Flavor #11 - Learn to Play the Ukulele

Learn to Play the Ukulele - Me

March 18, 2010

It was my second week, and my playing wasn't much better than the week before. It had been hard trying to find time to practice, and when I actually did find the time, I could vaguely remember the tunes and the strumming patterns of the songs we had played.

There was a very big possibility that I was going to fail miserably.

I put on my best attitude, and walked through the door. As I came around the cubicle-like wall, I discovered my friend Marissa tuning her ukulele. She had made it! Flashing her a relieved smile, I sat in the open seat next to her. Marissa and I knew each other from church. One day, in passing conversation, we had discovered that we both had an interest in taking ukulele lessons at Old Town, so we decided to enroll in the same class. As I admired her golden ukulele with beautiful mother of pearl inlay, a birthday gift from her family and friends, I silently hoped she was as amateur as me.

I would be disappointed. Turns out that Marissa used to live in Milwaukee and had a group of friends who were all really into the ukulele, so you could say she had picked up a few things. Of course, it didn't really take much to be better than me. For one thing, she could actually strum; I was still having issues with the basic "down, up, down."

We started off the class reviewing "E Huli", first in the original key of C and then in the new key of F (F G7 C7). The C7 chord (1st finger, 1st fret, 1st string), was new but just as simple as its relative: C. I immediately bonded with this key because the chord progression felt very natural...on my fingers and on my voice.

E Huli had 4 verses, and as we jammed, Lani encouraged each verse to get a little faster. I liked this because it pushed me to go past my own expectations. Usually when I feel out of my comfort zone, my natural urge is to step back and get a handle on the situation; however, in this environment, I was forced to try, even if I didn't feel I was ready.

Speaking of not feeling ready, Lani announced that it was time to learn "Katchi." Everyone watched curiously as she demonstrated a basic, but flattened downward strum, muting the strings with the heel of her palm. The result was a very raw and stripped sound.

Marissa threw a look my way; she had attempted Katchi before, and apparentally it was not her forte.

As it turns out, it wasn't mine either. Though my palm repeatedly tried to mute the strings, they stubbornly continued to make sound. I was still trying to figure it out, when Lani instructed us to practice on an open chord, alternating between the katchi and regular strumming. As I faked the "down, up, katchi, up" pattern with everyone else, I started to get that the strum and the palm needed to happen almost simultaneously. I was amazed at how watching and imitating my peers actually made the learning easier and faster.

Of course as soon as I got comfortable, Lani had us try our new technique on "Island Style." Let's just say that katchi by itself was hard enough, katchi and chord progressions would need a little work.

As Marissa and I shopped in the Old Town Music store for an uke carrying case, I couldn't help

but scold myself a little. There were a few moments during class where I wanted to give up and wait until I got home to figure things out on my own. This is an impulse that I've had since...forever. I don't know whether it's pride or insecurity, but it feels so much easier for me to "fail" by myself, than risk looking like a fool. The great thing about this class is that you don't really have the option of giving up. The rest of the group is jamming, so you look like a fool if you don't join in. And really, is failing so scary? You hit a wrong note, you shake it off and keep on strumming. It's the same with life; don't let the "wrong notes" keep you from composing your masterpiece!

The song is going to be played with or without you, so you better join in the jam.

March 11, 2010

Island Style:

It was my first class, and I was late. Anxiously I panted up the steps, two at a time, to the Old Town School of Folk Music. The girl at the front desk sized up the small, awkwardly-shaped, cardboard box I was towing and informed me that Ukulele 1 was next door. I breathed a quick thanks and retraced my steps, two at a time, south to a blue-washed, brick building.

The iron guitar and banjo art above the door, told me was in the right place. I entered into a mixture of tuning and jamming and followed the music trail around the corner. There were ten or so students sitting in a half circle, holding what could have been miniature guitars. They were all facing a woman with golden brown skin and thick black hair. I assumed this was the popular Lanialoha Lee, our instructor. She greeted me with a "Hello!" and a laid back smile that said, "I'm happy you're here."

