ever even tried cross stitching, much to my dismay. She asked me why I wanted to know and I explained to her that I was working on "fuck..." for her daughter for Christmas. I suppose that now would be a good time to tell you that my grandmother is a very crotchety, opinionated woman, who is incapable of holding her tongue. (hmm... I wonder if this is genetic.) Needless to say, she flipped out.

GRANDMA: Do you know what THAT WORD means? (said with impressive smoker's rasp)

ME: What word, Granny? (Innocently)

GRANDMA: YOU know what word... it means SEX!!! Animals do it! Well, people do it too I guess...

ME: It's funny Gram... I know that Mom'll get a kick out of it.

GRANDMA: Well, I think it's sick!

I love her dearly, but Granny's opinion didn't deter me one little bit. I figured out the answer to my question and finished my first masterpiece... complete with a neat backside. Though one could argue it's crass, it cuts to the chase and I dig the sentiment completely.

My next project was a labor of love, because if it isn't hard enough to stitch "happy fucking holidays" surrounded by TWELVE different snowflakes, I decided to do so on a pot holder that I had to stick my hand in and bunch up in order to get done properly. I must admit that I almost gave up (at least 20 times) but persevered so that Mums could have said item during stressful holiday meal preparations. Inside that holder, there is no blood or tears, but plenty of sweat from my hands indeed. As you will see below, it turned out beautifully, if I do say so myself.

I also created a dish towel (kiss my grits) and framed "love stinks" (red heart with green fumes) for a friend going through a difficult patch in the relationship department. I thoroughly enjoyed myself and eagerly distributed a little subversive cheer of my own. I highly recommend this endeavor to anyone looking to do the same.

When I get a moment to resume my stitching, I plan to work on the following quote to frame for my desk. It was uttered by my relative, Queen Victoria** who is brilliant.

"The important thing is not what they think of me, but what I think of them."

I couldn't have said it better.

*I already knew that, I swear.

**We aren't really related, it's called wishful thinking.

*** I am aware that these notes should have been under the pic below, but it wouldn't work. Annoying.

Nose Piercing Complications :( part two.

2010-02-02T18:36:00.009-05:00

...I faithfully used the aspirin treatment beginning that evening before bed... yet within a couple of days, my keloid had returned. Nothing I did made it go away. I tried the aspirin at night... teatree oil during the day... I washed it and kept it clean... I used a bit of Neosporin... nothing worked. I called NCBM again and asked for Marcie, but she was still out of commission. I was told that Beckie was another piercing expert and that she was in the shop on Saturdays, so I decided to go in and talk to her in the hopes that she would have the magical solution to my woes. Beckie was very sweet. She told me that we needed to try to clear up the keloid or remove the piercing to avoid any permanent scarring, that my body was trying to reject the foreign object that was invading it, that some people have this reaction. (This made perfect sense to me because my luxury vehicle WOULD try to protect itself.*) Beckie told me that there was no way that my jewelry could be causing the reaction and floated the idea that perhaps I was cleaning the piercing site too often. She suggested that I only clean it when I shower with soap that my face was familiar with and leave it completely alone the rest of the time, except for an occasional sea salt water soak, which was her final treatment recommendation. "Sea salt water," I thought to myself, "my magical solution, at last!"

Nope.

Another few weeks passed as I continued to try to convince myself that I would be able to keep my piercing. Then I got a cold. While vacationing in Puerto Rico no less. The bump grew larger and redder and after I finally took an honest look at it I realized that I needed to take action. I did not want to be left with a much dreaded bumpy scar and copious amounts of self-loathing. I decided to take action. I went to the piercing shop in the mall in San Juan and purchased a 14 carat stud and corkscrew. I told myself that I would simply remove the existing jewelry and replace it myself-- since I was nowhere near NCBM but felt that time was against me in my quest to remain scar-less. I continued to attempt to psych myself up to the task of self-inflicted pain-- but eventually realized that I would have to be patient and trust that the bigger scar risk would come from my pathetic attempt to play piercer than from waiting until I returned home to have it taken care of by a professional.

Upon my return to lovely Mentor, Ohio, a flurry of last minute Christmas errands kept me from North Coast Body Mod, but my keloid wasn't getting any better. If I accidentally bumped my nose or had an itch it was painful. It was unattractive, and I was still being asked questions about it by others who were curious as to why it still hadn't healed. One morning, around 5am, I had finally had it.

I went into the bathroom to blow my nose and the keloid decided to bleed for no reason. After spying the blood on my tissue and then daring to examine it in the mirror, I decided the time had come for me to remove it. I gathered my resolve and braced myself for the pain and discomfort I was about to inflict. I knew that it was going to hurt like hell to try to remove the corkscrew. The site (gross) was very inflamed, as was the horrible BUMP. The first step in the removal process is to pull the flat part of the jewelry straight down so that it rests on your nose on the diagonal. As I write, I am shuddering a bit as my body remembers how excruciating that pain was. I pushed on the knob at the end of the metal rod and forced it down. From there I needed to twist it and follow the curve until it popped out of the hole. That was very uncomfortable too. At last I finally had the evil invader in my hand and I marveled at how thick it was comparatively to the new 14 carat one that I had purchased. I began to hope. My new hardware was so much smaller (and gold). Maybe... just maybe...my nose just MIGHT accept one of them.

I was worried that the hole might close up very quickly so I wanted to get the new jewelry in as soon as possible. I sterilized my new corkscrew and held it up to my face to try to figure out how on earth I was supposed to go about the installation process. I deduced that I needed to hook the coiled part in and then follow the curve until I got to the straight part, but I wasn't quite sure how to go about DOING any of that. I made a couple of painful attempts to hook it in, but it seemed like instead of going all the way through my nose where I could touch it, it was twisting somewhere, horrifyingly enough, INSIDE my nose itself! At this point it was all I could do to stay focused on the task at hand and not freak out completely. (I must digress for a brief moment and inform you that I hate needles, blood, loose baby teeth, anything related to unsavory bodily functions. In fact, the only way that I was able to dig deep enough to attempt this bit of surgery at all was out of scar-fear, and by telling myself that what I was doing I wasn't actually doing to my own nose.) I had to detach myself completely and do it for the greater good. After I made several unsuccessful attempts, I decided that it was time to wake up an assistant. Poor Ayodele went from peaceful dreaming to being invited into a hot bathroom (I had put the shower on, in the hopes that the steam would keep my nose soft and pliable) to try to help me with my ridiculous task. She was a trouper, put on a brave face, and attempted to push the metal through my nose while my eyes teared and I winced, flinched, sniffled, and said "ow, ouch ow!" repeatedly. At one point after she, too, was unsuccessful, she grew faint and had to sit down. I'm still not altogether sure whether or not the cause of her dizziness was the heat or the freaky sight of something twisting inside my nose.

What to do next? Google it, of course!

