ROC-City Living

Moving to a new city was so exciting.  I loved the new sights, new smells, new people, new bars (but NOT the new rent ...).  I can safely say that I've fallen in love with DC, and with a heavy heart, have told my best friends, still residing in my hometown, that I'm probably not coming back in the fall.  It's nice to be entering this new phase in my life in a new city, but coming back home to visit is just as nice.   I find so much comfort in driving around surrounded by license plates that are the same state as mine, not having to dial an area code when I make a phone call, and wondering when I'm going to run into someone from high school at the grocery store (just kidding about the last part, that is actually usually the opposite of comforting).  Home, sweet home.

In my three-day weekend, I packed in as many things "Rochester" as I possibly could.  And I did a pretty solid job:
First and foremost, I got to see all the wonderful people who still live there.  Just loverly.

Wegmans (x 3 times). Duh.  Sub shop, pastry shop, and a collection of delicious samples including sirloin with chutney sauce and grapefruit sorbet.  Score.

A 2 a.m. garbage plate.  A Rochester classic.  Well, not the 2 a.m. part, but it often coincides. Do you like to eat the most calorie-filled foods after a night of partying?  Then get yourself to Rochester for a garbage plate.  For a garbage plate, you pick your main ingredient-- hamburger, cheeseburger, white or red hot (all sans the bun), grilled cheese, egg, etc., and then pick your "fillers" like homefries, mac salad, macaroni and cheese, baked beans, etc.  It gets drizzled with a meaty hot sauce and your selection of condiments, and voila!  Chop, mix, consume.  Sound nasty?  Calorie and digestion wise, it is. But I try not to think about it... ever.  It's worth every greasy, fatty bite. My favorite combination is the classic cheeseburger plate with homefries, macaroni salad, more hot sauce, and dash of ketchup.  You're not a true Rochestarian 'til you've had one of these.  (Not my photo, but you have to see it to believe it):

(photo credit)

Highland Park, where the Lilac Festival happens annually.  I missed the festival, but I got to see the lilacs before they went away for the season. Also at Highland Park is a beautiful Vietnam War Memorial for Rochester native veterans, which I had walked through before, but wanted to visit again in honor of this weekend's holiday. It's a very nice memorial, with plaques with names of local fallen soldiers, each on its own plaque.  The plaques also say where each soldier went to high school--it was quite strange to see so many names from my high school.  It reminds me that things like this hit close to home.  The plaques spiral down a walkway that leads to larger area with more names, quotes, etc.  One of my favorite parts of the memorial is a large plaque along the sidewalk with a quote from The Things They Carried.  It's a book I read when I was in high school, but I still remember how powerful it was.

Sinbad's.  Best Mediterranean food EVER.  Sambusek plate?  Yes, please.

Abbott's ice cream.  Nothing like it.

I also was able to visit the store at which I worked for a few months when I was living at home, where I befriended many co-workers and loved being around beautiful jewelry and home decor.

Not so Rochester but still fun--the movie Tangled.  Funny adorable, and so Disney.  They wil never stop being awesome, and I love that I can still enjoy their stuff as an adult.  They can make a horse one's favorite character in a movie about humans.  Brilliant!

(credit)

I hope everyone had a day off on this holiday weekend!

And enter the coincidence: As I type this from the gate at the airport, playing over the terminal speakers is Carrie Underwood crooning "Home, sweet home."  You said it, Carrie.  This is a new phase in my life, but no matter what, Rochester will always be home, sweet home.

If you give a mouse some bread ... nothing happens

Critters. If they are in their space, fine.  But once they get into my turf, it is SO not fine.  The past 24 hours have been critter-tastic in my apartment, and I am not okay with it.

As you know from the adventures of Rupert & Wanda, spiders have always been the top of my to-eliminate list.  Or, more like the to-let-others-eliminate-for-me list.  However, now that I've moved into my own apartment, I find myself lacking in macho men to squish my least-favorite friends. I live in a basement, so the population of spiders down here is not favorable at all.  The first few weeks here were real rough.  However, I can say that I have toughened up.  I have pretty much discarded my belief that upon killing a spider it will reincarnate to 3 times its size, find me, and eat me.  In fact, I have killed more spiders in the past 4 months than I have in my entire lifetime, and can now do it with only a slight twist of the stomach and the little scardy-dance.  Except for the time I got one with my hands in a tissue, and when I squeezed, something cracked.  I felt it and heard it.  AHH. No more hand-killing for me.  So for the really big, ugly ones, I have chosen to co-exist with them. I let them stay and spin their webs into corners, and then they'll leave, and I don't know where to, and I'm okay with it.  So really, the existence of nasty spiders serve as the undertone for the rest of this entry, because they are everywhere.