I took a seat and quickly removed my vibrant, red uke from it's cardboard case. While I tuned with the others, Lani laughed about the jam session she attended the night before at the bar down the street. I was instantly intrigued by her voice; it was thick and raspy along the edges, as though she'd spent her whole life laughing.

She gave me two sheets, one with chords, the other with words; I had missed the official first day, and that made me officially behind everyone else. After a refresher on last week's highlights like the proper placement(neck angled up, body in the crook of your arm), and the various strumming patterns (1: down down; 2: down up; 3: down up down); she started playing.

The Song: La Huli

The Chords: C D7 G7

The rest of the students joined her and I had no choice but to jump in. Thankfully, I had once attempted to play the guitar, so I knew how to read chords. Now, reading chords and getting my fingers to actually play them, was a different story. Awkwardly, I tried to follow her strumming pattern with my right and the chord progressions with my left.

C was easy enough: just the 3rd finger, 3rd fret, 1st string. D7 wasn't bad either: 3rd finger stays in place, 2nd finger bars the 2nd fret. I was delighted to find that I was much more successful barring chords on the Uke than the guitar. G7 got a little tricky: 1st finger, 1st fret, 2nd string, ; 2nd finger, 2nd fret, 3rd string; 3rd finger, 3rd fret, 1st string.

By itself, G7 wasn't so bad, but switching from D7 to G7 was intimidating.

On top of all this, she actually wanted us to sing...and in Hawaiian:

E Huli, E Huli Makou

E Huli, E Huli Makou

Kou maka, kou lima, me kou kino e,

E aloha mai (Vamp D7, G7, C)

I was especially fond of the vamp after "E aloha mai" in which we inserted, "Neer, Ne-neer, Neneer-neneer, Neneer." Unfortunately, I couldn't take full advantage of this merry phrase because I was busy focusing on three chord changes in a measure and a half.

When Lani sang, her voice was rich and deep, resonating comfortably where my mezzo voice barely skimmed the surface. I followed the beautiful Hawaiian words the best I could, but when I focused on singing, the other elements inevitably suffered. I couldn't help but giggle at my lack of coordination, and in reponse, Lani threw a lot of amused but encouraging smiles my way.

My technique wasn't the only thing that suffered. After an hour, my once soft and spoiled fingers were whipped and swollen. I ran my thumb over the burning tips, and silently willed the clock to read 6:50, but Lani wasn't through with us yet...

Song: Island Style

Chords: C C7 F G7

I didn't quite feel up for another song, but I trudged on. Lani led us in the chord progression, calling out the name of each chord as we played. There was an upside: we weren't learning any new chords, and the words were in english.

On the islands, we do it island style

From the mountain to ocean

from the windward to the leeward side

The song was written by John Cruz, a Hawaiian native living in the big city and longing for his homeland. The chorus speaks of the ocean dwellers, catching the fish off the warm sandy beaches, and the mountain dwellers growing the rice in the cooler more damp climates. Lani explained that everyone on the island does their share of the work so they can also share in the feasting and singing and playing, which the song refers to as, "kani ka pila." As Lani lovingly added her own memories to Cruz's, I started to sense that "Island Style" was more than lyric in a song: it was a lifestyle of people taking care of each other and enjoying life's simple joys.

As I packed up to go home, it also started to dawn on me that the ukulele is more than just a fun, toy-of-an-instrument: it's a piece of Lani's culture, one I can't wait to learn more about.

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Flavor #10 - Watch Cimarron and Gigi. Compare and contrast.

