As the venerable Professor Emerson and I discussed craft, an image came to mind: the girls fighting through one more floor routine, legs a bit sloppy in the air, landing heavily. And then the gymnasts warming up with a line of basic tumbling, bodies tight and perfectly controlled. They walk off the floor calmly: That will do for now.
I think similarly of words. Words that unobtrusively show you the story without working too hard (or at least, not appearing to work hard). Words that you almost don't notice until something beautiful happens and you think, Damn, I wish I wrote that.
Perhaps that's my problem with the whole emo genre of music. It's cool that groups of youths jam together and try to make it big. It's cool that they want to sing about relationships (or, more often, a lack thereof). But each song comes out louder, more angsty, and more "clever" than the next. The quest to show pain and be profound becomes too forced for me to sustain interest in an entire album.
Let it be. Let the story tell itself. With a bit of help from you, of course.
..
For my next paper, I'm thinking about exploring the theme of defense. Fighting against the opponent. What it means to be a team when members are truly out for themselves, and the excuses they use to justify their failures. The way the body defends itself against an injury. Or perhaps I'll go the injury route -- I've got several good friends bouncing about with reconstructed ACLs.
Suggestions for the above topics, or any other topic, are more than welcome. :-)
For now, I shall go for a run before practice. This is my favorite time of day to run -- the late afternoon sunshine slanting down, the day beginning to cool under blue sky.
See you out there.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
Monday, October 29, 2007
Hips don't lie
Showtime.
The audience waited. The music began. Jess and I danced towards each other in front of the classroom, swaying our hips with all of our gringa glory. We bounced from side to side and spun each other around. We giggled.
"¿Alguien sabe el baile?"
"¿Cha cha?" someone offered.
We cued up the Power Point. "El merengue," we responded proudly.
"Oh," our professor said. "You're dancing to salsa music."
A fine start, indeed.
I would have made a lovely ballerina. I'm pretty solid in Spanish. Combine Spanish and dancing, and the phrase "analysis breeds paralysis" comes to mind: How come nobody else looks like an idiot besides me?
My incompetence was first revealed during Africana Dance last semester (which, ironically, nearly every gymnast in the class had to withdraw from due to injury). I was pretty good at slapping the floor to the drumbeat and waving my arms in a tribal manner. But when it came time to salsa, my professor inevitably walked over and poked my hips. Move those.
I moved them. All right. I had a rhythm going. The music was moving. I was moving.
I finally looked in the mirror and saw a pale girl dancing in the manner of a child learning to hula and failing at it.
But I've never been one to give up. So Emeline (the sole gymnast survivor of Africana Dance) turned on Shakira and gave me an impromptu dance lesson in her room one Saturday night before we went out.
"Loosen up your arms," she instructed immediately. "You're not doing a floor routine."
True.
She poked my hips. She pretended to grind on me and I ran away. She spun in circles and I imitated, knocking a picture frame to the floor.
In the end, she stood back, watched, and said, "Much better than before."
My confidence boosted, I figured the two-step merengue would be manageable as our group project for Spanish 319. Jess and I danced to YouTube videos in the Mac lab. We talked merengue. We visualized it. Miranda was wise and opted to play the music instead.
Undeterred by that minor error of salsa instead of merengue music, we invited the class to join the "dance floor." Well, how about that? Our professor could do the merengue, and it looked nothing like our very enthusiastic version.
"That was perfecta," a classmate said as I took my seat.
Well, perhaps not. But I'll still be moving to music anytime I hear it. Regardless of how I look.
The audience waited. The music began. Jess and I danced towards each other in front of the classroom, swaying our hips with all of our gringa glory. We bounced from side to side and spun each other around. We giggled.
"¿Alguien sabe el baile?"
"¿Cha cha?" someone offered.
We cued up the Power Point. "El merengue," we responded proudly.
"Oh," our professor said. "You're dancing to salsa music."
A fine start, indeed.
I would have made a lovely ballerina. I'm pretty solid in Spanish. Combine Spanish and dancing, and the phrase "analysis breeds paralysis" comes to mind: How come nobody else looks like an idiot besides me?