First, a moth entered my apartment and has been following me around since yesterday.  I first found it in the shower, and then I got out and went to my room and it was there, perched beside my bed.  Wake in the morning, still there. Back from work, still there.  To the shower, now it's there, hanging out and taking in the steam with me.  Out of the shower, back to the room.  Moth is back in the room. I seriously think this moth is tailing me.  Does this mean I have a moth pet?  I'll name it Mandy.

Only now has it occurred to me to see if the is actually two moths that haven't moved in two days.  It is.  So, that story just died.  Can we just pretend I have a moth friend named Mandy who thinks I'm awesome?  Okay, thanks.

Tonight, I was sipping on my vino and thoroughly enjoying the premiere of So You Think You Can Dance, I started hearing strange sounds from my kitchen area.  Like someone grinding teeth.  After checking for a dripping sink or something falling over in the fridge, I ignored it.  And then it appeared.  Only for a second, but long enough for me to know.  A mouse. A tiny, 3-inch mouse, alternating taking refuge from under my minifridge and between my oven and the wall.  Cue freak-out. After leaving a message with my landlady, I wasn't sure what to do.  Taking some bad advice, and thinking that it was worth a shot, I laid out a trail of breadcrumbs from the mouse's hiding spot to the door, and then sat with the door open, hoping to lure it out.  After about 3 minutes, I realized this was a terrible idea for many reasons: a) There is no way this mouse would follow a long trail, in the light, with a human present, all the way out the door.  b) I was letting in a gazillion bugs, and  c) I now had a trail of bread crumbs on my kitchen floor that I have to clean up.  Bad idea all around.  Even my supportive mother laughed at my attempt. "You're not dealing with Hansel & Gretel here," she told me.  Got it, mom.

So I'm thinking to myself, we're geting some traps in here tomorrow morning, so I only have to deal with the mystery of the wandering mouse for one night.  It's not going to hurt me and will most likely lurk in dark corners anyway, so I'm not really bothered by it.  Then my land lady told me, "well, if it's that small, that probably means there's a momma mouse somewhere."  Okay, more bothered.  Aaaand look, there's a mouse turd on my sheets. Awesome.  Definitely bothered.

And just to top it off, as I am washing my sheets, I just chased down a mosquito in my bedroom that was, no joke, the size of a half-dollar. I no doubt let it in during the bread crumb debauchery.  At first I thought it was a daddy-long-leg bouncing from a web on the ceiling it was so big. Thankfully he didn't last long--his size greatly effected his agility to escape the wrath of my sandal.  Sucker.  Literally.  Get it?!

I wish I was joking about all this. But I'm not.  I'm off to bed, where I'll probably be cuddling with a mouse all night.  Sweet dreams, everyone! Considering my track record, the bed bugs will probably bite tonight me tonight.  Hope they stay away from you.

MONDAY (5/30) NOTE: We're having so much fun already, why not add a grasshopper? Again, wish I was kidding.  And this guy is way too fast for me to catch.  Guess he's gonna join the party. Maybe they are forming some kind of secret society like in A Bug's Life...

A Night at the Building Museum, Part II

This is cross-posted on the Dance Exchange blog.  Check it out.

[Continued from Part I] 

As we waited to make our last appearance at the Building Museum, we were able to hear David Rockwell, founder and CEO of his namesake cross-disciplinary design practice, give his keynote address. In his speech, he talked about architectural projects, commissions, and how such tasks involve one essential thing—play. Rockwell explained play through four elements—inspiration, risk, temporary, and exploration—and I realized that Rockwell’s approach to his projects and the approach to my improvisational experience that night—and to dance in general—were not so different.

Inspiration shows up whether we know it or not, for all forms of art.  Of course in choreography, inspiration leads us to create movement, spacing, picking music, and so on. In an improvisational situation, however, inspiration is much more immediate.  In the Building Museum, we drew on the shapes we saw and created in the space to create movement.  It was a constant conversation of bodies to bodies, bodies to corners, bodies to walls, and so on.  What we saw and felt there at that time was what instigated thoughts and movements—and that constant search for inspiration kept us moving.

