get this routine down


is the day I probably will get a tattoo. ;-)

---

PS: (e:lauren), I am discovering all kinds of crazy hip hop music from the Verve connection. Not bad at all. :)

I see a whitish road and I want it painted black
No whiteness anymore I want them to turn black



(BTW, that is NOT Apocalyptica. It's the London Symphony Orchestra. I am amazed how anyone could NOT tell it is a full scale orchestra and not some dinky 3-cello metal band.)

Just when I was getting ready to launder my feather-shedding monster of a coat and dress down to a lighter coat, Buffalo has a whiteout and 10 inches of snow on the ground overnight. I am back to wearing multiple layers and the being covered with silly-looking feathers all the time.

Why can't the hideous Erie remain frozen till June?? It is so necessary to always be running around in freeze-thaw cycles and dumping undue amounts of snow on the city? My annoyance is even more intense because all this snow and ice totally cramps my style and forces me walk slow. There is nothing quite so unbearable to me as being forced to walk slow like a 90y old. Snow is tolerable but I HATE ice on the pavement. Go away. You are not welcome.

Talking of painting, the Buffalo Management Group, which owns the Mayflower building, recently painted the gorgeous wooden facade of the 1930s wood-and-mirrors elevators with tacky white paint. WHAT THE HELL?! Who paints over old beautiful wood!? It just looks so abysmally cheap now. It's time to write a protest email...

EDIT:
I wrote to Jeremy of the BMG and he wrote back:

"I do appreciate your ideas on this. The natural look does look nice but its not wood. Its metal. If we don't paint the doors it will rust. We will find the right colors for the doors. I am sure you will like what we do. Carpet on the floors will be installed soon."

I had no idea they were metal. They looked and sound as if they are wood... Hmmm... So they will change the ghastly white. I am intrigued about what colour they will pick next. I still can't believe those doors are metal. Maybe I need to go downstairs again and tap on them.

Okay, I am apparently clueless about what is metal and what is wood because Jeremy just wrote:

Yeah if you look closely at the door that hasn't been painted you can tell that its metal. The elevator doors and the trim are both metal on every floor.

!!! In any event, I am glad they won't be tacky white for long.

---

PS: The italic tags don't seem to work...

I had a particularly unhinged nightmare yesterday. Among a zillion other uniquely boring pieces of randomness, only one crazy consistency stood out. I got out of 99% of the sticky situations by singing opera.

And not just any opera but this particular piece by Händel (that I believe was specifically designed to inflict the maximum damage to the singers' vocal cords. Note the baroque ornamentations, bordering on the insanely cruel, from 3:21 onwards).



Of course, only Cecila Bartoli can ever hope get out of this song alive and smiling. I woke up with a really nasty throat pain. It felt pretty real. I hope I wasn't bawling out in my toneless voice all night. I think its only logical to conclude the I need to take some voice training. If this ever happens again, I want to be prepared and at the very least be able to sing a very low key version of some simpler (waaaaaaaaay more simpler) opera in tune.

The Community Music School of Buffalo on Elmwood will be offering opera classes from April: It sounds loony now but I am starting to consider enrolling for some diva-training... The thought of being able to burst into opera at the grocery store seems strangely appealing. If I could also take ballet-lessons, then I could be my own musical theatre...

Let's see. How often have I kept writing whatever came into my mind? I would say, most of the times. How often have I not edited what I wrote? Never. So when (e:Paul) challenged me to translate my stream on consciousness here, I was a bit intimidated. I still am. Writing without editing is a luxury that only the most careless or the most devious can get away with. I don't think I am either. In fact, I fear that I will say something inappropriate here and be forced to hide the entry before too many people read it.

Nevertheless, I think the challenge is an interesting exercise in exploring what I am really thinking about...I am recalling the salsa class today. It was fun, but it was not so fun. We didn't have enough partners to rotate in intermediate class today and as a result I was dancing alone for a large portion of a complicated partner-oriented routine. The next time we switched partners, the routine had advanced to include even more moves. I didn't even have the basic moves down yet. And of course, my lack of clarity on what a proper frame means didn't help.

When I first started with the class back in November, Sarah and Sean rotated with the students in class. They somehow stopped rotating earlier this year. So I don't get to dance with them so much. Sometime Sarah dances with me to demonstrate moves to couples nearby but I miss November. I miss that first month of dance. I miss that feeling of floating on clouds. I miss it so much.

Today, when I was bald in class and dancing alone, I realized that the pain of getting cancer lies, perhaps, not in the disease itself but the pain it brings to your interactions with others. You interpret each little disappointment in the light of the disease. I think today, of all days, dancing a dance that was designed to accentuate everything that is right with me and this world, I felt so out of place and so completely in sync with what it is like to have cancer.