My incompetence was first revealed during Africana Dance last semester (which, ironically, nearly every gymnast in the class had to withdraw from due to injury). I was pretty good at slapping the floor to the drumbeat and waving my arms in a tribal manner. But when it came time to salsa, my professor inevitably walked over and poked my hips. Move those.
I moved them. All right. I had a rhythm going. The music was moving. I was moving.
I finally looked in the mirror and saw a pale girl dancing in the manner of a child learning to hula and failing at it.
But I've never been one to give up. So Emeline (the sole gymnast survivor of Africana Dance) turned on Shakira and gave me an impromptu dance lesson in her room one Saturday night before we went out.
"Loosen up your arms," she instructed immediately. "You're not doing a floor routine."
True.
She poked my hips. She pretended to grind on me and I ran away. She spun in circles and I imitated, knocking a picture frame to the floor.
In the end, she stood back, watched, and said, "Much better than before."
My confidence boosted, I figured the two-step merengue would be manageable as our group project for Spanish 319. Jess and I danced to YouTube videos in the Mac lab. We talked merengue. We visualized it. Miranda was wise and opted to play the music instead.
Undeterred by that minor error of salsa instead of merengue music, we invited the class to join the "dance floor." Well, how about that? Our professor could do the merengue, and it looked nothing like our very enthusiastic version.
"That was perfecta," a classmate said as I took my seat.
Well, perhaps not. But I'll still be moving to music anytime I hear it. Regardless of how I look.
Thursday, October 25, 2007
good morning.
Assignment 2 is done. For now. While results about lab mice still came up as I perused Answers.com, I found that putting quotations around certain words did aid in finding useful material. I also found a page about the average heights of Spaniards, in case anyone's interested.
So how about Assignment 3? I'd like to write something abstract. Unusual. Intriguing. About what? "We'll see."
I don't usually write in the morning. Then again, I don't have a set time. While nighttime seems to be the most inspirational, sometimes morning can be most clear. At other times, something about the afternoon gets my mind running and it must be written immediately or else I can't concentrate.
SUBMIT TO TRANSITION! (My plug that will be repeated often and loudly.)
For now, I shall learn how to dance the merengue off of YouTube with a friend in the name of a group presentation. Bailamos!
So how about Assignment 3? I'd like to write something abstract. Unusual. Intriguing. About what? "We'll see."
I don't usually write in the morning. Then again, I don't have a set time. While nighttime seems to be the most inspirational, sometimes morning can be most clear. At other times, something about the afternoon gets my mind running and it must be written immediately or else I can't concentrate.
SUBMIT TO TRANSITION! (My plug that will be repeated often and loudly.)
For now, I shall learn how to dance the merengue off of YouTube with a friend in the name of a group presentation. Bailamos!
Monday, October 22, 2007
Terms of encouragement
If you screw up, I'm pulling you out of the game. There's no "I" in "team" [but there is a "me," some wise-ass snickers]. HUSTLE. Cortland Dragons on three! Get in there! Get in there! Get on her! To the outside! Oh, what the hell, ref! Am I up? Start strong, finish stronger. One event at a time. It's over! Put it behind you! Let's go! Focus! You're falling apart out there. Good play. Good hustle. Call "Wildcat" on the next out-of-bounds play. Pass it! What are you doing with six girls on you?! We've still got a chance. There's a lot of things I liked about that jump. Off your toes! Box out! Pick and roll! Ref, that was a foul! Don't rush it. LET'S GO LET'S GO! You got it! Finish strong! Drive to the net! C'mon! Oh, Christ, what are you doing out there? I want to see you play like a team. Compete the way you practice. You're going in for her ready get out there good go. How badly do you want it? Are you all right? Shake it off. Walk it off. Can we get some ice? This is the most important game of your lives. Think about Nationals. It starts here, it starts now.
Don't blow it.
Don't blow it.