Risk exists particularly strongly in improvisation, for so much of it is in the unknown.  At the Museum, I felt as though the stakes of risk were the highest I had ever experienced.  Not only was I in an unfamiliar space with people I had not danced with before, but the environment was full of surprises. I shared dancing space in very close proximity with fragile elements—glasses, noses, fancy clothes.  Thus, I found my spacial awareness as well as my awareness of my own clumsiness on high alert, careful not to knock over a tray of mini quiches or step on the trail of an $800 gown.  Definitely not the usual concerns I have during a performance, but it was a fascinating challenge as it unfolded.  (And yes, I made it through without injuring any party guests or their spiffy attire!).

As Rockwell elaborated on the temporary nature of his projects that moved from place to place, I thought of dance in context of as a performing art.  Dance is temporary in its essence as a performing art. Like music or theater, dance exists when it is physically being created and practiced. When the practice ends, the art ends.  As opposed to visual arts like painting and ceramics, which creates a product that is visitable, preservable, and tangible, no one can hold dance in their hands to keep forever.  I think that’s part of what makes it so organic and authentic, and why so many people can experience such emotional reactions to it.  When it is present, we can enjoy it fully in.  And, as was reiterated for me that night at the Building Museum, dance can happen anywhere, at anytime, with anyone.

Exploration is at the core of modern dance and improvisation. We explore the possibilities of our bodies, the space, and the interactions that come about by bringing all these elements into our dance as a whole.  And it’s at the core of every art form—creating something is a never ending journey of discovery and questioning.

I love that Rockwell used the word “play”—it reminded me that freedom and happiness are a huge part of creating anything.  And that we don’t have to take everything seriously all the time. Realizing how interchangeable these elements are between two seemingly separated approaches to art was one of my favorite parts of the night.  It gave me a big surge of happiness and a desire to play with my creativity. So, with his conclusion, it was off to energize the dance floor with party guests—and play we did.

Here are some clips of us in action:

A Night at the Building Museum: Notes from an evening of improvisation, Part I

With my new post as intern/apprentice at the Liz Lerman Dance Exchange (yes, it's kind of a big deal), I am finding myself in some awesome dance situations with some pretty talented people.  Not to mention that I've met Liz Lerman a couple times and share a desk space just a few feet from her.  Not kidding.  *Star struck*.  So, when a Dance Exchange company member was desperate for dancers for a site-specific improvisation at the National Building Museum, I jumped at the chance.  Performance opportunity? Check.  Site specific in a ridiculously gorgeous building that's a national gem? Check.  Affiliation with an internationally renowned company? Check.  Chance to meet fellow local dancers? Check. Free dinner? Check.  Hell yes, I'm in.

It was a super awesome experience so I naturally went to town with blog-ness.  It was so long we had to break it up into two parts, but here's how it all began ...

The following is cross-posted on the Dance Exchange Blog. They're doing some pretty cool stuff, I would browse around if I were you.

Tuxedos.  Floor-length gowns.  Cocktails.  Hors d’oeuvres. Draped tables.  And … wait? Is that a barefoot dancer over there?

Last night, I joined six other dancers in a site-specific improvisational commission at the National Building Museum’s annual Honor Award Gala.  It was a spontaneous performance for many of us—I myself found out about it a mere two hours beforehand—but it quickly became one of my most beautiful and memorable dancing experiences.

Totally unaware of the splendor of the Building Museum before this event, I found myself breathless when I first walked in.  If you’ve never been to the National Building Museum, get yourself there as soon as possible, and be sure to bring your camera.  Seriously.  Opening itself to a majestic floor-to-ceiling lobby almost the size of a football field across and 75 feet up, the space is divided by enormous ornate columns—some of the largest in the world.  Look up and twirl around and you’ll see the lobby lined with the buildings floors, fringed by arced décor that reminds of St. Marc’s basilica in Venice.

