#balletschools

Today's highlight was taking class at Myers Dance Center, home of the Northeast Ballet Company. It was the first day of classes for their fall season. I felt like I'd gone back in time to my own ancient history. Up a stairway to a cozy, clean studio in an old building. Piano music on the CD player, strict discipline in the classroom, chatter in the hallways. The weather has turned brisk almost as if on cue. It was a perfect replica of the best days of my youth, complete with class that didn't kick my ass but still made me feel like a dancer.

I'm looking forward to going back for class again on Tuesday. But until then, it's run-swim-eat-sleep, I guess. Especially because my husband won't be getting a day off this weekend. Gotta love tech.

Before and after class I walked around the tiny Schenectady business district. I discovered a really great coffee shop, The Happy Cappuccino, to which I plan to return often while we're here. Couches, chairs, desks, an upright piano, and, when I passed by after class, some kind of open-mike gathering. My kind of spot.

There was also an evening drum circle taking place on one of the main thoroughfares. 20-30 people of all types sitting in a circle, pounding away on drums of various shapes and sizes. The energy was wonderful but the city isn't quite populous enough to absorb that energy. Instead of amplifying a bustling night, it cuts the too-still edge of the evening. It exemplifies how the city feels in general, a restless abandoned thing that wants the world to know it's still alive but seems tethered and so, between bouts of thrashing, sits still against its crumbling, grand buildings, and waits.

Even during the day there is a quiet, defiant tension in so many of the people you see on the street. On the way to class it was extremely windy, and as my hair was wet and the weather was unexpectedly chilly, I put my scarf around my head to protect it. Not even five minutes after this, a man called out to me from across the street. "Hey you, hey you woman!" There was no other woman in sight, only him and a few other guys leaning up against an empty storefront. He saw I had noticed him and ran across the street to stand in my path.

"Why you wearin' that scarf on your head?" he asked. His tone was impossible for me to read. I didn't feel absolutely threatened, but I didn't feel like this was friendly or flirty either. It was difficult not to be overtly defensive.

"My hair is wet and I didn't want it to blow around," I told him. This was evidently not the answer he was expecting. He stuttered a bit and then asked me if I was a hair stylist or something. I said no, actually I'm an unemployed teacher. For some reason I did not feel comfortable saying I was a dancer. Felt too vulnerable. He wanted to know where I teach, where I'm from, and I said, "Vegas. Have a good day," over my shoulder and walked away as he tried to tell me he used to sell or do something in Vegas. It was a completely bizarre experience and I'm not really sure what to make of it. I expect he wanted my answer about the scarf to be religious. But I had no idea where he wanted to go from there. The ridiculous thing is that the scarf I had on my head could never be mistaken for a religious head covering by someone who knows what they look like. It's an $8 Old Navy knit nightmare, something akin to what grandma used to buy for you in 1982. This episode underscores how fragile a thing is "meaning," no matter what shape something takes, what is visible, or what is intended.