Watch both Cimarron (1931 Best Picture Winner) and Gigi (Best Picture Winner from the 31st Annual Academy Awards) - compare and contrast - Brett Shearer, Inland Empire CA

It seems my brother, Brett, and I have always had a very similar passion for movies; my interests usually lean towards the performance side of things, while his fixate on the story and direction. In high school he wrote and directed mini-movies for slew of class projects, everything from war epics to murder mysteries. I, the hopeful actress, was usually granted the sole, female role, whether it was simple bar wench or an unsuspecting Pogoball bouncer (who, unfortunately, was hacked into little pieces). Two grownups and two degrees later, his in film direction and mine in acting, we're still as passionate...and opinionated as ever.

When I asked Brett to contribute to my 31 Flavors list, he submitted several quirky suggestions ranging from, "Petition Hostess to bring back Blueberry Fruit Pies" to "Read 31 comic books." Finally I settled on: "Watch both Cimarron (1931 Best Picture Winner) and Gigi (Best Picture from the 31st Annual Academy Award) - compare and contrast." Besides loving the literal play on the "31" theme, I felt that the suggestion reflected the deeply rooted commonality between my brother and I.

Because Cimarron and Gigi are both Oscar Winners, I felt the most appropriate time to watch them was the night of the 2010 Academy Awards. So, while the rest of the movie lovers were watching Sandra Bullock win Best Actress for The Blind Side, I was holding a little Oscars of my own for two critically acclaimed classics from years past.

And the nominees are...

Best Writing (Adapted) screenplay:

Howard Estabrook (Cimarron): An epic drama about Yancey Cravat, a restless newspaper editor/lawyer and his reluctant wife, Sabre, tackling the newly settled Oklahoma territory at the end of the 19 century. A fervent cluster of land rushes, gunfights and court trials, Cimarron is a solemn struggle that covers a wide spectrum of worldly issues in its 131 minutes.

Alan Jay Lerner (Gigi): A vibrant musical comedy about the unexpected romance between Gigi, a french courtesan-in-the-making, and Gaston, a rich bachelor who has grown weary of Parisian superficiality. Rich and snappy, this Lerner/Loewes collaboration creates a charming commentary on the thing the Parisian's "won't live without": love.

And the Oscar goes to...

GIGI

It seemed as though Cimarron was trying to fight too many battles, physically and figuratively. There's racism towards African and Native Americans, discrimination against women and Jews; you name it. These cinematic sermons, usually force fed by Yancey , felt strained and quite often melodramatic. Gigi was fresh and fun, and I found much more satisfaction in the characters' thoughtfully conceived, inner battles. The clever writing even helped me to swallow the Gigi's "training," without too much moral reflux.

Best Cinematography/Sound Editing

Cimarron: The first scene opens on the Oklahoma Land Rush. An overwhelmed but eager camera tries to keep up with horses and wagons as they race across the vast, gray, territory. The rest of the film's dramatic action, large or small, is gulped down in much the same way: in wide-angle shots. And while the shots are bold, the accompanying sound crackles like an old record and the spoken dialogue barely floats above a steady stream of static.

Gigi: The story is pieced together with strong panoramic views, showing off the treasures of Paris; as well as tightened close-ups, honoring the more detailed moments. The camera respects the nature of the musical world, and does its best to capture the flavor of each song. The transition from these songs to spoken word are rather seamless despite the obvious studio recording quality.

And the Oscar goes to...

GIGI

Although Cimarron had exciting shots of cowboys on horseback, the angles seemed to run parallel to the action instead of getting in the midst of it. Sometimes a scene fell flat because the shot couldn't accurately portray the significance of the moment. In Gigi, the camera seemed to break that barrier: participating in the large, curtain-stopping scenes, and quietly observing the smaller, more intimate moments.

In addition to the camera's limitations, intimate moments in Cimarron were drowned out by so many different sounds competing for my attention. Except for the dialogue and music, Gigi was marvelously silent. And not only did it have the complexity of mixing music with dialogue, it also had the added duty of dubbing a different voice in for Leslie Caron during "Say A Prayer for Me Tonight." All of this was done with very little technical interference.