(photo by Daniel Zook)

As the cast made our way up, down, and around to get acquainted with the building, Dance Exchange company member Sarah Levitt explained that our task for the evening was to transition guests from one segment of the evening to the next through improvisation.  In our improvisation, she continued, we should make relationships with each other and the architecture and shapes of the edges, structures, and elements of the space. “This space is so amazing that really anything will look interesting,” she said in awe of the marbled columns and spanning Great Hall.  No argument on that one, Sarah.  I could tell immediately that a space like that was a dream for a dancer, especially in improvisation.  I was so excited!  Not only were we going to be able to use our bodies to explore the incredible architecture itself, but splashes of luminescent purple and green fabrics draped carefully as backdrops, artfully constructed plates of food, and a giant pyramid-shaped projector hanging from the ceiling were going to be part of our performance space.  Oh, and hundreds of people dressed as if they were walking the red carpet.

(photo by Daniel Zook)

One of the (many) things I love about modern dance is that it is easily removed from a recognizable dance environment and dropped right in the middle of pretty much any situation. In my days I’ve danced around benches along the street, on the quad of my college campus, and even around trees and mailboxes along a street in Italy.  Among party guests at the most glamorous event I’ve ever been to?  That was a new one for sure.  It was going to be a whole new ball game for me. Challenge accepted!

(photo by Daniel Zook)

Following a loose structure of spacing and theme for movement, we began the evening of improvisation by slithering our selves through the crowd of mingling guests, who spilled out of a cocktail room into the hallway during the first part of the event—a cocktail hour.  We slowly stacked ourselves in a line through the crowd, creating and shifting into shapes by relating to each other and the space. With surprised and curious reactions from party guests, we made our around and in between the conversations with shape-inspired movement.  Eventually we moved our way to corners and gaps in space in the hallway and in the party room, continuing to improvise with the space. As guests became more familiar with turning a corner to see a dancer along their path to the bar, we eventually became a part of the scenery that people seemed to enjoy.  Personally I received a few confused looks, but also many smiles, questions, and even a couple high fives as I struck a pose with a raised arm and flat (and apparently slappable!) hand.  I even had a few party guests imitate me as I twirled, posed, and spiraled my way past them, all in a fun and lively spirit.

Eventually, it was our task to help lead guests towards and down the stairs to the next part of the evening taking place in the lobby.  Using gathering and directional gestures, we helped point guests towards the stairs, and draped ourselves along the stairwell as they descended into the Great Hall.  We then welcomed the group into the lobby with joyful improvisation before we faded away to allow the evening’s official festivities to begin.

Our next appearance helped encourage guests to take their seats, we formed a festive structure called a second line, in which we followed behind a few horn-players from the evening’s New Orleans-style jazz band. Moving away from the abstract movement we know and love, we brought out the jazz hands, swinging legs, and sugar walks to capture the changed and elated energy of the live musicians interrupting the quiet mingling.  As we boogied to the staccato jazz, we each carried a few pieces of blue foam-like blocks in all shapes and sizes, taken from a work-in-progress structure of piled shapes.  We had taken them from an abstract structure sitting in the backdrop of the Great Hall (the evening’s keynote speaker explained later that these were pieces from a playground constructed in a devastated neighborhood as a part of a commissioned architectural project). After making our rounds, we playfully added our pieces to the structure and moved about the shapes, engaging in the parts and the whole as it came together.

Our last task was to encourage guests to enjoy the jazz band on the dance floor, as we were the first on the floor with snaps and claps, eventually bringing some guests to come enjoy the music with us. Once we got the group boogying, we left them to it and called it a night.

Part II will a elaborate on the evening’s keynote address about elements of play, which beautifully parallel concepts of dance.  Plus, I’ll post some video clips of us dancers in action!

America, the beautiful?

When I heard the news that Osama bin Laden was dead, I was scared and confused.  My mind was swimming with fear of retaliation and questions of what this meant for the war on terror and our troops overseas.  Trying to wrap my mind around the news, I quickly turned to CNN and listened intently to fill in the blanks that Twitter and Facebook statuses did not include.  Soon, coverage shifted from the newsrooms to DC streets, showing people literally run towards a quickly growing crowd in front of the White House cheering “U-S-A!”. 

Living in DC, it would have been easy for me to hop the metro to Pennsylvania Avenue to join what looked like half of the city in cheers.  However, I was in no state of mind to celebrate.  In fact, as I watched crowds of people pour onto the streets, my confusion deepened.  Utter joy and patriotism over a death?   I was shocked.  It seemed so unnatural.