Wednesday, October 17, 2007
The trouble with parents
She had to vent. I went to make a delicious wrap for dinner and returned to a very accurate monologue:
"So I'm really beginning to not be able to tolerate parents in my gym anymore. I can't stand the parents of the 3 year olds who are only setting their children up for disaster. They let them get away with murder, so when I tell them that they aren't following directions or make a correction on a cartwheel, they sit and pout and cry for the next 10 minutes. Sorry kid, you aren't always going to be first, you aren't always going to do it right, you are never going to be perfect! And THEN I love the parents who can't realize that when their daughter gets a concussion because her arms gave out under her weight after doing a backhandspring that it might be the time to give up the sport. Gymnastics isn't meant for overweight children; try sumo wrestling. I also don't understand the parents who have the hundreds of dollars to buy their children every Webkinz under the sun, but then complain about entry fees and prices of tuition. People drive me NUTS!"
Hence why I run away from parents after every gymnastics class I teach.
Hence why the idea of irate parents on Parent-Teacher Conference Day was truly a factor in keeping me from choosing Childhood Education as a career path.
Hence why a part of ME is injured every time a child rolls an ankle or claims she "broke her head."
Hence why every good save isn't just a relief for the health of the child, but a relief from the vision of a lawsuit.
Oh, if only we could all frolic happily in our gymnastics bubble without the parents peering through the glass.
"So I'm really beginning to not be able to tolerate parents in my gym anymore. I can't stand the parents of the 3 year olds who are only setting their children up for disaster. They let them get away with murder, so when I tell them that they aren't following directions or make a correction on a cartwheel, they sit and pout and cry for the next 10 minutes. Sorry kid, you aren't always going to be first, you aren't always going to do it right, you are never going to be perfect! And THEN I love the parents who can't realize that when their daughter gets a concussion because her arms gave out under her weight after doing a backhandspring that it might be the time to give up the sport. Gymnastics isn't meant for overweight children; try sumo wrestling. I also don't understand the parents who have the hundreds of dollars to buy their children every Webkinz under the sun, but then complain about entry fees and prices of tuition. People drive me NUTS!"
Hence why I run away from parents after every gymnastics class I teach.
Hence why the idea of irate parents on Parent-Teacher Conference Day was truly a factor in keeping me from choosing Childhood Education as a career path.
Hence why a part of ME is injured every time a child rolls an ankle or claims she "broke her head."
Hence why every good save isn't just a relief for the health of the child, but a relief from the vision of a lawsuit.
Oh, if only we could all frolic happily in our gymnastics bubble without the parents peering through the glass.
Monday, October 15, 2007
Online research
Obviously, I'd be able to find out a few facts online. Like the peak age for a female gymnast. The effects of age on the healing of a bone fracture. The year Mitsuo Tsukahara first tossed the vault now named after him.
Well, I've found out a few things about rhythmic gymnasts, learned that Beckham also broke his fifth metatarsal, and discovered that a female Russian gymnast first Tsuked (yes, we gymnasts use it as a verb) in 1974.
I am not sure if these facts will help my paper.
mikeyE876: you need to start thinking gayer and more positive
Thank you, Mike.
Well, I do have a story. I do have facts culled from years of being in the sport. And I do have the notion that I need to fine-tune my Google quests in some manner, or perhaps be a team player and ask my coach if he has any (gasp!) paper information on the above research topics.
Regardless, the quest shall be glorious.
Well, I've found out a few things about rhythmic gymnasts, learned that Beckham also broke his fifth metatarsal, and discovered that a female Russian gymnast first Tsuked (yes, we gymnasts use it as a verb) in 1974.
I am not sure if these facts will help my paper.
mikeyE876: you need to start thinking gayer and more positive
Thank you, Mike.
Well, I do have a story. I do have facts culled from years of being in the sport. And I do have the notion that I need to fine-tune my Google quests in some manner, or perhaps be a team player and ask my coach if he has any (gasp!) paper information on the above research topics.
Regardless, the quest shall be glorious.
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Gymnastics on television(???)
Shouts. Fists against walls. Cell phones tossed to the floor. Grunts and slammed doors.
Then an eerie silence falls.
Just the aftereffects of the Mets/Yankees losses.
..
I'm not too interested in watching television, though I'd rather catch a baseball game than yet another silly reality show. But at around 3:00 on Sunday afternoon, word came out: gymnastics would be on NBC at 4.
