the secret's out

i go to hip-hop class at broadway dance. for so long, i've managed to keep this vice of mine a secret, but with the advent of less homework and consequential more free time, i've been going so often that "i just feel like staying in / i'm too lazy to get off my couch" would not be effective. why did i keep it a secret for so long? now, i have to admit this has plagued me for some time. i am certainly not ashamed of my calorie burning, aggression releasing, leave sweaty and feeling ultra-sexy (minus the probable smell) activity. but it is mine. and, as any dirty little secret, the secret factor was an added thrill. since it's all out in the open now, i may as well...

--

in each class, everyone is either black, or asian and pretending to be black. it is no shock that for me the most challenging section of warm up (besides the grueling sequence of crunches) is the "attitude" section, comprised of menacing head bobs, grimaces and walking with a self-imposed limp. it's the part of the class i really feel my race. but the uncomfort doesn't last long, nor does anyone else in the class seem to notice.

perhaps it is this inherent vanity of the class that i love so much. it is the only point in my day when i am not only encouraged, but required to be self absorbed: "look in the mirror. it's the only way you're gonna see if you got it, because just prayin' ain't doin' anything for you. don't look at the people around you, they don't know. they just as clueless as you because they ain't lookin' in the mirror either." how could you not relish the invitation to make eyes at yourself while shaking your hips?

bev b., the teacher, has the power of a celebrity when she strides into a room. she yawns through step combinations i can't begin to understand. she somehow keeps a class laughing during the turn series and throws in comments on race and politics when demonstrating. she has the most loving way of singling students out when they are doing something wrong, identifying everyone by their race plus a defining article of clothing: "black girl with the pink scarf, it's left right not right left...love yourself, baby, kiss yourself if you wanna." she's just as excited as you are when you're nailing choreography, and, when she walks over to your side of the room, you push yourself even further.

favorite moment from saturday—
bev: "come on black girl with red shoes, white girl over here's got it, damn white girl's got it, don't be too sexy now, girl..."