Best Costume/Makeup:

Cimarron: Yancey Cravat arrives on the scene, large in stature and in even larger makeup. His darkened eyebrows and painted lips sharply contrast his chalky skin. The other characters, though not quite as severe, all look a little out of place in this hot and dusty Midwest. Their western garb transforms over 4 decades: Yancey's ivory-handled pistols and Sabre's sturdy dresses of the 1890s, eventually simplify into the suits and shift dresses of the 1920s.

Gigi: All of the characters are polished to perfection. The men are perfectly bronzed and the women are peaches and cream. Each scene is brimming with high fashion, and the gossip scene at Maxim, stuffed with feathers and sparkles, is no exception. The men are starched and pressed, accessorized with eye pieces and canes; the women are draped in bolts of embroidered satin and frills, topped with flashy head bands and hats.

And the Oscar goes to...

MAKEUP: CIMARRON

Though Gigi's cheeks were always rosy and Gaston's tan was flawless, there wasn't much of a variance throughout the show, except maybe longer lashes for the "more womanly" Gigi. Throughout Cimarron, Sabre and Yancey age over forty years and had the limitations of black and white film working against them. I give them the Oscar for their effort. The fact that I'm a fan of Zombie Horror may have something to do with it.

COSTUME: GIGI

I'm not sure that Cimarron, a dusty western, even had a chance against elegant french fashion, but what really swayed me was Gigi's evolution from a flouncing tomboy in a striped skirt, to a graceful young woman in form-fitting eyelet. This breathtaking evolution is observed by Gaston who stubbornly compares her to a swollen grape, but then unavoidedly recalls how the exquisite dress, "...clung on one so young."

Best Original Song: Lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner, Music by Frederick Loewe

Thank Heavens for Little Girls (Gigi): Both the opening and closing song, Honore Lachaille croons about the romantic promise of youth, foreshadowing Gigi's transformation from awkward teenager to enchantress.

Lyric: Thank heaven for little girls, for little girls get bigger everyday

Gigi (Gigi): Gaston's passionate soliloquy that evolves from fitful denial to elated wonderment.

Lyric: Gigi, have I been standing up too close or back too far?
Waltz at Maxim's (She Is Not Thinking of Me) (Gigi): A deceptively merry waltz underscored by Gaston's brooding distrust of his latest birdbrained mistress.

Lyric: She's so ooh la la la la, So untrue la la la la!

And the Oscar goes to...

'THANK HEAVEN FOR LITTLE GIRLS"

And thank heaven for Frederick Loewe's sweet! blessed! underscoring; the music was such a welcomed contrast to the almost deafening silence of Cimarron.

The Best Actress in a supporting role:

Hermione Gingold (Gigi): As Madam Alvarez, Gigi's wise and protective grandmother. Although once one of the most admired courtesans of her generation, she struggles with Gigi sharing her same fate.

Estelle Taylor (Cimarron): As Dixie Lee, the notorious town prostitute who will dare anything to leave her rowdy past behind.

And the Oscar goes to...

ESTELLE TAYLOR

I found it interesting that even though these two movies were set in approximately the same time period, courtesans are condemned in one part of the world and glorified in the other. Although Hermione Gingold's hootie charm and clever delivery make for a delightful performance, I have to subtract a few points for her British accent when she's supposed to be French. Estelle Taylor's portrayal of the downtrodden but hopeful Dixie Lee, was the only engaging story in Cimarron. This sultry sinner tricks Yancey, steals his horse, and claims his land. How could Madam Alvarez compete with that?

Best Actor in a supporting role:

Maurice Chevalier (Gigi): As Honore Lachaille, Gaston's charming uncle, and all-knowing Narrator. He opens and closes the the show with a twinkle in his eye, giving insightful commentary about the way love is done in Paris. Though forever youthful and therefore forever after youthful women, he is somewhat still affected by his attachment to Madam Alvarez.

