This weekend absolutely blew my mind.
Seriously. I am still making soft, cooing, post-coital noises. If the good Lord came to claim me at about 10:30pm last night, I would have gone happily.
On Friday night,
deliriouscat and I set off to Friday Night Swing, where we saw madmoisellestar & her beau, Max, plus a very nicely-dressed sbrungardt. The band was a little slowish for my tastes, but there were a couple nice up-tempo numbers in there. I had the bad fortune of being asked to dance by someone whose version of swing I can only describe as "the crab scuttle," and that song went on for far, far too long. Overall, the night was not a total wash-- Max has decided to take lessons and get good (yay for more guys!), and Skyler and I had one really good dance wherein we got to show off a little. Plus, I wore my black halter dress, so whenever I danced with Spinny Scott, I looked like something straight out of Dirty Dancing. You know, only with pink hair. Ariel, send me those pictures, yo!
Saturday was spent withsweettoothjonny eating crêpes in South Baltimore, then heading to the Baltimore Museum of Art and looking at some very nice early Christian art. As museums go, Baltimore doesn't have the best in the world, but between the BMA and the Walters, we've got some nice stuff. I was pleased to see some Monet and Degas, as well as some beautiful Van Dyck portraiture. And a reduction of Rodin's "The Kiss"! So pretty. It makes me want to hie myself back to Philadelphia to museum-hop there.
We then stopped at Wegmans (where else?) and got the ingredients for a meal to make the Gods weep. We made our own raspberry soda out of Italian mineral water, fresh raspberries, and sugar. First course was asparagus wrapped in prosciutto over baked parmesean cheese and a bed of arugula, covered in a lemon-butter saffron sauce. Oh. My. God. Second course was salmon brazed in honey and brown sugar. Dessert was my strawberry and crème empanadas, made even more delicious by a honey and brown sugar sauce that Jon concocted. Sweet Jesus. That's all I can say. I have never eaten so well in my life-- I don't know what I'll do when he leaves for France. Stupid France. Anyway, I have pictures of each course, and the wine served-- Clos du Bourg Sec Vouvray, 2004, and Rex Goliath Pinot Noir, 2003.
And for the pièce de résistance: Sunday. It started off placidly enough. I woke up at around ten thirty, lazed around a bit, and talked tozenmaster, who is now an uncle thrice-over (congratulations!). I then took a glittery bath with Lush's Christmas Carol bomb. Nothing quite says decadence like breakfast, tea, and a good book in a jasmine-scented bath. tamnonlinear picked me up at 3:30, and by then the snow had already begun to fall. Because people in Maryland lose all braincells when the White Death (tm Abby) starts to fall from the sky, this turned the entire ride to the Silver Spring station into a 17mph crawl. We didn't get to Teaism in Dupont Circle until 6:30, and this was after the train we were on nearly blew up. There was a loud bang, the lights went dark, we heard several startled gasps from onlookers, and finally an announcement from the conductor after about ten minutes of non-movement that we would be proceeding shortly-- he didn't believe that the smoke was any cause for alarm. Um.
But, we got to Teaism in one piece, where we met up withmarinatempest and her hubby, Steve, plus the lovely brapolitics, who offered to bring whiskey and a St. Bernard. Topics of conversation: Bollywood, Voodoo curses, amusing ways to stick it to The Man. I had the most adorable chicken bento box with the best jasmine pearl tea in the world, topped off with jasmine crème brulée that was absolutely to. die. for. Dinner was cut short by the need to scuttle off to the Katzen, but not before setting plans to visit again the weekend of the 10th. As for the show...
No photography was allowed, but, for you to get a tiny taste of the visual treat laid out for us, here is a tiny Indigo picspam:
Oh. My. Lord.
Rachel Brice, founder of The Indigo.
Rachel Brice.
Mardi Love, who is the inspiration for The Indigo's style.
(And therefore the inspiration for every American Tribal Fusion dancer ever.)
Zoe, who is made of pure awesome.
More Zoe.
And yes, they really do look like that. Better than that, in fact. You know why? 'Cause articulate women are hot.
Anyway, the show is a mix of tribal bellydance, vaudeville, WWII-influence, Old West, and Monmartre. It is cheeky, sassy, exquisitely beautiful, ferociously animalistic, and unbelievably awe-inspiring. I don't know how to put the experience into words just yet-- we were all so dumbstruck. It wasn't like we were watching bellydancers onstage. These were archetypes, snake-women, Shakti-force embodied. Highlights of the evening were Rachel's drum solo, in which she drew out a flutter for about two minutes and coupled it with down-to-the-floor backbends and jaw-dropping floorwork. Zoe's first solo number featured a black feathered collar, and she danced what Abby perfectly described as totemically-- her movements were no longer human. They were reptilian, quixotic, ancient. She spun like a whirlwind, stopped on a dime, then articulated her body in quick, rhythmic movements-- it was powerful, like watching a she-dragon; a mythological creature came through her. And the group pieces had a lot of character-- they used antique canes and shotglasses as props expertly, their bodies flowing from emotion to emotion as fluidly as water. And in the Q&A afterwards, they were all so kind, so intelligent, so funny. The ease of their relationship truly shone.
I'm still kind of in awe. It's a good thing I'm typing, 'cause the only speech I'm capable of is "ngah ngah ngaaaah." Rest assured that when the tour comes through in the fall, I will be in line for tickets. And as I've been feeling the burn of advancing in the dance myself, this was a good reminder-- hard work pays off. Keep going.
Choice quotes of the night:
Good times. My life is so rich. I am truly blessed.
