Abby Lee Miller, Eat Your Heart Out

It's April, and 'tis the season for dance. To say that my life has been consumed by dance this month is an understatement. My brain - the frontal, parietal, occipital, and temporal lobes (shout out to A&P) - hurts. I am currently choreographing thirteen, fourteen,...well, I lost count...pieces. They kind of just keep accumulating. Do I love it? Most of the time. Do I loathe it? Most of the time. Are all my pieces starting to look alike? Yup. Who needs genres of dance? Ballet and Jazz are virtually the same thing, right? And, by the way, I am choreographing to, like, three dubstep songs. Because I'm awesome. (OK. I caved and basically let my kids pick the songs. Honestly, I ran out of ideas and inspiration.) If you're unfamiliar with dubstep (Mom), allow me to educate you. You'll hate it.

http://www.zshare.net/audio/869135109dd1259c/

In related news, I attended my first dance competition a few weeks ago. My preteens competed with a Modern routine. Of course, it's not called Modern anymore; it's "CONTEMPORARY." Wah, wah. Martha is rolling in her grave. Needless to say, they placed fourth in their category/division and received a high gold star. I'm still not sure what all this really means, but I've been told that it's excellent considering this was the first time they ever competed. To be completely honest, I have always hated dance competitions. In my opinion, dance is a fine art, not a sport.  Needless to say, I kinda enjoyed the experience. Sure, there were some rather intense dance instructors lurking in the corridors of the Sandler Center, but I managed to avoid them. One of them called me sweetie, when I asked her a question. I reckon she could tell I was a novice "coach." Once she answered my question, I recoiled from her quickly as not to get sucked into her world: A world of gold stars and Mia Michaels look-a-like routines. I did follow suit, however, and stay with my girls backstage. No way was I going to leave my six precious babies with those harpies. Like the lame mom who makes her seven year use a car seat, instead of waiting in the wings, I insisted my kids stay in the waiting area connected to backstage until the last possible minute. I also gave them the death glare anytime they opened their mouths. They were to act and speak with dignity at all times. Because I know twelve year olds are pretty much incapable of doing so, I preferred they just not talk at all. I also clung to them. To tell the truth, having them put on display like that worried me. I wanted to let them know they were loved and special before three random people judged them. I only saw a little bit of their performance from my perch backstage, but what I saw pleased me. They acted like little professionals. OK. Fine. They were AWESOME. I teared up a bit...and I hugged the crap outta them when they came off stage. Once I stopped shaking, I asked them if they had fun. They all smiled and said "yes." And that made the experience worth it. It was like being a parent who finds out her kid loves participating in RPG tournaments. I found it absurd, but thrilled that they found something they truly enjoyed. (Can you tell I am attached to my dancers?)

We compete again in May, as do my teens. They are performing a Jazz routine to "Sail" by AWOLNATION. They get straight jackets and a padded wall. They're excited.  Perhaps we'll get platinum this time? Sweet...



Yup...lamest blog entry ever. But truthfully, that's all I got. I am consumed by dance. I guess it's a good thing I love it.