But I had fun when I was not dancing alone. I am so glad that Philip is in the class and is always so kind to rotten dancers like me. Today would rank as a complete disaster without him. I love salsa but I hate that it depends so much on partners. I doubt I will ever socially dance because it is painful to feel that you are not enough by yourself. It might be true but I don't like that feeling. Self-reliance is the key to happiness. If you can't have faith in yourself, you can't expect to enjoy life the way it is. Intermediate class leaves me feeling unhappy and feeling inadequate. I hate the feeling. I hate this stream of whiny consciousness. This is SO not making it to the publish button.

If you didn't know already, the awesome yoga place at Bryant and Elmwood (Hand to Heart) has a really wonderful deal going on today.

5 classes are for $15. You can get a maximum of 3 of these passes for yourself and gift some more to others.


(e:metalpeter), this is your chance! Maybe I will bring along tea cups so you can balance them on your head doing the urdhva dhanurasana. ;-)

Dear Gobo,

As you have probably noticed by now, I am trying out the hip hop class this month instead of the breaking class I took last month. Last week we learnt around 30 seconds worth of slick moves in an hour. Yesterday, my class pretty much forgot every step from last week (and of course the entire Fugazi patron crowd turned up to class mysteriously) so a crowd of us re-learnt it all with body and shoulder movements added to the footwork and then learnt 3 more seconds of extra moves.

So that brings it to a grand total of 33 seconds of hip hop learnt in over 60 minutes of sweating over intricate footwork, hip hop rhythm, staggered body movements, feet-ball change, swoops and runner's stances and whatnots. Seriously, hip hop is COMPLICATED! And rather hard on the vastus lateralis and the vastus intermedius muscles. I have never felt these two muscles as sore as they are today. It feels like I spent all day beating these two muscles with a rolling pin. I have no soreness anywhere else.



Another strange thing I noticed in class was that everyone else seems to be familiar with the songs that our teacher (Michael Burton) plays ALREADY! Don't ask me how. Either the bartenders at Fugazi are on the same wavelength as our teacher or maybe there is some secret music cabal where they memorize words to random hip hop songs.

Right. So I was going to make some observations about how hip hop is very different from breaking. The primary difference is, of course, the higher level of induced activity in the vastus lateralis of your dominant leg. You are welcome to validate this observation. Hip Hop footwork and body movements seem to be a lot more complicated and controlled in space and energy. While breaking gives an illusion of an out and out battle where you are using the music to show off the strength of various elements of your body, hip hop is more like using your body as a composite as a very gliding and sometimes subtle expression of the music itself. The problem is there is no "basic latin step" as in salsa, so it's proving somewhat difficult to feel the central pulse of the dance form...I can only hope that I get it by the time we reach the last 30 seconds of our incrementally complicated routine...

till the next dance-postcard,
TP.

I think if I had to choose the one meal that probably defines me the most, it has to be this:


The colourful and absolutely unexpected bhelpuri.

Come to think of it, it's not unlike (e:Paul)'s bowl-mania. The base is a spiced up version of crispy rice (like popcorn but made with rice). This is layered with raw onions, chopped coriander (cilantro), chopped sharp ripe tomatoes, boiled and spiced garbanzo beans, spiced fried or boiled potato cubes, freshly-squeezed lime juice, chopped hot green chillies and garlic, fried sev (crispy spiced noodles made of lentil/gram flour) and roughly smashed crisp "puri" (a fried flatbread made of either pastry flour or whole wheat, depending on who's made it...). Finally the whole mix is served with hot green mint and coriander chutney and a sweet/sour tamarind-jaggery sauce. Some high-end restaurant versions also have fried paneer in them. The possibilities are endless.

The result is often unexpected but always interesting and too delicious to put into words. If I were left on an island forever with a choice of one meal type, I would just choose the bhelpuri. You could change the proportion of just one ingredient and arrive at a perfectly unique bhelpuri. If you changed the proportion of more than one ingredient, you could pretty much change the entire dish in a flash and yet have an awesome meal. You could endlessly tweak everything to make it as light as a snack or as heavy as lunch or maybe sweet for a dessert or a breakfast. The possibilities are endless...

Why, thank you (e:paul).

An assorted case each of Valrhona, Pralus and Askinosie (Davao) unsweetened drinking chocolate and super dark eating chocolate bars from the same brands.

Or maybe add $150 more and get a super-heavy duty sewing machine (babylock or maybe one of the higher-end brands).

Or maybe a livingcolors lamp.

Or a case of true full-spectrum lamps.

Or take intensive private ballet lessons! :)

Now, could you please send the check to my address. Thanks.

Duele, duele como duele la vida, duele...



Or my alternative chorus
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