As a sport that draws little public interest besides during the Olympics, finding gymnastics on television is an exciting surprise for the diehards. The broadcasts never fail to show only a few athletes, put in far too much filler, make useless commentary, and end too quickly. But we won't stop tuning in.
I hightailed it home. I brought my laptop into the den so that I could "work" and watch at the same time. "Turn on NBC now," I commanded several friends via Instant Messenger. It could never hurt to bring the ratings up a tiny bit.
The world championships had taken place in the middle of September, and video footage had been available on the Internet since then. The camera angles on the television broadcast were awkward, such as staying in the same spot for entire uneven bar routines. Even the film itself was different throughout the competition, as if there had been several cameras meshed together. Of course, Al Trautwig made his usual idiotic remarks. Of course, the men's side of the competition was summed up in about three minutes.
But there were highlights: a Russian gymnast stopping on her vault, 25-year-old Yelena Zamolodchikova still busting out elite gymnastics, a Romanian who did five (!) tumbling passes, and of course American Shawn Johnson, who will be my hero until she becomes an obnoxious sell-out (let's hope that doesn't come to pass).
The next broadcast? Likely the American Cup in early 2008. Will I be watching? As long as I know when it's being aired.
..
And as an aside, I'm always fascinated by figure skating whenever it's on TV. Sure, we snicker at the men, and the costumes can get a bit ridiculous. But for anyone who's not a hockey player, it's no small task to maintain your balance on skates while skating forward and backward, much less jumping, landing, and spinning on one foot.
So as you roll your eyes and prepare to switch the channel, ask yourself: Could you do that for four minutes without stopping?
Then an eerie silence falls.
Just the aftereffects of the Mets/Yankees losses.
..
I'm not too interested in watching television, though I'd rather catch a baseball game than yet another silly reality show. But at around 3:00 on Sunday afternoon, word came out: gymnastics would be on NBC at 4.
As a sport that draws little public interest besides during the Olympics, finding gymnastics on television is an exciting surprise for the diehards. The broadcasts never fail to show only a few athletes, put in far too much filler, make useless commentary, and end too quickly. But we won't stop tuning in.
I hightailed it home. I brought my laptop into the den so that I could "work" and watch at the same time. "Turn on NBC now," I commanded several friends via Instant Messenger. It could never hurt to bring the ratings up a tiny bit.
The world championships had taken place in the middle of September, and video footage had been available on the Internet since then. The camera angles on the television broadcast were awkward, such as staying in the same spot for entire uneven bar routines. Even the film itself was different throughout the competition, as if there had been several cameras meshed together. Of course, Al Trautwig made his usual idiotic remarks. Of course, the men's side of the competition was summed up in about three minutes.
But there were highlights: a Russian gymnast stopping on her vault, 25-year-old Yelena Zamolodchikova still busting out elite gymnastics, a Romanian who did five (!) tumbling passes, and of course American Shawn Johnson, who will be my hero until she becomes an obnoxious sell-out (let's hope that doesn't come to pass).
The next broadcast? Likely the American Cup in early 2008. Will I be watching? As long as I know when it's being aired.
..
And as an aside, I'm always fascinated by figure skating whenever it's on TV. Sure, we snicker at the men, and the costumes can get a bit ridiculous. But for anyone who's not a hockey player, it's no small task to maintain your balance on skates while skating forward and backward, much less jumping, landing, and spinning on one foot.
So as you roll your eyes and prepare to switch the channel, ask yourself: Could you do that for four minutes without stopping?
Sunday, October 7, 2007
Noise everywhere.
All around me, they pound their hands together and shout. Their heavily hair-sprayed ponytails bob up and down with every turn of their heads. Light hits the black leotards and glittery eye shadow.
Music blares from the speakers. One gymnast dances into the corner of the floor.
I stare straight ahead, hands on hips. My feet pace and pause, pace and pause.
“Let’s go! C’mon!”
I gotta pee.
“Aw, shit, how could she fall on that?”
She does it all the time.
“You got it! There ya go! Finish strong!”