Eugene Jackson (Cimarron): As Isaiah, the black child servant who stows away with the Cravat family to experience a better life. Extremely loyal to Yancey, he ultimately gives his life attempting to rescue the Cravat toddler from crossfire.

And the Oscar goes to...

EUGENE JACKSON

Though Maurice Chevalier might have charm in abundance, I think Eugene Jackson deserves the Oscar for enduring such a stereotypical caricature of a black servant. He added much needed humor to the film, but most likely at the expense of his pride.

Best Actress in a leading role:

Leslie Carron (Gigi): As Gigi, the precocious courtesan-in-training who, questioning the Parisian's definition of love, rebels against her predetermined fate.

Irene Dunn (Cimarron): Playing Sabre Cravat, Yancey's long suffering and at times intolerant wife, who in Yancey's absence becomes self-reliant and eventually a benevolent member of congress.

And the Oscar goes to...

LESLIE CARON

Although a huge fan of Irene Dunn, her character, who was always playing second fiddle to Yancey, wasn't given the chance to fully develop. I believe had she had better material, her performance would have been much more stimulating. In contrast, Leslie Caron's character journeyed from "that funny, awkward girl" who Gaston knew, to the "miracle" who stole his heart. Through musical treats like, "The Night they invented Champaign," Caron shows off her childlike charm, then masterfully sheds the girl to reveal the woman, confessing, "I would rather be miserable with you than without you."

Best Actor in a leading role:

Richard Dix (Cimarron): As Yancey Cravat, the newspaper editor, lawyer, gunslinger, and preacher rolled up into one. When he isn't shooting up bad guys, defending prostitutes, or giving his life to save his fellow workers, he's making long winded speeches about his ideals.

Louis Jourdan (Gigi): As Gaston LaChaille, rich playboy bored with unfaithful mistresses and Parisian politics. When he falls for the precocious courtesan-in-training, Gigi, Gaston must reevaluate his comfortable and spoiled views on love.

And the Oscar goes to...

LOUIS JOURDAN

Although Yancey demonstrates a powerful presence, necessary for a leading man, his performance seems to be better suited for the stage or the silent film era. During his flashy courtroom scene his rigorous head shaking comes off as campy. Louis Jourdan balances his humorous character moments (It's a Bore) and tender dramatic moments (Gigi) with skill. Unlike Yancey, his adventures are those of the heart, and his sacrifice for the one he loves fulfills him for the first time in his life.

Also, anyone who can pull off exclaiming "Gigi" ten times in a song, with such sweet sincerity, gets my vote.

Best Director/Picture:

Vincent Minelli (Gigi)

: Minelli's artful direction, rich script and flavorful cast creates a feast for the eyes and heart.

Wesley Ruggles (Cimarron): The tagline reads, "The World's Mightiest Show," and that's exactly what Ruggles attempted. The story is mighty, the acting is mighty, the shots are mighty, and Yancey is the mightiest of them all.

And the Oscar goes to...

GIGI

After the many gray shades of Cimarron, Gigi was like cool water on a parched throat. Everything was in full bloom: the story, the scenery, as well as the performances. While technicolor and thirty years of experience may have given it an unfair advantage, I felt the film's greatest strength was not the technical advances of the day, but the development of it's characters and their relationships with each other: two things that Cimarron lacked.

Now, no Oscar ceremony would be complete without an acceptance speech, so here we go:

I would like to thank Google for allowing me to blog on their site for free. I would also like to thank my family and friends for their love and support of my crazy 31 Flavors adventure. I would especially like to thank my brother, Brett for believing in me and casting me in his shows. If it wasn't for him, Flavor #10 wouldn't have been possible. Lastly, I'm grateful for this crazy year because it's taught me that life might not always be as sweet as a French pastry, but it is anything but a bore!

Flavor #9 - Take a Pole Dancing Class

Take a Pole Dancing Class - Jason and Elizabeth, Chicago IL

It was pretty much like any other dance studio I've ever been in...except for the 7 poles planted in the middle of the room.