I typed "how to insert..." and before I could type "corkscrew nose ring" in, "how to insert a tampon" popped up as a suggestion, which struck me as comical in the moment. Once I finished typing in my question I clicked on the first link to a video that looked like it might be informative and not too scary. The girl is very thorough in her demonstration so I was able to get a better idea of what to do, and feel less unsure of myself. As we watched the video of her twisting this jewelry in and out of her nose I must be truthful and say I felt sick to my stomach. I returned to the bathroom, determined to get the new jewelry into my nose once and for all. (If you are wondering at this point why I am still bothering to try so hard to keep an inconsequential piercing, I ask you to refer back to my original writing on this topic. It was symbolic, and I am nothing if I am not persistent and one-track minded). I would not give up without a fight.

I would love to pretend that with this firm resolve, I was able to successfully push the corkscrew in... but I wasn't. I decided that since North Coast would be opening in a few hours, and it happened to be Saturday so Beckie would be there...that I would put in a temporary stud to keep the hole open and ask her to do the honors of inserting my 14 carat jewelry.

I arrived at North Coast with my new corkscrew in one of my daughter Sophia's plastic princess tea cups (it was what was nearest to me when I needed to sterilize earlier.) I waited patiently for Beckie, and then once I was in the piercing room (again) I told her the update and explained that I would like her to insert the new jewelry into my nose as my final attempt at keeping the piercing. She agreed and began examining my nose closely, since there was no jewelry in it to impair her ability to look at it from all angles. She asked me a couple of questions about my keloid... how long it had been there, when it had started to grow, things of that nature. She then turned away from me and donned her gloves. Beckie then began advancing towards the piercing table where I was perched trying to psych myself up yet again for more pain. She reached toward my face empty-handed, and before I could register more than a brief moment of bewilderment, she began scraping at my keloid with one gloved finger, picking at it repeatedly, relentlessly, while I squirmed, quivered, and shuddered with acute excruciating pain. "Wha..what are you doing?" I asked a couple of times, yet I received no answer, just more scraping. I can only compare the feeling to when an unhealed scab gets ripped off without warning. But remember, this wasn't a scab, it was actual scar tissue that was still very much ATTACHED to my face! It was horrible. I went into shock. I was twitching. I tried to pathetically beg Beckie to at least warm up the area first, hoping that if it was softer it would make whatever she was trying to do less agonizing, but by the time I finally managed to stutter out my question, she replied, "There. I did it. It's gone, and maybe now it can finally heal."

I was flabbergasted. I couldn't believe that without warning, she had just reached over and scraped and removed scar tissue from my face. It was bleeding, of course, and though my nose was still throbbing, Beckie then needed to insert and twist my corkscrew into place. She warned me that it was going to hurt, which was an understatement, and then it was finally over. Beckie apologized for the surprise attack re: the keloid removal, and with an "um, I think your eye teared a little bit, here is a tissue" she held one out for me and watched me as I wiped off my face. I think she realized that I was still a bit stunned.

Ironically, as she walked me out of the piercing room and up to the front of the store, she allowed for the possibility that the change of jewelry could in fact make a difference in my healing process. After so many people told me that the metal had nothing to do with the infection, this admission from Beckie infuriated me a bit, and made me wish that I had gone with my first instinct and changed the corkscrew immediately. Maybe if I had I wouldn't have had to go through so much anxiety and drama. I forced those thoughts out of my head right away though, because after all, what good does it do to lament what can't be undone?

As of now... several weeks later... my nose is doing much better. I no longer have a large bump. There seems to be a tiny bit of scar tissue, but it isn't visible to the naked eye, and it isn't discolored. For now, it seems as if my face is accepting this foreign visitor. I am smart enough to know now that at any point, this could change, but I am cautiously optimistic. My healing process this time around has felt different from the very beginning: there has been less tenderness, seeping, and swelling, and my nose is definitely less sensitive to touch and can handle occasional bumping or tentative rubbing without any pain. Ayodele and I laugh about the fact that only 14 carat is working and have decided that it is a modern day version of the fairytale "The Princess and the Pea." We have determined that I must truly be a princess (as my name would indicate) since my nose is doing so much better now that it has gold in it. Now if only someone important could get this memo and bring me my throne...that would be fantastic.

I'm still glad that I pierced my nose, irregardless of all of the shit I have had to go through as a result. I'm very glad that I can say that and mean it, because the only thing that could have made all of this worse would be if I regretted my original decision at any point along the way. I will hopefully close this painful now, and heal normally.

However, I won't predict "happily ever after" again...just in case my hopeful phrase was what jinxed me in the first place...

*My luxury vehicle comes complete with flu-resistant properties and super bones. MOTL

Nose Piercing Complications :( part one.

2010-01-20T00:53:00.018-05:00

I'd love to say that my nose piercing and I lived happily ever after. Sadly, this was not to be the case. Shortly after I posted "A permanent accessory" I developed a small bump around the top of my piercing. It was also red and slightly swollen-looking. A friend recommended tea tree oil, the first of many remedies that I tried in the hopes of being able to keep the piercing that I wanted so badly. Tea tree oil is very strong, and has a very potent smell when applied to your nose. It also burns and, regrettably, was of no help to me whatsoever. I tried to delude myself into thinking that it was helping... but lucky for me both my mums and lovely sis JULIETTE would constantly squint at it... then advance closer to my face. "That doesn't look right, is it infected?" (M) or, "I hope that isn't a staph infection...it definitely looks infected." (J) never let me forget for too long that something wasn't right about my healing process.

I reluctantly decided to call the shop where I had this hardware installed and discovered that my beloved Marcie was going to be out for the next couple of weeks due to illness. This news left me feeling vaguely unsettled. Since I didn't want to go see a different piercer I postponed my trip to North Coast as long as possible... which wasn't that long because I was beginning to have visions of my poor proboscis (we had made a tentative peace) now adorned NOT with a cute little post... but a gigantic wart-like SCAR. I would look like an evil witch!

I love googling any random question I may have, but made the mistake of hopping on my macbook (get a mac) and googling "bump on nose piercings". The repulsive images of disgusting protuberances of all sizes will forever be singed on my brain.

From that point forth, (though outwardly appearing confident that the piercing was healing nicely), I was secretly terrified at the thought of a nubby little bump on the side of my nose... mocking me for ever trying to improve it in the first place. In subsequent weeks I ended up taking a total of 4 additional trips to North Coast Body Mod (NCBM), each visit a bit more surreally horrible than the one before it.

Trip #1- I spoke with a male employee (I'll call him Brutus since I didn't catch his name) who told me that my nose didn't look infected... it was just taking awhile to heal. He told me that I had two possible options to treat the "keloid" (disgusting word that I hate): 1. the tea tree oil 2. the aspirin treatment.* When I informed him that I had tried the tea tree oil already, he told me to try the aspirin treatment and that it should clear up in 3-4 days "no problem". Brutus also said that he didn't think that the tea tree oil was very effective but that anyone he had told about the aspirin never came back into the shop to say it hadn't worked. I was skeptical, but cautiously optimistic.

