When Is It Too Late?

 I know that at the young age of 45, it would be virtually impossible to become an Olympic figure skater. I get it.

However, every now and again I think about those things that still might be possible. These things surely come from my delusional mind and they hang out deep in my naive, immature, and denial place. I get it.

It wasn't too long ago that I still believed that I could become a professional dancer. It had always been a dream.

I used to take the train into Manhattan, from Westchester, for dance class every weekend. As soon as I stepped off the train, I thought I was a dancer. I walked around the city with my feet turned out in first position, which hurt like a mother f'er, especially since I wasn’t actually a dancer, but it looked authentic. I wore leg warmers, carried a dance bag down to my knees, and took up smoking, because all dancers smoked. I pulled my hair back so tight I couldn’t blink, and I jazz walked down Broadway dreaming of becoming a Fosse dancer.

It's unfair that self help books, and Oprah, all say it's never too late and that if you can dream it, you can be it. Isn't that false advertising?

I always believed that all it took was drive, passion and money. But several years ago I had my doubts. What if I was wrong? What if it was too late? I decided to seek the advice of a professional. 

Dear Mr. Ben Vereen: 

I am not in my early 20’s. But I’ve taken ballet, tap and jazz on and off, mainly off, since I was 7. I won a Best Actress in a Musical award for “Chicago” and Best Dancer in a Musical award for “Working” at Stagedoor Manor, Theater Performing Arts Center, in Loch Sheldrake, New York in 1981. I never entered a dance contest but I watched “Dance Fever” religiously from 1979 to 1985. I recently took a hip hop class, but after 15 minutes I ran out crying because I couldn’t pop and lock like the 13 year olds. I started taking Jazz class again. It’s every Saturday morning and the teacher is a former “Solid Gold” dancer.  I’m so excited. I’ve missed the last few months of class but I plan to get back to it really soon. Since I’ve been back on the scene, I’ve realized that dance isn’t just a part of my life, it is my life. I’m a dancer. A dancer dances and I must dance. 

My friend Jamie compliments me all the time, and that makes me want it even more. I’m determined to make my dream a reality. My technique isn’t that strong. Yet. I’m pretty slow in learning combinations and I still don’t know what a port de bras is. But being in Jazz class and seeing the movie, “Chicago”,  twice, I think it’s all coming back to me.

I have bunions, bad knees and a stiff neck. Otherwise I’m in great shape. Just the other night I was able to spread eagle over my boyfriend’s head.

Anyway, what’s your advice on getting started in the dance profession at my advanced age. Is it too late? Thanks and keep on dancing, love, Dani.

I'm still waiting for an answer.

Sassing It Up In Dubai

Let me get this out of the way, since it just happened. I was watching Oprah in Dubai (I'm in Dubai, not Oprah) and it was the Australian episode where she takes her show down under. At the end of the show, Australian celebs like Keith and Nicole, Olivia, and Russell, walk on stage and sing Peter Allen's, "I Still Call Australia Home"

I've been to cities that never close down,
From New York to Rio and old London town, But no matter how far or how wide I roam, I still call Australia home.

They unfurled a giant Australian flag over the heads of a kabillion member audience and the Qantus Choir was singing back up. I was almost in tears. A sense of pride washed over me and for a moment, I actually felt like an Aussie. I had to have a sit down to remind myself that Australia was not, in fact, my homeland.

I feel better now.

I started teaching Pilates three days after I arrived a little over a week ago, and I've wasted no time in bringing my special brand of humor to the ladies of Dubai.

I believe it was my third Pilates Mat class when I casually called a woman of French persuasion 'Frenchie', when I wanted to get her attention.

For whatever reason, I felt an instant closeness to the clients and I've been letting the sarcasm and brashness fly with reckless abandon. Both of the Pilates studios are all female, which lends itself to a supportive sisterhood kind of vibe. That, and no one cares if their socks match their shorts. I'm speaking of myself of course.

If you permit me, I'd like to illustrate, through the retelling of actual scenes, my innate ability to embarrass myself in Dubai just as I do in Jersey. I like to think that my, 'what's on my lung is on my tongue' attitude, knows no geographical borders.

Pilates Reformer Class
Me: "Let's find our neutral pelvis. This might be politically incorrect but imagine that you're balancing a Martini on your pelvis. Don't spill it." Laughter from the class. In case you don't know, Muslim's don't drink.