Jeanette, Kristine and I set down our things and each claimed one of the purple floor mats arranged in a circle. My eyes skimmed over the amber washed walls and came to rest on a sultry bench, heavily adorned with pillows. It mildly reminded me of what you'd see in a harem den. I scooped my knees under my chin and buried a giggle in my arm: my life over the past year has been anything but boring.

Our instructor took a relaxed pose in the middle of the circle. She looked like your average girl, about 5'2", long brown hair, medium build; not extremely curvy or athletic looking. With a pleasant, velvety voice she introduced herself as Italia. The taller, curvier, woman next to her, with a mane of smoldering red hair, was Diana, her assistant. After giving a brief history of her time with the company, Italia turned to the girl on her left and asked:

"So, why are you taking a Pole Dancing class?"

She continued this ritual all the way around the room. The answers ranged from, "My friend dragged me here" to, "I saw it on the Martha Stewart show." As she rotated from each girl to the next, I couldn't help but notice her energy. Her voice was soothing, but it was more than that; she spoke every word deliberately as if she really enjoyed talking. I don't mean that she enjoyed hearing herself speak; she actually sounded as though each consonant was a joy to pronounce. That sensuality trickled down into the rest of her presence, even the simple way she shifted from person to person, giving them her entire focus. I realized this girl was not average. She held a confidence that was unique and powerful, and I was mesmerized by it.

After Italia personally welcomed each student to the studio, she briefly narrated how Sheila Kelley, the actress who started the company, once attended a strip club to help prepare for a role in a film. She was intrigued by the confidence and control the dancers had over their bodies. A few years and a couple kids later, Sheila felt like a foreigner in her own body. Longing for how lean and confident she felt when she was using this uniquely feminine workout routine, she kicked her husband out of their home office and installed a pole. It wasn't long before her friends recognized a change in her and wanted to know her secret. That secret bloomed into a chain spanning 7 cities.
Italia went on to explain the portion of that secret we'd be experiencing. Because this was an intro class, a big chunk of our session would be a 50 minute workout that created the foundation for the more advanced movement. I must admit I was a tad disappointed that we wouldn't be playing jungle gym, but I understood the need for the basics. She called our attention to the fact that there were no mirrors. She explained that at S-Factor, they want the experience to be very personal and comfortable, so the sessions are done in the dark, with no mirrors, and only women: that way we wouldn't be as likely to judge ourselves or each other. Later I would realize how much I truly support this concept.
Diana dimmed the lights and Italia, along with the rest of the class, became a blackened silhouette. I knew Kristine was next to me, but that awareness faded with the music's escalating waves. The beat flooded my head, and spilled over onto my limbs.

My inner voice may have objected to the volume, but I couldn't hear it. At that moment, my only option was to feel.

Just above the music I could hear Italia's voice tugging me through a fusion of Yoga and Pilates techniques. Each exercise, while designed to and strengthen and lengthen, came with its own S-Factor twist. My favorite part of the workout was the upper and lower body rotations. Seated, we gracefully reached overhead to one side and continued the spinal rotation forward and around. As my hair cascaded about me, fingertips trailing across the floor, I couldn't help but appreciate the delicate femininity. We did a similar, slightly edgier, version with our hips, and I must say I didn't mind that movement either; it was such a physical example of a woman's quiet dignity combined with fierce pride: as though we were embracing the girl and woman all at once.
The Flirt:

Eventually our crunches and stretches evolved into more specific movements, one of those being, "The Flirt." Lying on our backs, Italia instructed us to raise our legs at a 90 degree angle, and take turns rubbing one foot up and down the other. This movement reminded me of the foot-warming ritual I practice on cold Chicago nights. Casually, I traced the inside of my high arch past my narrow ankle and just slightly up my calf: observing the smoothness of my recently shave legs, and noting with annoyance the prickly patch that I missed. The motion itself seemed quite simple, but I found that it triggered a kind of playfulness and wonder. Suddenly my feet, two slaves that I abuse constantly, were being glorified: red, chipped, toenails and all. I was allowing my body to admire and thank itself, instead of forcing it to do my every whim and punishing it when it doesn't react the way I want it to.