No argument here that the world is better off without Osama bin Laden— he was a monster.  However, I don’t think any death, no matter who or under what circumstance, should be what brings a country together. I’m scared that we reacted in a comparable way to crowds in the Middle East who cheered as airplanes flew into the twin towers ten years ago.  For me, that was the most twisted part of that unforgettable day ten years ago. 

A more somber reaction to Osama bin Laden’s death would have served us much better in the eyes of the international community, for the sake of our foreign relations and for the sake of each other.  Instead of feeling patriotic, I feel disappointed in America.  I feel we’ve lost some of our dignity by showcasing to the world this kind of reaction—dignity that we are already working so hard to uphold.

I was also unsettled that many were declaring this event as the "end to the war on terror."  That is a dangerous perspective for us to have, and worries me that we were too easily blind-sighted by the significance of bin Laden's death that we temporarily lost sight of the bigger picture.  Thankfully, we're now hearing less talk of this as an end and more of as a means to an end and a point of transition for the war on terror, which I can agree with whole-heartedly. Though it's been said that al-Queda doesn't have the "smarts" to continue to carry out bin Laden's ideas as harshly, he does have a strong following who I have no doubt that we are making very angry right now.  So, we cannot have our guard down and appear easily distracted.  I say let's relish in this significant"victory", but not lose sight of what true "victory" would actually be for America, and for the world.  If one such true victory does exist.  Does it?

In his official announcement of bin Laden's death, our President, who I greatly respect, stated that "justice has been done." This statement soon become headlining and historical, summing up to a whole in four words.  Justice?  Really?  Is all right in the world now that Osama bin Laden is no longer living and breathing?

I know I cannot speak for those who lost family, friends, and coworkers on September 11^th.  I can only speak for those who, like me, lost their innocence and sense of security on that day, watching people jump from burning buildings from my middle school classroom and not quite understanding why.  But bin Laden's menacing operations and disturbing desires are still haunting all of our lives in some way,  so I am uneasy that we consider the demise of bin Laden as ‘justice’ for all suffering that was endured around the world.

Was this justice for bin Laden himself, though?  Perhaps. I understand the operation carried out in Abottabad was with the purpose of eliminating bin Laden.  I am still coming to terms with that whole concept of a justified murder in the hands of a government, which is odd because if I ask myself, "did he deserve it?", I answer with certainty, "yes."  So, I'm not sure why I'm still thrown off a little by the government's actions. What I do know, however, is that I have deep respect for the individuals who carried out the orders--for their bravery, skill, and risk they put forth to do what they felt they needed to make the world a safer place.  No matter my thoughts on military actions, of which I know I have little knowledge, my hat is always off to those who devote their lives to it.

It's times like this when I turn to (reliable) news sources, blogs, and conversations with and by my peers for help in wrapping my mind around such a historial moment. Luckily for me, I spend my days fishing through news sources for my real job, so I am in no shortage of discussion.  Also convenient for me, news has been all over young people (and vice-versa) involving Osama bin Laden's death, and what followed in the streets of America and college campuses.

It was pretty easy to notice the overwhelming majority of 20-somethings in celebrations all over the country (my tiny Ohioan alma mater even made an appearance on CNN), and the insurgence of young faces and voices has raised many eyebrows and theories in the media.  From what 9/11 meant to us to retaliation against accused apathy of our generation, people are reaching for explanations for this reaction--and some of them, I think, got it.  Maybe it's because I'm surrounded by news sources about young issues all the time these days, but this is the first time I can remember such a significant presence of young voices on a national issue in a long, long time.  But I'm not complaining about that.

This is obviously not done being talked about around the world for a long, long time, so I will continue to figure this out for myself with the help of comments, discussions, and op-eds that I stumble upon.  In the meantime, despite my confusion in my patriotism and the pride we hold as a country, I just hope we can get ourselves together and move forward calmly and rationally so we can continue towards a true end to the all of the terror this world faces.

Yes.

Yes, this is for real.  Someone has created a font.  Of Llamas.  Thanks to Katelin for sharing this ... it's probably the most impactful thing I've stumbled upon on Twitter. Ever.

I will probably do an full blog piece in Llama one day.  Get ready.  In the meantime, enjoy being bored by other fonts for the rest of your life.  And share with me your creations!  What do you think is the best thing to write in Llama?