Bogorditsye Dyevo

PG= N/A

Theatre Journal:
Also N/A, since we didn't even have a substitute, and were thus sent to dance.  In which I participated.  Again.

Dance Journal:
WOOOOOOOOOOO.  Today was awesome.  I sorta kinda feel on top of the world.  4 hours of dance.  Morning went rather well.  I made it through the pilates warmup better than usual (read: only dropped dead 3 or 4 times, compared to my usual 8 or 9), vaguely owned the syllabic stuff, and then rep was pretty much an epic win.  I love dancing with Zaynah.  I feel bad for being on the weird/creepy side, but we dance well together.  The piece we started on today was a wonderful, gloriously slow, French waltz-ish thing.  And we start off with a straight-up vertical lift.  As opposed to a horizontal lift?  I guess that's sort of possible.  Sort of.  Not sure how we're getting to the leaning, waltzing part, but we have the steps down pretty solidly.  We did it in three tiers, essentially: First we were just figuring it out; then we figured out how to remain connected throughout; finally, we got the leaning down pat, which made it ten times easier and interesting.  At the end we were really pushing into each other, and providing bases for each other to work from.  And it's so cool to me how much overlap there is between dance and theatre, especially in the last few counts of what we did, when we faced each other, connected at the shoulders.  It was almost identical to an exercise we did two weeks ago in theatre, just moving instead of holding a balance.  Artgasm.  Pardon the term.

Gabe Journal:
I AM SO TIRED.  4 hours of dance + awesome choir rehearsal (albeit rocky start) = happy, exhausted Gabe.  We are singing in 5 different languages for this concert: English, Latin, Russian, Ukrainian, and Spanish.  I am so freakin' excited.  And so freakin' tired.   And hungry.  Damn.  My 3 hour nap meant I had no time for dinner earlier.  Fuck.  I had better do something about that.  TIme for a late-night trip to the store, due to lack of quick food here.  Audition prep on Sunday meant that I ran out of time for cooking for the week.  Merf.