The S walk:

In Ancient Greek and Roman art, the "S Curve" refers to the act of settling one's center of gravity to one side, creating a flowing "S" shape. This concept is represented beautifully in the very famous Venus de Milo. The art of the "S Walk" was to step into the hip like you're holding a bag of groceries or a toddler, while slightly trailing the opposite foot behind you. Italia had us leave our mats behind to become moving manifestations of this term.

As we walked in a circle, I felt nothing like a Venus de Milo.

As a matter of fact, having a slight deficiency in the hip department, I would bet that my "Curve" is probably shaped more like a "7" or a "J."

I was grateful for the dimmed lights and the ability to embarrass myself in private.

The Firefly:

Diana the brightened the lights. To every one's joy, it was time for some pole dancing. Italia demonstrated how to do a little move called "The Firefly." Gripping with her dominant hand and hooking the heal of her opposite leg around around the pole, she sat back into her hips. From there, she let gravity swing her body towards the hooked leg, and as she spun around the pole, raised her standing leg to meet the other. When she came to rest, she planted both feet and gracefully rolled up through her spine to a standing position. She emphasized that even if the execution was poor, the finish must always be confident.
Kristine and I claimed a pole and made our first clunky attempts. We quickly came to appreciate the strength and grace that it takes to control the movement: while Italia's demonstration looked elegant and effortless, our version looked like a pair of awkward fireman. Gratefully, Diana came over to offer advice. She encouraged me to trust my strength and use my momentum to create some distance between my body and the pole. Finally, some pole burns and a few shin bruises later, I figured it out.
For the last portion of the class, Italia danced for us. The entire group piled onto the "Harem Bench" while Diana re dimmed the lights. Italia started out subtly, incorporating familiar moves from the workout we did earlier, then eventually worked into a full blown cyclone, whipping her hair and body around the pole in a continuous and thrilling motion. We cheered her on as she climbed fluidly to the top and then, with very little help from her hands, proceeded to descend, head first, to the ground. I remember shaking my head in awe and in that moment, being very proud to be a woman. Perhaps I had a little glimpse of what Sheila Kelly experienced.

On the bus ride home, I pondered what makes S-Factor such a success. The website reads, "You want to learn to pole dance...you don't think you can do it, but you want to try." I think that this statement is true to some extent. Although most women would judge someone who practices pole-dancing as a profession, some of them probably yearn for a small portion of that womanly confidence and power. Because sensual exploration is associated with negative things like strip clubs, it is stereotyped as bad; therefore those who are trying to be good, suffocate that nurturing part of their identity.

S-Factor's mission statement declares that it wants to dissolve that stereotype by helping women to "become comfortable with, able to express and own their wholesome sexuality." I found the term "wholesome sexuality" interesting. I do believe that putting women in touch with their sexuality in an empowering and non-exploitative way is a positive thing. Ironically; however, I think that most of the class's intrigue, is that you're flirting with something that isn't wholesome. I'll admit that part of the reason I chose this flavor was because I wanted to be a bit shocking, and I would bet most of the girls in the class found it a novelty to be a little naughty.

The very cool and unexpected thing is that I did come away from the class feeling happier and more connected with my womanly self: not just physically but emotionally as well. By facing and accepting my physical flaws, and celebrating my tiniest of strengths, I was nurturing the places within that usually echo, "You're not good enough."

I support S-Factor's mission, although I think it might take a while for Sheila Kelly to transform the world's view of pole dancing.

In the meantime, don't be surprised if you see me trying out the Firefly on a bus stop pole.

*This blog entry, I am grateful to be a woman: physically, intellectually and emotionally.

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