I also inquired as to whether or not it was possible to be allergic to the metal jewelry NCBM uses for new piercings. I had first put this question to Marcie on P Day back in October but wanted to hear Brutus' take on the matter. Long ago I got my bellybutton pierced and my body (I call it the luxury vehicle**) reacted in the exact same way. Same bump, same strange not-really-infected, but yet not-really-healing situation. I had ended up having to remove the piercing after multiple attempts to keep it. I wondered back then if it had something to do with the type of metal in the jewelry, since my ears always get infected if I wear earrings that aren't 14 carat or sterling silver. I never tried out my 14 carat theory on my bellybutton and ended up with a scar and no piercing. I figured I would at least ask this time to see if it was possible.

Brutus quickly informed me that it is impossible to be allergic to the piercing jewelry. He assured me (as did Marcie) that when people have reactions it is because of the nickel that is found in some jewelry... but that North Coast pierces with no-nickel-having-surgical-steel. Marcie had gone a step further in her explanation and said that it is the same metal used in surgery when you need pins for broken bones and such, which means that people can't have an allergy to it. Both of them spoke with such conviction that I felt a little foolish for asking (twice). But even while immersed in that uncomfortable "foolish" feeling... I still didn't really believe them. I thanked Brutus, left, and went immediately to Walgreens to fetch some Bayer aspirin and hoped for the best.

Well, 3-4 days did nothing. Nor did 3-4 days after that. In fact, if possible, the bump was bigger, and the skin was beginning to peel. This was extremely upsetting to me, and I was also still fielding questions from Mums and Juliette with regularity, fueling my anxiety further. After about a week of the aspirin treatment, I woke up one morning and discovered that my bump looked just like a blood blister. Bright red... and evil. Instead of being scared and disheartened, which probably would have been the normal reaction, I was excited. I thought, "if this is only a blister, maybe someone at North Coast can do something to it, and then all will be well!" Wrong again. I was beginning to think that this whole nose piercing affair was God's little way of letting me know how often I am incorrect about things.

Back I went to North Coast and this time Brutus called upon a fellow with an impressive mohawk and tattoo collection to assess my pathetic non-healing situation. I don't remember his name either, probably because he traumatized me so much, so I have christened him Mohawk for storytelling purposes. Mohawk was very nice, and took me back to their piercing rooms. He put on his gloves and began examining my nose. He deduced that yes, it was a blood blister and theorized that if he was able to "release the fluid" then perhaps I would be on the road to healing. What followed was incredibly painful and involved the wooden stick end of a cotton swab being jammed repeatedly into my bump. Mohawk would jam the stick, then twist it, then swipe the increasingly bloody utensil through some disinfectant he had applied to a medical tray. I know that sounds disgusting, and I apologize for the graphic deets, but I owe it to you to be as specific as possible. Mohawk repeated this process at least 10 times, so I'm sure you can imagine my horror and pain as I saw my blood on the tray and felt this blunt little torture tool being jabbed into my face.

When he was finished, he apologized for any pain he had caused and said that now I should use the aspirin treatment and that I should be successful. Wiping the involuntary wet tracks off of my face with a paper towel, I thanked him, and quickly left so that I could reflect on this excruciating episode in the solitude of my car. I took a few moments to lament the fact that other people get piercings all the time and don't have these troubles. After wallowing for a bit, I got on with my day and tried to feel optimistic. Little did I know that even more pain was coming my way, and that my saga was only halfway over.

to be continued....

* the aspirin treatment: crush an uncoated aspirin and add water until it becomes the consistency of toothpaste, then smear it all over the outside of your piercing and leave it on overnight. Let me tell you-- it is a very attractive look.

** more on the luxury vehicle later. Forevermore, when I have more to say on any topic I shall use the acronym of MOTL.

'Twas the Mid of November

2010-01-15T06:54:00.005-05:00

I have been away too long, my lovely readers, and for that, I am quite sorry. Now that I've returned to you, I've been having a bit of a hard time figuring what to write first, and ultimately decided that the best way to catch you up on my life since my photo shoot and post (re: Mr. Fred) was to create a narrative, rhyming poem, inspired by the wonderful cadence of "Twas' the Night Before Christmas".

I hope that you enjoy this brief sojourn into my life since November 13th.

I have titled my work Twas' the Mid of November. (aren't I original?)

Twas' the mid of November

When last I did post.

Not one bit was I blogging,

Email typing, at most.

Stressful gigs were a-looming

The holidays too

All the work I was doing

Made me feel like dog doo.

The 26th brought Thanksgiving

Yummy food I did eat

Then stayed up all night shopping

Black Friday- I was beat!

Saturday dress rehearsal

Mumsy's holiday show

Ran three times (all day) Sunday

Then road trip off I go.

To Chicago for tapping

Missy's Perseverance

Home three days then Tappy New York

I'm all stressed and quite tense.

Four days later it's over!

Hurrah and hooray!

Now I'm off to Puerto Rico

‘Til two shy of Christmas Day.

I spent my time surfing

Not the waves but the net

Lots of presents to purchase

Many fun things to get.

Turbie twists, piggy banks,

And my dad got new glasses,

Love to shop from poolside

Hate the malls and jackasses.

Home again late on Tues.

Not a moment to spare

Many tasks incomplete

With no time to despair.

Buckled down and got busy

Christmas came in a jiff

Then it ended too quickly

Still no sign, not one whiff-

Of this thing called relaxing

What’s that? you might say

But I vowed I’d make time

For it on New Years Day.

New Years Eve was a blast

Thought we’d try something new

Went to Geneva State Park

For their festive to-do

Fancy dinner, open bar

A live band, snacks to eat

It’s a shame the band stunk

Worse than armpits or feet.

Only seconds remained

Of two thousand and nine

Sadly two thousand ten

Didn’t start out divine.

At the stroke of midnight

Not a note did they play

Once they realized they missed it

The lead singer did say-

"Hey so what no big deal

We’ll just count down from ten

4,3,2,1,okay

Happy New Year again!"

This was met with no fanfare

Though most guests were too drunk

This shitty band’s poor planning wouldn’t

Put them in a funk.

As for Ayo and I

We were happy as clams

Since it wasn’t our mistake

Not our band that was canned!

Well I don’t know for sure

If their jobs they did keep

But I had a good laugh

Before I sank into sleep.

New Years Day brought bad breakfast

Party package- a bust

But the good that came with it

Was we figured we must-

Create "Tappy New Year!"

For au revoir twenty ten

If WE ran the show

This wouldn’t happen again.

So who knows what we’ll do

It’s just too soon to say

We’ll put off that decision

Until March/April/May.

Now it's mid-January

This weather does blow

I’m all done with my update

You’re now in the know!

My Main Squeeze ❤

2009-11-13T14:53:00.002-05:00

The new man in my life is perfect in every way and I sleep with him every night. He is always there for me, supporting me when and where I need him the most. He always smells good, and I love to rest my face right in his armpit. I never have to worry that he has evil oniony body odor, or that he will sweat excessively, or wake me up with his snoring. I love our pillow talk. He always listens sweetly and knows just what to say to make me feel like I'm really being heard.

