Top 5 things I dislike about my Dance History class

1. It seems like every reading we do has that nasty, self-congratulatory, "aren't I so deep and intelligent" kind of introductory section in which the author uses a pretty simple word like "form," then goes on to explain for three or four paragraphs what "form" means to them, and what they mean when they say it. If you're making one word do that much work, I certainly hope you're paying it overtime. 
2. One of the professors wrote the textbook for the class. I am highly scornful of professors who do that. You may be an expert in the field, but I'm sure you aren't the only expert. There are plenty of other people who write about African-American protest traditions; it's a fairly popular subject. So get over yourself and don't assign your own book as required reading. 
3. While we're on the subject of readings, I have to say this: the class is called "Dance in the 20th Century: African-American Protest Traditions." Maybe a third of the assigned readings are about dance. Even fewer are about protest traditions. While things like the origins of the blues and the psychology surrounding the Freedmen's Bureau are certainly interesting, I signed up for a class in dance history. I feel like I have to beg my professors to actually talk about dance history, which they almost never do. That brings me to my next point....
4. What are my professors talking about, if not dance history? Why, they're one-upping each other, of course! Something in their relationship is rotten or off-balance, because any time one of them makes a point, the other one feels pressure to respond immediately with a better point. This vicious cycle frequently spins them far off-topic, and their long-winded theoretical monologues are not nearly as interesting as the very subtle looks on their faces. When Professor A is talking, Professor B looks mildly irritated and impatient, like someone who's waiting for the right time to get up and use the bathroom, and she frequently exchanges Looks with the TA. When Professor B is talking, Professor A takes on a really interesting look that is best described as a smile on top of a sneer. (When I described this look to Zaineb, she said, "This class must be boring if you're spending so much time analyzing their faces!") It's juuuuuuust short of condescension. Highly distracting and not at all educational. 
5. By far the worst part of this class is the knowledge that if I had just taken it at Smith (which, as it turns out, I could have), I would be taking it with my favorite professor, who is my favorite professor largely because of her competence. 

With exhaustion comes peace

Tuesdays and Thursdays are my busiest days, but I love them the best. I get up early for Contemporary at 9, then hop a bus to Hampshire around 11:30, and I have "Dance in the 20th Century: African American Protest Traditions," followed by Making Dances 2. Then I jump on a bus and go home.

It sounds like it would be tedious and unpleasant, but it's really wonderful. First of all, I have Contemporary with Candice Salyers, one of my favorite humans on this Earth. Five lessons in with her, I feel like my style and understanding of the way I move has changed forever. I'm already getting the bun out and learning to loosen up. (Shockingly, a full semester of musical theater jazz did nothing for my style; I continued to dance everything like ballet, only in a backwards hinge.) Having dance first thing wakes me up, and I feel like my whole body is ready to face the day and embrace the world. I frequently bounce out of class feeling chipper and grinning obnoxiously at strangers.

The bus to Hampshire takes about 20 minutes (there's rarely much traffic), and I enjoy that time to just hang out in my own head for a while. In high school I think the real reason why I was so chockablock with neuroses was because I spent so much time on buses or waiting for them, with nothing else to do but think. Now, my schedule is so busy that the opportunity to just be with my own thoughts is something I relish. My profound thoughts on these bus rides usually revolve around the houses the bus passes, which ones I'd like to live in, and what my life might be like if I lived in them. This is the difference between Erika's relationship with architecture and my own. She likes to design houses in accordance with what she knows about people and their lives, what they might need space for. I like to imagine slipping into a house and by extension, somebody's life. This mentality probably just proves that I've read "The Lone Pilgrim" too many times, but it's still a fun game to play.

As for Hampshire classes, they're very interesting and fun, and my professors are very knowledgeable, but the thing that really blows my mind is how friendly everyone is. Complete strangers have walked up to me and started up conversations on multiple occasions. Sure, they might be hitting on me, but I think it's more likely that Hampshirites are just very social creatures. Anyway, I don't really love dance history that much, but that's just because I don't like analyzing articles. (See: why I am not a history major.) We get to see all kinds of wonderful dances that are all-new to me, and that is remarkable. Making Dances is probably my favorite class right now, or at least tied. It's certainly my smallest class; there are only five of us. Like all of my current and previous dance professors, Daphne is pretty groovy (word chosen for connotations) but very down-to-earth and thoughtful as well. In her class, I've come up with the best material I've ever produced, and the best part is that the majority of her teaching is guidance. The magic was in me all along!

At 3:45, I get on the bus headed home, mind racing with ideas for choreography and body so exhausted I sometimes wonder if I'll have to ride till the end of the line. Today I learned a very important lesson: if I don't save the cookie from lunch for the bus ride home, I will have to crawl up Bedford Terrace on my hands and knees. Dancers are the ultimate masochists. If we don't feel completely ravaged, we're all disappointed. My grueling day leaves me blissfully content.

Calm before the storm

All my friends have a ton of work already, but I don't have any assignments yet. Tomorrow I'm starting Chem (technically I had Chem on Friday, but with a different professor) and working from 12:15 to 5:15. The original plan was African dance on Monday nights, but I don't think I can do that, especially since I have  to start rehearsals for my piece for Making Dances 2 very soon. Things are going to get crazy starting tomorrow, and I'm trying to enjoy my free time now, but to be honest, being the only one with nothing to do is making me nervous. It feels like I'm in that stress dream where you've forgotten to do all your work all semester. Soon I'll be back in my favorite soundproof room, listening to Matt & Kim and writing out all my notes, then typing up what I've written out for further retention.

Speaking of Making Dances 2, my professor seems very nice but (predictably) she's a little vague. She told us to explore as many kinds of music and as many styles of dance as possible, but she didn't provide any examples of what dances we should see. As it happens, I am not nearly as well versed about specific dances as I should be, so I am left with nowhere to start. Today I watched Paul Taylor's Esplanade, which completely blew me away. It's remarkable in that the actual movement is very simple; except for the very end of the piece, the dancers primarily run in and out of various formations. That description makes the dance sound dull, however, and it's one of the most stirring pieces of choreography I've ever seen. The dancers are extraordinary! Their energy and precision (just because they were mostly running and shifting weight, doesn't mean they were sloppy. Every breath and blink was deliberate) drive the whole piece. The best performances come from casts who are really comfortable with each other and relate to each other really well. More than anything, that's what I want to see in my piece, but you can't force people to be close. I have to let it happen. Roll with it. Everything will work out.