On Friday night,
deliriouscat and I set off to Friday Night Swing, where we saw madmoisellestar & her beau, Max, plus a very nicely-dressed sbrungardt. The band was a little slowish for my tastes, but there were a couple nice up-tempo numbers in there. I had the bad fortune of being asked to dance by someone whose version of swing I can only describe as "the crab scuttle," and that song went on for far, far too long. Overall, the night was not a total wash-- Max has decided to take lessons and get good (yay for more guys!), and Skyler and I had one really good dance wherein we got to show off a little. Plus, I wore my black halter dress, so whenever I danced with Spinny Scott, I looked like something straight out of Dirty Dancing. You know, only with pink hair. Ariel, send me those pictures, yo! Saturday was spent with
sweettoothjonny eating crêpes in South Baltimore, then heading to the Baltimore Museum of Art and looking at some very nice early Christian art. As museums go, Baltimore doesn't have the best in the world, but between the BMA and the Walters, we've got some nice stuff. I was pleased to see some Monet and Degas, as well as some beautiful Van Dyck portraiture. And a reduction of Rodin's "The Kiss"! So pretty. It makes me want to hie myself back to Philadelphia to museum-hop there.We then stopped at Wegmans (where else?) and got the ingredients for a meal to make the Gods weep. We made our own raspberry soda out of Italian mineral water, fresh raspberries, and sugar. First course was asparagus wrapped in prosciutto over baked parmesean cheese and a bed of arugula, covered in a lemon-butter saffron sauce. Oh. My. God. Second course was salmon brazed in honey and brown sugar. Dessert was my strawberry and crème empanadas, made even more delicious by a honey and brown sugar sauce that Jon concocted. Sweet Jesus. That's all I can say. I have never eaten so well in my life-- I don't know what I'll do when he leaves for France. Stupid France. Anyway, I have pictures of each course, and the wine served-- Clos du Bourg Sec Vouvray, 2004, and Rex Goliath Pinot Noir, 2003.
And for the pièce de résistance: Sunday. It started off placidly enough. I woke up at around ten thirty, lazed around a bit, and talked to
zenmaster, who is now an uncle thrice-over (congratulations!). I then took a glittery bath with Lush's Christmas Carol bomb. Nothing quite says decadence like breakfast, tea, and a good book in a jasmine-scented bath. tamnonlinear picked me up at 3:30, and by then the snow had already begun to fall. Because people in Maryland lose all braincells when the White Death (tm Abby) starts to fall from the sky, this turned the entire ride to the Silver Spring station into a 17mph crawl. We didn't get to Teaism in Dupont Circle until 6:30, and this was after the train we were on nearly blew up. There was a loud bang, the lights went dark, we heard several startled gasps from onlookers, and finally an announcement from the conductor after about ten minutes of non-movement that we would be proceeding shortly-- he didn't believe that the smoke was any cause for alarm. Um.But, we got to Teaism in one piece, where we met up with
marinatempest and her hubby, Steve, plus the lovely brapolitics, who offered to bring whiskey and a St. Bernard. Topics of conversation: Bollywood, Voodoo curses, amusing ways to stick it to The Man. I had the most adorable chicken bento box with the best jasmine pearl tea in the world, topped off with jasmine crème brulée that was absolutely to. die. for. Dinner was cut short by the need to scuttle off to the Katzen, but not before setting plans to visit again the weekend of the 10th. As for the show...No photography was allowed, but, for you to get a tiny taste of the visual treat laid out for us, here is a tiny Indigo picspam:
Oh. My. Lord.
Rachel Brice, founder of The Indigo.
Rachel Brice.
Mardi Love, who is the inspiration for The Indigo's style.
(And therefore the inspiration for every American Tribal Fusion dancer ever.)
Zoe, who is made of pure awesome.
More Zoe.
And yes, they really do look like that. Better than that, in fact. You know why? 'Cause articulate women are hot.
Anyway, the show is a mix of tribal bellydance, vaudeville, WWII-influence, Old West, and Monmartre. It is cheeky, sassy, exquisitely beautiful, ferociously animalistic, and unbelievably awe-inspiring. I don't know how to put the experience into words just yet-- we were all so dumbstruck. It wasn't like we were watching bellydancers onstage. These were archetypes, snake-women, Shakti-force embodied. Highlights of the evening were Rachel's drum solo, in which she drew out a flutter for about two minutes and coupled it with down-to-the-floor backbends and jaw-dropping floorwork. Zoe's first solo number featured a black feathered collar, and she danced what Abby perfectly described as totemically-- her movements were no longer human. They were reptilian, quixotic, ancient. She spun like a whirlwind, stopped on a dime, then articulated her body in quick, rhythmic movements-- it was powerful, like watching a she-dragon; a mythological creature came through her. And the group pieces had a lot of character-- they used antique canes and shotglasses as props expertly, their bodies flowing from emotion to emotion as fluidly as water. And in the Q&A afterwards, they were all so kind, so intelligent, so funny. The ease of their relationship truly shone.
I'm still kind of in awe. It's a good thing I'm typing, 'cause the only speech I'm capable of is "ngah ngah ngaaaah." Rest assured that when the tour comes through in the fall, I will be in line for tickets. And as I've been feeling the burn of advancing in the dance myself, this was a good reminder-- hard work pays off. Keep going.
Choice quotes of the night:
"Um, I feel my Kinsey number starting to slide up." --
"I seem to have misplaced my heterosexuality. If found, please return to Abby for a generous reward." --
Good times. My life is so rich. I am truly blessed.