His name is Mr. Fred.

I purchased him as well as 6 of his brothers at overstock.com. I doled them out to a deserving few, feeling much how I would imagine Oprah must feel at her holiday freebie show. He is the best I've ever had by far, and quite a conversation piece.

I am always thrilled when I find these rare gems while searching for gifts online. Now that the holidays are fast approaching, I plan on spending my nights trolling various sites to find my next batch of quirky, yet functional, high quality items.

Here are a few of the best shots from our photo shoot. He completes me. Enjoy!

Dear Tap Dancers,

2009-11-07T12:44:00.010-05:00

I sincerely respect the efforts you make to keep tap dancing alive in the world... especially because I know how difficult it is. I am trying to fight for EQUALITY for us and need as much support from as many of you as possible. I have written "The Systematic Marginalization of Tap Dancing Continues..." (see below) in an attempt to acknowledge the elephant in the room and to try to get Tap on television in a way that represents it accurately; so that all of us will be able to continue to do what we love.

This isn't about a popularity contest, or any personal vendettas. It's about Tap dancing gaining the exposure that Lyrical, Contemporary, Breaking, etc. do on a consistent basis. Tap is becoming less and less relevant and gaining audiences is getting increasingly harder nationally. We need to gain the respect of producers and presenters so that we can get them to actually consider funding tap projects. If you teach, then you also know how hard it is to recommend or support tap dancing as a viable career path to students anymore. We all know that finding a comprehensive college Tap program or legitimate, consistent work is next to impossible, which means that we potentially have to consider discouraging the next generation of dancers, or be partially responsible for their inevitable disillusionment.

The stereotype of tap dancing that is currently being represented any time it is featured on television is one that is flattering to no one. We all are affected by this. We need to care more and try to alter this gimmicky perception. Change doesn't occur with passivity. It happens when we stand up... even when it might be uncomfortable or unpopular. Tap dancing can be modern, relevant, awe-inspiring, and above all, entertaining and WORTHY of a public forum that will help us to maintain and cultivate more interest and enthusiasm. Let's ALL be about the big picture. By allowing Nigel Lythgoe to continue to publicly announce that Tap is too hard to teach even though we know it's untrue, we all lose credibility. If anyone, backed with the solid support of the tap community, with access to the producers, had said that he/she was able to choreograph ALL of the dancers into tap routines, and could actually do the job, then Tap would already be on "SYTYCD" regularly.

Why hasn't this happened? Who are our leaders? I don't know that we have any that aren't susceptible to the discord and back biting that occur in this community. There are little tap pockets scattered nationally and internationally but no united front whatsoever. Are you genuinely happy with the way that tap dancing is being represented? Do you see any aspect of yourself or your idea of what tap dancing is in what you have seen on television recently? I implore all of you to get on board and publicly support a protest against the marginalization of tap dancing that we all have been allowing for far too long. We as tap dancers are standing in our own way by not banding together to create a force that is too powerful to ignore. My intentions are purely positive and stem from my genuine love of this art form. I view anyone's speculation to the contrary as yet another example of how ego interferes with progress.

Why be satisfied with the pathetic crumbs that are being thrown our way? There is room for everyone, every style, and every tap philosophy within a field that is regarded with respect. Let's try to make it happen. Please speak up and try to invoke some change. My sincere and heartfelt thanks to you for taking the time to read this, and for considering checking out the post below.

Respectfully,

Saravelli :)

The Systematic Marginalization of Tap Dancing Continues on "So You Think You Can Dance."

