Apparently, my father recently told my fake sister that my mother is his hero because "she never shirks responsibility and she always has such a positive outlook on life."
This is the most tender thing I have heard in my life.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Sunday, March 25, 2012
Hey, Know Your Audience
My teacher companions and I took the 4th grade kids to a show at Brooklyn College this most recent Friday to see the National Dance Troupe of Jamaica. Many of the kids are from the West Indies so, as one can imagine, they were pretty stoked. It's an eclectic audience of children ranging from some kindergartners to middle school students.
The first performance was a dance number with two live drummers making the beats on what looked to be Goumbe drums. The dancers were wearing colorful costumes with long trains and exposed abdomens. The men were shirtless with long pants and groin wraps. Groin wraps that looked like colorful diapers. It was, admittedly, an hilarious costume choice. Children giggled. Children were shushed but only halfheartedly; fools shouldn't wear diapers on stage.
Performance two featured older singers singing traditional songs. A little dated, the kids were not as impressed.
Performance three was introduced as a "very colorful and lively dance" meant to address life in Kingston, Jamaica. It was titled "Urban Fishing." We open on a lone dancer in silhouette. She appears to be topless. No music accompanies her presence, only static. She is twisting and turning, looking around, her movements denoting terror through her contortions. The children are confused, grumbles an giggles are heard from the crowd. The lights come up revealing that she is wearing only they tiniest flesh-colored tube bra I've ever seen and some cargo pants. Then, gunshots come blaring through the speakers. The dancer hits the deck. The audience of children scream. Now, snippets of Bob Marley's "No More Trouble" start interrupting the static. More dancers enter, their bodies contorting. They are wearing a variety of booty shorts and skintight jeans and tube tops. A green forked symbol adorns their clothing. What is that? Is that meant to be a marijuana leaf? Oh, yes, yes it is. Oh, ok, I see... marijuana promotion. That's awesome. For fourth graders. The dancers start coming together. The women slowly rub against the men. The men grab their bodies. Faces are placed near groins. Pelvises gyrate. Legs scissor and straddle. The gunshots continue to interrupt the static and song. The children gasp and giggle. The teachers eyes widen and heads shake in confusion. Heads are hidden in hands. This continues for a good 7 minutes. 7 minutes of horror.
Had I gone to this performance with a group of my grown, adult, non-minor friends, I would have likely enjoyed it at least a little. The dancers were spectacular artists with great control over their bodies and intense passion. But I say to you, Brooklyn College and the National Dance Troupe of Jamaica, please. Please, please, please: know your fuckin' audience. Now I've got to talk to some kids about sexy dancing and why they need not reenact what they saw on a school-sponsored field trip.
The first performance was a dance number with two live drummers making the beats on what looked to be Goumbe drums. The dancers were wearing colorful costumes with long trains and exposed abdomens. The men were shirtless with long pants and groin wraps. Groin wraps that looked like colorful diapers. It was, admittedly, an hilarious costume choice. Children giggled. Children were shushed but only halfheartedly; fools shouldn't wear diapers on stage.
Performance two featured older singers singing traditional songs. A little dated, the kids were not as impressed.
Performance three was introduced as a "very colorful and lively dance" meant to address life in Kingston, Jamaica. It was titled "Urban Fishing." We open on a lone dancer in silhouette. She appears to be topless. No music accompanies her presence, only static. She is twisting and turning, looking around, her movements denoting terror through her contortions. The children are confused, grumbles an giggles are heard from the crowd. The lights come up revealing that she is wearing only they tiniest flesh-colored tube bra I've ever seen and some cargo pants. Then, gunshots come blaring through the speakers. The dancer hits the deck. The audience of children scream. Now, snippets of Bob Marley's "No More Trouble" start interrupting the static. More dancers enter, their bodies contorting. They are wearing a variety of booty shorts and skintight jeans and tube tops. A green forked symbol adorns their clothing. What is that? Is that meant to be a marijuana leaf? Oh, yes, yes it is. Oh, ok, I see... marijuana promotion. That's awesome. For fourth graders. The dancers start coming together. The women slowly rub against the men. The men grab their bodies. Faces are placed near groins. Pelvises gyrate. Legs scissor and straddle. The gunshots continue to interrupt the static and song. The children gasp and giggle. The teachers eyes widen and heads shake in confusion. Heads are hidden in hands. This continues for a good 7 minutes. 7 minutes of horror.
Had I gone to this performance with a group of my grown, adult, non-minor friends, I would have likely enjoyed it at least a little. The dancers were spectacular artists with great control over their bodies and intense passion. But I say to you, Brooklyn College and the National Dance Troupe of Jamaica, please. Please, please, please: know your fuckin' audience. Now I've got to talk to some kids about sexy dancing and why they need not reenact what they saw on a school-sponsored field trip.
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