Daylights savings my red-rimmed, desiccated eyeballs, hah! I just looove losing an hour in the middle of my weekend. And still with the early morning wakefulness. Even though computer-darling says it’s well nigh 9:30, I know better. Twitch. I guess, technically, 9:30 (8:30, dammit!) isn’t all that early, but it really is when you don’t get to bed until past 4 am. Mr. Sandman = way too flighty. Someone oughta paperclip that fellah to a pillar and superglue his footsies to the rug.
But hey, the show was utter bravura! I was so a virtuoso of belly dance! Hee. That is, I didn’t trip over my hem and fall on my nose. The troupe number was fine, ‘cept it was more of a warm-up than anything else–being only like three minutes long. But the solo is what I was really intent about and that went by in an absolute blur. I’ve got snapshot memory-visuals of faces and a couple moments of my dance, but I was in such a transcendent state–read nerves/anticipation/euphoria–that not much made it past short term memory. This has happened to me a couple times before–at another dance solo in Springfield, IL and the time Matthew and I went skydiving–and it’s real funky. Brains are perplexing critters, ain’t they?
But okay, highlights, or rather the only parts I can remember:
My entrance with veil: perfect. I don’t usually dance with a silk veil, but the difference between silk and chiffon is like dancing with liquid water versus trawling for bats with three yards of butterfly net. I borrowed a silk veil for the performance; damn but I wish we had gobs of money-bucks so I could buy one of my very own. They’re decadently priced, but so much swoofier to dance with. Alas! Alack!
Next: What the Hell? Were there no men sitting in the front row?? There’s this cuter-than-belief section of the opening choreography where I drop my veil over an audience person’s shoulders and I was really looking forward to lighting up some unsuspecting XYs eyes, but there wasn’t a single male in the front row! Whazzat about? But hey it was okay. A fellow dancer-in-arms not in the show was up front and I tossed her my veil and the crowd loved it. But where or where were all the eager lads?
Penultimate: seeing Matthew in the back, watching me with a big, proud grin on his face. I just love my hubby. He got shafted into volunteering to staff the ticket counter (the poor thing!) so missed most of the show. I’m inexpressibly glad he was able to duck in for long enough to catch my solo.
Finis: A dim awareness of the crowd clapping along with the music, random eye contact (it’s all about the eye contact), the last chorus section when I knew I’d made it through nearly the whole damn thing without forgetting a step, and hey–my gawd!–I’m done. Applause and bows. I so get off on the sound of hands snap-clack-clacking for me. Bask, bask.
Sadly, Matthew wasn’t able to take pictures since he was stuck way in the back. I saw flashbulbs going off like mad throughout my solo, but I didn’t recognize any of the shutterbugs. Pook. I would have liked a memory de perpetua of that. Sigh.
And that was my grand performance. Hurray!
Now, I’m starving. Wonder if we got yummy breakfast fixins . . . .
Toodles ’till later,
Ms. Fantasm 2002 (Yep, that’s still a rush.)