2009-11-02T12:06:00.013-05:00

After blatantly dismissing tap dancing for the past five seasons, Nigel Lythgoe and the producers of "So You Think You Can Dance" have included three tap dancers in their lineup of twenty competitors for season six. Monday night's episode showcased the premiere of this history making event. Tap dancers far and wide are thrilled about this perceived victory; finally Tap is going to be performed by the dancers competing each week. Not getting to claim a spot on the short (long) list of dance styles that are featured regularly on the show has been a sore spot for the tap community, so spirits are running high due to this new development. At least on Facebook.
I, for one, do not share these sentiments. In fact, I'm irritated at how tap dancing has been portrayed on the show thus far. Truthfully, it seems a little gimmicky that the producers have chosen Bianca Revels, Peter Sabasino, and Phillip Atmore this year over other dancers from various genres that were more talented. After so many seasons without any tap dancers in the Top 20...gaining three at once seems a bit suspect... yet I was still looking forward to seeing the non-tap dancing contestants give tap choreography a shot.
What's that you say? Only the three tap dancers have to compete in the Tap category?
Huh?
Nigel casually remarks that none of the other finalists can possibly learn how to tap dance in one week's time, so they won't be expected to compete in the Tap category. However, these same contestants WILL be able to learn Krumping, Bollywood, Texas Two Step, Ballroom, and at least twenty other styles within this timeframe. Oh, and so can the tap dancers, so they will be expected to compete in all of the other styles in addition to their tap dancing.
Are you kidding me?
Lythgoe's logic regarding this topic is faulty and convoluted, yet no one seems to feel inclined to refute it. Well, I am officially doing so. Mr. Lythgoe: your illogical theory regarding the inability of your contestants to compete in a Tap category is equal parts insulting and discouraging to tap dancers. I would like to issue you a challenge: allow me to attempt to disprove your supposition before what remote chance tap dancing has to reclaim its rightful position in the dance community is gone for good. It is VERY possible for the top 20 dancers to compete in a Tap category; they should have been doing so since the very first season. If I am successful in proving this to you, I would like you to agree to add Tap to your short list for "SYTYCD" without any qualifications or strings attached.
If you visit any dance studio in America you can trust that they will be offering these three basic classes: Ballet, TAP, and Jazz. Not Bollywood. Not Ballroom. Not Break dancing. Tap Dancing. It's an American tradition. I grew up in a dance studio, and studied all forms of dance. I have an appreciation for all of them because of it. I chose to pursue tap dancing as my profession at the age of thirteen, and have been self-producing shows and workshops all over the country since 1999. It has been an uphill battle fighting against the stereotypes that audiences have regarding tap dancing, and when a television show continues to perpetuate these cliches it doesn't help make my job any easier.
The fact that Tap has been devalued and ignored on mainstream television (save for the occasional out-of-context performance) has delivered a crushing blow to the field. The absence of a strong tap presence leaves students less inclined to don tap shoes and more inclined to prance around their studios barefoot, clad in booty shorts and skimpy bras, throwing themselves passionately into routines set to quirky love songs that allow them to writhe, slither, and explore their sexually mature alter egos. At some point these students forgo Tap altogether, choosing to spend more time and money focusing on the dance styles du jour: Lyrical and Contemporary. Many dance competition/convention owners seem to be relieved that the pressure to employ qualified tap teachers or judges has been removed. Fully embracing this development, some don't even bother to provide their participants with tap judges or tap classes, and others provide them with substandard faculty members that can turn on the charm but are sorely lacking in actual skill. This, in turn, makes it easier for dance studio owners to pooh pooh or omit tap training altogether. The few dance teachers and company directors that love tap dancing enough to still fight for its presence in their studios at an advanced level and maintain strong tap programs then get penalized at competitions because very few (if any) of the judges have any tap knowledge at all.
I can see how all of this would make it easy for anyone to assume that Tap dancing is irrelevant.
-HOWEVER-
1. There is a far greater chance that the top 20 finalists have tap danced at some point in their lives than there is that they have had a single class of Bollywood or Krumping. Just because they don't currently tap dance doesn't mean they haven't in the past. Even though tap dancing jobs are hard to come by these days, there are still a plethora of them comparatively to Krumping opportunities.
2. Breakers and Hip Hop dancers often claim that they are inspired by the rhythms, movements, and style of Tap dancing. It stands to reason that learning how to tap dance would be much simpler for them than having to master Contemporary movement or the difficult lifts and posturing of Ballroom. Does anyone REALLY believe that making sounds with your feet and performing them proficiently is so much more difficult than what these contestants have to learn on a weekly basis? I was appalled at the physical risks that two of the contestants had to take during their disco routine. (disco over tap? Really?) The male contestant had his partner swinging over his head, around his body, flipping here, flipping there. Their countless dangerous maneuvers had me nervously hoping neither of them would severely injure themselves while careening through a frenetic, overwrought dance. How can anyone possibly believe that tap is so impossible comparatively?
3. Of course some contestants won't be capable of mastering tap technique in a week... but do they ever really MASTER any of the more obscure styles of movement that are thrown at them during this timespan anyway? Would Mia Michaels say after a week of working with a Break dancer with no formal training that he was ready to join a contemporary dance company? Would a Krumping choreographer say that a Russian ballroom contestant is ready to join his crew after a week of rehearsals? I sincerely doubt it. Therefore, why can't everyone take a stab at tap dancing? And let's face it: Bianca, Peter, and Phillip aren't the most talented tap dancers that exist in the country. They were probably selected to fill a quota, and because they weren't TERRIBLE at any other discipline they made it onto the show. At first glance I knew they weren't extraordinary. Their lack of proficiency and finesse within their field of "expertise" doesn't bode well for their chances at gracefully executing any of the other styles that will be thrown at them through the course of the competition. It is irksome that all three judges made sure to say that BECAUSE these three are "tappers" they won't dance as well as other finalists. The fact is, if they lack graceful lines or charisma it could be because they aren't very good dancers in general, or because they weren't born with great facility. Not because tap dancing made them that way. One doesn't develop shoulder problems, flat feet, or poor posture due to vigorous lower body movement. The tapping trio had those issues during their Tap performance too, which should have been mentioned afterwards in their critique. Instead, Nigel rhapsodized about how Tap dancing is all about being "a graceful swan on top, and moving your feet furiously on the bottom." He went on to theorize that tap dancers will struggle to pull in votes because of a supposed lack of personality due to upper body stillness. These comments are both unenlightened and overly speculative. Voters select the contestant that appeals to them the most personality-wise and talent-wise. If a tap dancer has those characteristics, he will get votes... unless the judges sabotage the process through the power of suggestion. Why not give voters a chance to decide for themselves who they like? If Bianca, Peter and Phillip don't last long this season, it should be because they aren't particularly great period...not because they are tap dancers. I'm sure they are better at tap than anything else and that they went to the audition with the high hopes that by using the "tap gimmick" they would happen to get lucky. However, I have a feeling that with a little intensive coaching, we would find that one of the other seventeen finalists is actually better in tap than these three who were selected because of their "superior tap skills." I also know for a fact that there have been many contestants from previous seasons that are able to tap dance, yet were never given the opportunity.There have been plenty of instances in the past when contestants have had difficulties with whichever dance style they have been assigned, and their resulting mediocre performance influenced how many votes they received. Why should Bianca, Peter, and Phillip be put at a huge disadvantage comparatively to the other contestants by having to compete in unfamiliar dance genres, while none of the others have to even bother trying to tap at all? This is grossly unfair to the tapping trio, but more importantly, it is a disservice to tap dancing, and to the people who love it and know what amazing work is possible with good training and choreography. I'm choosing to give Nigel and the other producers of "SYT..." the benefit of the doubt. They probably don't realize how much discriminating against Tap (then alienating it from all of the other categories once it finally debuts) has helped to further a recession for this art form. Why should young students bother tap dancing at all if they don't see it on television? Instead of making a big production out of HAVING TAPPERS THIS YEAR!!! why not just make tap dancing one of the categories and keep it moving? I'm even more baffled that this hasn't been done already since Nigel is constantly raving about tap dancing and has even graced the stage himself to perform a shuffle or two.
So how is it possible for these contestants to learn other new styles of dance and perform them so quickly? Lythgoe and his associates have been lucky enough thus far to find choreographers from various genres that can produce solid material efficiently. Some are better at this than others, but overall this formula works. It stands to reason that if he found an equally gifted choreographer for tap dancing, the "tap isn't teachable" issue would no longer exist. Unfortunately, this is easier said than done. Even though Lythgoe can easily locate talented professional tap dancers that can perform their asses off, finding ones that can also teach Tap to finalists whose skill levels vary, then choreograph this mixed bag of dancers in a way that best suits each couple or individual, isn't so simple. It doesn't help that he has no idea as to what or whom to look for, nor a reliable source to ask. Because the tap field is so small and good jobs are hard to find, tap performers who know full well that there are better, more qualified choreographers for this particular job will take the work regardless for personal recognition, with hopes of parlaying the opportunity into more profitable ones for themselves. This does a great disservice to Tap dancing at large. Once said mediocre work debuts, no one even wants to bother to have tap in the lineup again. This becomes yet another mismanaged opportunity, and another decrease in potential work... not just for the specific tap choreographer, but for all tap dancers. If Nigel would consider hiring a tap choreographer/judge with vision and the necessary skills to get all of the contestants to compete in the Tap category on "SYTYCD" then there would be real cause for celebration in the tap community. Does a person exist that can choreograph Tap at a level that is on par with Mia Michael's choreography? Not in the fish pond where the producers are looking. Again, just because certain tap dancers have a higher profile than others doesn't mean they are qualified for this job. This potential choreographer needs to be able to float in and out of both the competition/dance studio world and the elite, tiny bubble of professional tap world, and be capable of blending these two wildly different approaches to the art form together.
Here is where I enter this equation.
I can do this. And I am no longer going to be silent about it so that I don't appear to be arrogant or overly confident in my abilities. I can put my money where my mouth is and prove that Tap dancing can be successful on "SYTYCD." I'm not saying that I'm the only one who is capable... but I'm certainly the only one at this time who is putting herself out there to say that we as tap dancers can do better and should expect more.