Don’t miss –
“Another fall…we’re screwed.”
I should have done another full. Nah, I’m fine...
“Are you ready?”
Wasn’t ready when I landed before and I still feel the sting in my back –
“You looked great warming up.”
I hope I don’t throw up.
“Next up on floor is Diana Gallagher.”
All around me, they pound their hands together and shout. Their heavily hair-sprayed ponytails bob up and down with every turn of their heads. Light hits the black leotards and glittery eye shadow.
Music blares from the speakers. One gymnast dances into the corner of the floor.
I stare straight ahead, hands on hips. My feet pace and pause, pace and pause.
“Let’s go! C’mon!”
I gotta pee.
“Aw, shit, how could she fall on that?”
She does it all the time.
“You got it! There ya go! Finish strong!”
Don’t miss –
“Another fall…we’re screwed.”
I should have done another full. Nah, I’m fine...
“Are you ready?”
Wasn’t ready when I landed before and I still feel the sting in my back –
“You looked great warming up.”
I hope I don’t throw up.
“Next up on floor is Diana Gallagher.”
Wednesday, October 3, 2007
Anthem
Because we've all got songs that get us pumped or just bring back some sort of sporting memories...
We're gonna win, we wanna win,
'cuz number one is everything...
Bryan Adams, "We're Gonna Win." Junior year of spring track.
How many people wanna kick some ass?
I do! I do!
Stroke 9, "Kick Some Ass." Very inspirational our tenth-grade year of running laps.
You will be nothing at all.
Stage, "I Will Be Something." Another song of yearning as we pounded lap after lap.
Yes, I'm the real shady.
Eminem, "Slim Shady." We got bored during lacrosse games in 8th grade.
Gonna get a lil' unruly.
Christina Aguilera, "Dirty." Theme song of our gymnastics "team dance" senior year that I refused to perform when my parents were present.
Why? Why do you always kick me when I'm high?
SR-71, "Right Now." Because Kelsey and I were "bad ass" as ninth grade nerds on the track team.
And worst of all, you never call, baby, when you say you will!
"Build Me Up Buttercup" (artist escapes me right now). Good clean fun to sing as we ran through the woods.
I would walk 500 miles...
The Proclaimers, "500 Miles." Appropriate, again, for long runs.
I will go the distance.
Michael Bolton, "Go the Distance." Not going to lie -- I secretly listened to this song on the way to gymnastics meets.
What if God was one of us?
For some reason, this song always had an uncanny way of appearing at gymnastics practice. We mocked it and wondered if we'd go to hell.
But she caught me on the counter...Wasn't me.
Shaggy, "Wasn't Me." We had strange musical tastes, okay?
We're gonna win, we wanna win,
'cuz number one is everything...
Bryan Adams, "We're Gonna Win." Junior year of spring track.
How many people wanna kick some ass?
I do! I do!
Stroke 9, "Kick Some Ass." Very inspirational our tenth-grade year of running laps.
You will be nothing at all.
Stage, "I Will Be Something." Another song of yearning as we pounded lap after lap.
Yes, I'm the real shady.
Eminem, "Slim Shady." We got bored during lacrosse games in 8th grade.
Gonna get a lil' unruly.
Christina Aguilera, "Dirty." Theme song of our gymnastics "team dance" senior year that I refused to perform when my parents were present.
Why? Why do you always kick me when I'm high?
SR-71, "Right Now." Because Kelsey and I were "bad ass" as ninth grade nerds on the track team.
And worst of all, you never call, baby, when you say you will!
"Build Me Up Buttercup" (artist escapes me right now). Good clean fun to sing as we ran through the woods.
I would walk 500 miles...
The Proclaimers, "500 Miles." Appropriate, again, for long runs.
I will go the distance.
Michael Bolton, "Go the Distance." Not going to lie -- I secretly listened to this song on the way to gymnastics meets.
What if God was one of us?
For some reason, this song always had an uncanny way of appearing at gymnastics practice. We mocked it and wondered if we'd go to hell.
But she caught me on the counter...Wasn't me.
Shaggy, "Wasn't Me." We had strange musical tastes, okay?
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