Mat Class
I caught my reflection in the mirror (Okay, I actively looked at myself in the mirror) in the middle of instructing the class, paused and said, "Wow, I really need to get a tan." Laughter. A woman in the back row casually said, "It's not about you." It was funny. I replied, "Yes, it is. It's always about me. You guys are just my audience. This is my stage."

Later in the same class, I asked the women if they felt their abdominals during an exercise. Silence. I said, "You guys have to give me feedback. It's like a review. Think of it as reviewing my show." Again, laughter.

 
Prenatal Class
ME: "So, do you all have other children?" The Pregos all nodded in the negative. "So this is everyone's first then. That's so exciting! Pregnant pause (Pun intended) I mean if you're into that sort of thing." Laughter.

Holy crap. I'm on fire.

In my head, the equation I live by is this: Laughter = Encouragement = Keep Going. Even if it means that I'm probably going to push my luck and inevitably insert my foot so deep in my throat, it's going to come out my arse.

Until then, I'm performing 18 shows a week!

Not Everyone is a Billionaire!

I happened to be home today and had the opportunity to watch Oprah. She interviewed the Harry Potter author herself,  J.K. Rowling. It wasn't like I was chomping at the bit to catch this particular episode, but hey, I was home, (doing what, I don't remember) I've seen one or two of the movies but I haven't read any of the books. But I wanted to hear what she had to say. She's a writer. I'm a writer. I'm sure we have something in common.

At one point during the interview, Oprah brings up J.K.'s (whose name is Joe) extreme wealth. I believe she used the fact that J.K is the first billionaire writer, as her jumping off point. Oprah wanted to know how money had changed J.K's life. Frankly, it came off as an excuse so Oprah could comment on her own wealth. J.K. said, "I wear better clothes." She went on to say that there's a certain amount of freedom that comes with wealth. "If I see two things that I want, well, I realize that I don't have to choose. I can have both." Oprah giggled like a giddy school girl.

I started to throw up a bit in my mouth! Have these two billionaires read the papers lately? I could not believe what I was hearing. They were talking to each other as if they were having sleep over in one of their mansions and were regaling each other with the trials and tribulations of being filthy dirty rich, without a thought to the millions of viewers watching, who DO NOT live in mansions.

As J.K. was having her 'aha' moment about not having to choose, Oprah was on the edge of her seat, anxious to weigh in with a, "I know! I can have both!" It was positively repugnant.

J.K. went on, "Money doesn't solve anything. I still worry that it might go away. Although I'd have to be pretty foolish, and I've never been foolish with money before, so, I guess I'm okay." She looks to Oprah in a, you know what I'm talking about sister girl. But Oprah didn't know what she was talking about because she then adds, "No, I really don't feel that way anymore." Thus implying that she's pretty damn sure that she'd always be rich.

Really? In this environment you're talking about how hard, weird, uncomfortable and comfortable it is being a billionaire? Oprah wouldn't stop. She wouldn't let go of the money topic. Every time they returned from a commercial, Oprah somehow worked money back into the conversation. I wanted to climb through my TV and bang their heads together!

I've never had a problem with Oprah, except when The Secret came out and she started shouting S E C R E T (holding on the word for like a whole minute before she got to the T) Who the hell do they think is watching Oprah? It was the most insensitive 10 minutes of television that I had witnessed in a long time. And I watch a lot of television.

Clearly I was more irritated by this than I thought because I took it into my Mat Pilates class. We had just finished doing push ups and the class was in child's pose. I told them about the Oprah interview in a wild rant, complete with facial expressions, physicality and an array of vocal inflections. In essence, a stand-up comedy routine. This happens on occasion. I forget where I am. Is it a Pilates studio or a stage? See post A Tall Drink of Water or Pass the Beano, for further evidence.

I'm nearing the end of my story when I say something to the effect of "Come on, who do you think you're talking to? Fuck you." Of course this was directed at Oprah and J.K., and if that wasn't inappropriate enough, I brought the point home by giving Oprah the finger. Actually two fingers. As soon as my digits left my hands, I regretted it. But I was committed and it was too late. I ended it there but my class will, I fear, now have an image of me, red faced, irate, and shooting Oprah the bird.