This is what I would request: one week of 8 hour/day rehearsals to get all of the contestants ready to compete. The choreography that they would perform would be danced to a variety of contemporary musical selections, not antiquated jazz standards. The rhythms and steps would reflect our day and age, instead of catapulting us back to Vaudeville. I understand the urge to tribute tap legends from the past in every "new" piece of choreography, but if that was the goal, Monday's performance certainly fell short of the mark. Cheesy smiles, low awkward kicks, bizarre jumps, cheerleader-like toe touches, bad arms, and embarrassing CARTWHEELS to introduce Tap dancing on this show? Is this what the producers requested? Is this really what they envision when they think "great tap number"? How could anyone possibly be expected to compare such a piece or judge it fairly against the rest of the choreography that was presented?
My hope is that someone will read this, see the validity of my stance, and help make this experiment possible ASAP. I am prepared to step up... not just complain behind closed doors... or worse yet pretend that any representation of Tap dancing on television is better than no exposure at all. I keep hearing from tap community members that we just "need to be patient." Why should tap dancers have to be patient? Did the Texas Two Steppers have to be patient? The tap community can't afford to lose any more audience members or enthusiasts due to inexperienced choreographers and substandard performances. The vast majority of the reviews I've read online make it abundantly clear that few people are impressed by the addition of tap dancing to this season's lineup. Questionable dancing combined with a distracting, moving-through-the-galaxy-light-show set completed the perfect recipe for a sloppy goulash of everything that is stereotypical and wrong about the depiction of Tap dancing in America today. This isn't the way tap dancing should be represented. I would rather it be considered an elite form of dance that is too good for the show than one that gets ridiculed and disrespected due to a lack of care or interest on the producers' part.
It would be nice to have an opportunity to expose America to the tap dancing that I know and love, and to the tap dancers that make up a diverse community of some of the coolest people I know. If "So You Think You Can Dance" doesn't end up being the forum for this, then I will continue to toil away at trying to make it happen somehow. In fact, I already have an excellent pilot episode in mind for a spin off.
UPDATE: in response to requests from readers, a Facebook group has been created... if you'd like to join the ranks and support the movement, please check it out! http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=167621413699&ref=ts

Photo inspired Senryu #1

2009-10-28T11:46:00.021-04:00

I will be providing a bit of poetry for you, my dearest readers, from time to time. I'm sure that all of you remember the structure of a proper Haiku from your childhood schooling; the 5-7-5 syllable count has always greatly appealed to me. Ever since learning about these poems that read like little bursts of beauty I have mentally written them... here and there.... when inspiration struck. Today, upon doing a bit of research, I discovered that what I actually write are not Haiku at all, but rather "Senryu."

A senryu is a three-line poem that is similar to a haiku. Senryu deals with the foibles of human nature in a humorous or satirical manner. http://www.stltoday.com/blogzone/book-blog/book-blog/2008/07/what-is-a-haiku-and-what-isnt/

This discovery, as you can imagine, is thrilling. A poetry style exists that I genuinely feel must have been created specifically for me.

The senryu I share with you will always be accompanied by a sample of visual art as well. Yes, you will be correct in thinking that you have gotten your daily dose of art and culture through the multi-faceted experiences my "Photo Inspired Senryu" will provide. Creative director Ayodele Casel will gift you with the beautiful images she captures of the slightly "off" subjects that inspire my poetic genius.

I am elated to present you with my first senryu below, which addresses the odd appearance of the Mentor Fine Arts Center in lovely, scenic Mentor, Ohio. This building was constructed in front of Mentor High School (a non-descript brown shoebox building) in 1993. Please enjoy this snippet of poetic whimsy.

Mentor High has breasts

each time I pass I wonder:

Who chose this design?

Why strive for perfection when mediocrity is perfectly acceptable?

2009-10-21T05:49:00.006-04:00

When did mediocre become the acceptable quality standard? That's what I would like to know this morning, dear readers. I'm sick and tired of this pervasive problem because I get smacked in the face with it every single day in every facet of my life. You do too, but do you notice it? Or are you one of the ones doing the hitting?

To point out every example of this "mediocrity is the new high quality" from any given day would take way too long, so today I will focus on the service industry.

Why should I be made to feel guilty by every single person who has ever worked as a waiter or waitress in their lives into tipping 20 percent or HIGHER for crappy service at a restaurant? How bad does my experience have to be in order to justify leaving a written tip instead of additional money? If I were able to scrawl something like, "please stop assaulting me with your fake patronizing personality, your long dirty fingernails, and your incompetence" on the back of my check maybe I would feel better as I walked out after my meal instead of feeling like I got ripped off. Not only did I have to pay for food that was dry, uninspired and poorly cooked, but then I had to pay additional money for service that was shitty too. How did we get swindled into having to pay for our food, tax on said food, and then even more money for the salary of our servers? Restaurant owners really made out on this ridiculous concept.

Really, America? HOW DID THIS HAPPEN?

It's not just the service I receive in restaurants. It's everywhere. High quality customer service is almost impossible to find. I'm irritated when I catch myself feeling grateful when the people that help me, be it on the phone or face-to-face, know the answers to the simplest of questions... because most of the time that isn't the case. To expect any more than basic knowledge is expecting too much from almost everyone anymore. Why shouldn't we be able to expect high quality service? Now, one could argue that these are low paying jobs... I have been told that I shouldn't expect anything much from people who don't make much money...but what's the excuse for all of the shitty healthcare professionals, mechanics, teachers, lawyers...?

Let's face it: people have figured out that being mediocre is perfectly acceptable. Why bother with striving to be exceptional when this is the case?

Worst Inventions List item #1

2009-10-12T07:56:00.005-04:00

I have decided that down comforters are going on my Worst Inventions list. They LOOK much better than those gross olden-timey ancient bedspreads that feel like they are made out of sandpaper, but they still suck. Literally and figuratively. They suck all of the moisture out of my body and I wake up with legs that are slick with sweat. It makes me feel so gross!

Hotels are moving in this down comforter direction... probably because they give the illusion of clean, inviting, fluffy, welcome, perfect sleep. Well not for me. And I wonder if they are truly a more sanitized option? How often do these grody-goose-feather-filled suckers actually see the inside of a washer? Do the maids (is that politically incorrect?) just switch covers and call it a day? If so, I am officially repulsed. Between those and the remote controls that are crawling with God knows what kind of germs and the carpeting that has been walked upon by the countless wart/athlete's foot/ fungus having masses... I could really give myself some serious OCD if I indulged all of these thoughts! (I'm going to go wash my hands now. Just kidding.)

Anyway....I stayed at a perfectly lovely hotel over the weekend and my room came equipped with the aforementioned bedding so I knew that I had to keep the air conditioning on and the thermostat set at 68 degrees or I would roast in my sleep. My only cover options were a thin sheet and the evil Loosy-Goosy. I pulled the sheet up as far as it would go, which wasn't far enough because it wouldn't fully cover my shoulders. Since I need to have my shoulders fully covered in order to be warm, I had to pull the comforter up halfway to get the job done. At roughly 2:13 am I woke up... a layer of moisture covering my legs from hip to toe. I had morphed into a human sauna from the waist down. To add insult to injury... I was FREEZING from the waist up! This is no way to wake up, let me tell you. I vowed not to get caught in this same predicament again, and yet the next night, the exact same thing happened!

My instincts tell me that I would be better off traveling with my own blanket, but where am I supposed to stuff it? It's bad enough that I can no longer check any bags without paying a fee and to avoid it my carry-ons have to be firmly coaxed into the overhead space... what should I do?

Perhaps this train of thought will spark my million dollar idea... you know... the one that's going to buy me freedom from all work and responsibilities until I blow through the money and am living in a camper on my parents' lawn.

Hmm... maybe a "Sham-wow"-like thin blanket that is huge but can fold up to the size of a fat napkin with anti-bacterial properties. Then you could use it to clean off the remote too. It could come with free anti-fungal slippers/shower shoes! I plan on giving this some serious thought. I'd recommend you keep a lookout for me on your 3am infomercial channel surfing expeditions sometime soon...

A permanent accessory!

2009-10-08T07:25:00.011-04:00

I have always had a love/hate relationship with my nose. I love it because it is mine and I should... it has always served me well... (sometimes too well I think since particular odors seem to be WAY more offensive to me than to anyone else)...but it is also the facial feature that I cite as the one I would change. It is too long, and there is a bump on the bridge that my mother and I theorize is the by-product of being a breech baby. If I ever convey my dislike of it to anyone they either say that they've never noticed it before (unobservant or lying) or that it "fits my face." How does one respond to that?

In my younger days I toyed with the idea of getting a nose job eventually, but that concept never sat well with me. How would I be able to look in the mirror and see a foreign object where my old schnoz (gross word) used to be and feel good about myself? What if surgery went horribly wrong and I ended up with a hole in my face? I would DESERVE IT for trying to alter the nose that God gave me! (Gotta love ridiculous self-indulgent thoughts.) I've wanted to pierce it for at least the past 10 years, but something always held me back. I hadn't made peace with my beak, so we just stayed in a holding pattern.

Until yesterday.

I decided that since I'm never going to allow myself to change it... I might as well decorate it.

Once I made the final decision to go ahead and pierce my sniffer, (yes, I am attempting to use every synonym for nose in my mac thesaurus for fun) all that was left were the necessary details: placement and permission. Placement was determined using microscopic bits of crystal from Claire's Boutique. These little money wasters were a real pain in the ass to try to get to stay on my nose long enough to get an idea of how a cute little stud would look. Eventually, I convinced one of them to stick and found the perfect place for it.

Permission was granted by Ayodele and Sophia, and my Mums was as permissive as she could be, opting for "I really wish you wouldn't, but it's your nose..." as her trail-off sentence. Well, that was good enough for me, especially since I had already decided I was going to do it anyway! All of this permission business was just good form. No need to incense anyone, is there?

So off I boldly went with Jo in tow for moral support. (Well, off I went... I was still working on the "boldly" part.)

The first tattoo and piercing establishment I visited had run out of the clear crystal corkscrew that I preferred and didn't have any others that tickled my fancy. We left and I was still fully committed, undeterred by this minor setback, though time was growing short and soon all of the shops would be closing. (Gotta love small towns. Ugh.)

Jo was thrilled to use "google 411" with her cell phone (she has been extolling its virtues to me for a while now) and ended up getting connected to a shop right around the corner from my condo. As soon as I heard a soothing female voice, I knew that she was the one that I would be getting pierced by that evening.

We arrived at the shop where we were ushered back to the piercing room by the soother herself: Marcie. She had a calm piercing-table-side manner that instantly put me at ease. As she donned her pink surgical gloves she told me that it was going to hurt, but that she was fast and good. I believed her. I don't know why some people feel that confidence is offensive. I find it vastly reassuring. Marcie approached my face with her piercing equipment (no clue what exactly she had... saw a big needle and stopped looking) and said, "well you can close your eyes now, or whatever if you want," so I gratefully did. She told me to inhale... which instantly made me realize that when she said exhale that it was going to hurt like hell and question why I was there at all. I proceeded to follow her direction, though my inhaled breath was the shallowest of my life. Upon my exhale, the sharp, excruciating pain felt like God's wrath raining upon me...though only for about 5 seconds. Then it was done! And I am thrilled with the results.

Marcie was fantastic, my much lamented feature became permanently decorated, and though no one else will probably give it a second glance, I am happy to say that because of it, my nose and I have resolved our issues and will live happily ever after.

(unless it gets infected of course!)

"Elebeduh!"

2009-10-07T03:11:00.012-04:00

Why is it that every now and then, whilst talking or reading aloud, I stumble over a word in a way that is truly bizarre? I was reading a story to Sophia about a girl named Elizabeth. When it came time for me to pronounce her name aloud, instead of saying, "Elizabeth" like I usually can without a problem... it came out, "E-leb-e-duh!" I burst out laughing because it was so ridiculous. I composed myself and tried the word again... only to utter some other strange jumble of letters that most definitely was not "Elizabeth!" It was on my 3rd try that I was finally able to articulate the name correctly. This isn't the first time that this has happened of course, and many of these humiliating mispronunciations have happened in a much more public forum. Every time I wonder what causes such glitches in the brain. The human body and all its mystery...

I have a deadline!

2009-10-06T23:46:00.009-04:00

I have a deadline! I have to get this little tidbit up on my blog in the next 13 minutes, so I sincerely apologize for the potential grammatical errors or redundancies that could be in it the the first time I post... I know that there are many of you just waiting... staring at your computer screens... hoping that soon, very soon I will post something new for you to frantically read tonight. Just kidding, but it's a really good fantasy for me haha. Anyway I will revise and make it better afterwards but I'll keep part in, I promise. Shit! I just wasted 3 minutes on that... 10 left until the end of my 9th un-anniversary and I need to get this open letter to John* before the clock strikes midnight!

Dear John,

I tried to call you earlier today... but after the phone rang 3 times I decided that I was going to hang up and hope you didn't call back, because I didn't actually want to talk to... I just forgot that long enough to hit your number on my speed dial (more on that later) and then remembered after 1 ring.

Anyway, the reason why I called and am writing now, is to wish you a very very Merry Un-Anniversary! I want you to know that I am so happy that we divorced sometime in early March (the 10th?) and that we aren't celebrating another excruciating anniversary where you get me something that I either put on hold myself at a store, told my sister to tell you about, or (worst of all) something you went out and bought all by yourself at the very last minute that I absolutely hate, but have to pretend that I like.

I don't mean this to sound mean... I really have very little animosity left towards you... it just means that we weren't right for each other after all. You probably will be a good gift giver when the right gal comes along... if not then she probably won't ever arrive! (4 minutes left, my heart is racing, but my fingers are slower than I'd like at the whole typing thing, and I make lots of mistakes.)

I appreciate you making the effort in our relationship when it counted the most... when it was time to end it. If you hadn't, then we would still be together... still miserable.....with absolutely nothing in common. So thank you for making it impossible for us to stay together, because my case of mother's guilt would have had me with you for life. A lifer in a miserable marriage.

Anyway gotta wrap it up its 11:59.

Thanks again,

Your ex-wife, Sarah

*Of course this isn't his name.

addendum: I pushed "publish" at the stroke of 11:59... then realized that the blogger.com time stamp records the time I start working on my post...not when I publish it. I was briefly disappointed, but then felt better when I realized that the 11:46 stamp would represent the fact that yes, I did in fact start typing when I said I had 13 minutes left. (I needed a minute to gather thoughts... hence the missing minute. I added the title in green and pic just now too.)

I decided to keep the initial draft intact in order to display my haste accurately... but down here I have corrected my work so that you feel like you got the complete gist.

Paragraph 1: the pre-letter text.

1. There are two "the(s)" in the sentence where I'm apologizing about redundancy. Perfect.

2. ...but I'll keep THIS part in...

3. Un-Anniversary. Capitalized.

1st paragraph of the letter

1. didn't want to talk to YOU...

2.re: speed dial. I wish I didn't HAVE to have his number on speed dial... but I will until Sophia stops being our common denominator. (Which will be never, I fear.)

This is all that I care to clarify in this "tidbit" (wtf on THAT word choice hahah). I won't bore you with the tweaking and re-writing that I would have normally done, had I had ample time to perfect before posting.

Oh, and for those of you who know me... (which is probably all of you).... how great is the whole "Dear John" concept in my case? :)

photo credit: Ayodele Casel

All parents should be required by law to watch "Supernanny!"

2009-10-06T08:14:00.010-04:00

I'm totally serious about this!

I have been a dance teacher for the past 19 years and I must say that I am disturbed by the grave faces of my young students and their grim outlook on life... now more than ever. Parents: what are you doing to your kids? Here's the example that sparked this post:

In my lovely Tap 2 class yesterday (average age 8.1) I noticed that not one little girl came in the room with a smile on her face. All of them looked beaten down and exhausted. I decided that for our "question of the week" I would ask, "What is the best thing that happened to you today?" The looks on their faces ranged from disbelief to irritation. One girl said, "Today? Nothing good happened today! All of my teachers are mean at school. How about we tell you the worst thing that happened?" I responded by telling her and the rest of the girls (who were chiming in about how nothing good had happened to them either) that we were going to try to focus on the positive instead of the negative. As I worked my way down my attendance sheet, I had to coax each little girl into finding something happy to share.

ME: "What about breakfast or lunch? Did you have your favorite waffle, pop-tart, sandwich, cookie?"

LG (little girl): "No, I didn't even have time for breakfast, and lunch was gross."

ME: "Well what about your outfit? Did you have on a favorite shirt, or skirt, or pair of shoes?"

LG: "I wear a uniform."

ME: "Well... there has to be one good thing... a good grade on a test...your shoes...anything?... I need you to think of something... just try!"

LG: "If you NEED me to say something.... I guess I'll say my shoes, though they are just black and boring."

LG: "I guess if I have to say something, the boring test I took on the computer."

The rest of them said whatever would get them off of the hook as quickly as possible.

How sad is this? Children shouldn't feel this way so soon. And guess what parents? I'm laying this squarely at your feet! This is where "Supernanny" comes in, because let's face it... if we are doing something wrong as parents, we certainly don't want to hear about it from Mom and Dad, friends, relatives, or teachers! Let Jo Frost tell you instead!

Fighting in front of your kids? Toxic.

Living like two strangers "for the sake of the kids?" Toxic.

Screaming constantly at your kids because you can't control your feelings of discontent? Toxic.

Super bitch taking on the world one complaint at a time in front of the kids? Toxic.

Feeling guilty about all of the above so choosing not to discipline the kids? Toxic.

You can learn all of this and more on "Supernanny" and Jo doesn't even have to come to your house to humiliate you into fixing your specific issues! But... first you have to realize that you need help being a better parent and that maybe, just maybe, you might have something to do with the unhappiness, depression, and shitty attitudes that you see your children displaying.

Why not check to see if YOU are the reason before sending them to a therapist or drugging them into zombies? Maybe we should analyze and/or medicate ourselves first, because children aren't born with these issues. They are learned. One of my favorite "delusional mom" quotes:

"Maybe this next one (child) will be better behaved, because my first three just came out like this!"

Enough said.

"Supernanny" airs at least 4 times a day on the Style Network.

photo credit: Ayodele Casel

Take Note World! I'm officially a homeschooling parent-- and no, I don't wear calico!

2009-10-05T08:34:00.000-04:00

Yep, that's right. I did it. On Thursday, September 24th, I walked into Sophia's school and withdrew her. Goodbye, 3rd grade teacher, school faculty, and obnoxious PTA moms. Hello, total freedom! Now to answer all of your questions...

1. No, Sophia will NOT be allowed to watch iCarly or any other unsuitable program on television all day long. (coming soon: more on the lack of age appropriate television programming.)

2. No, she will not turn into a social misfit (poof!) and I won't make her wear calico dresses.

3. Yes, I have ordered an amazing curriculum that actually makes learning fun! (you have the right to be skeptical about this... but it's true. I swear.) No, it doesn't include candle making, basket weaving, or how to become a "...Godly woman and keeper of the hearth and home."*

4. No, I didn't do it so that you could feel bad about keeping your children in school where they are taught to conform to conventional small minded thoughts and put through the torture of "socialization."

5. Yes, I am perfectly qualified to teach my child, thank you.

I think I answered the top 5 questions that you may have regarding my decision. If I've missed anything, please feel free to ask and I will happily do my best to answer!

I will be updating on this topic as my journey down this unconventional path continues...

*this actually is a concept from one of the textbooks that I rejected. Scary.

photo credit: Ayodele Casel

Deep thoughts for a Sunday Morning...

2009-10-04T10:13:00.001-04:00

Well here it is... Sunday morning and I am happily typing away instead of sitting in church. I don't feel bad about this at all because.... well I just don't! The thought of sitting in a pew with a bunch of hypocritical PTA moms, their uncomfortable husbands, and their poorly behaved children is too irritating to allow much room inside of me for peace and goodwill. I know that I'm not the only one in the world that feels this way, though I have found that most people won't say "Shit!" even when they step in a heaping pile. Now before you start getting offended, it goes without saying (though I feel the need to say it) that I am well aware that there are many church going individuals and families who do it for all the right reasons. If you are one of those people, then you don't need to get upset! Aren't faith and spirituality supposed to be about a PERSONAL relationship with your God? Why does it seem as if this a foreign concept, and that churchgoing is more about proving to friends, colleagues, neighbors, and most importantly, ONESELF, that "good person" status has been earned for the week? Is it necessary for me to see one status update after another of Bible passages, prayers, and "thanks be to God's?" Should I feel guilty that John or Jen's* posts make me want to puke a little? To me it seems a bit ridiculous that anyone thinks that Facebook is the appropriate place for such sentiments. I'm mystified. If I want to pray, or give thanks, I do so... in private.

*you know these aren't the actual names.