Thursday, August 25, 2011

My Dad. Kardashian. NBA.

"Who is this Kim Kardouche-ian?"

"She married a guy with an MBA? Did he go to Wharton?"

"Is that their picture? Wow, that guy looks just like a basketball player on the Nets."

Sunday, August 14, 2011

Tripping the Light Fantastic in Zumba Class

I like the Zumba. With brutal repetition, I can even manage all the steps. I can shake it in the grand style of a non-latin white girl, olay olay olay. My Zumba career mostly goes down at the YMCA in New Jersey. There's a class right after work.

In Zumba class, I like to stand way over to the side and keep to myself. A lot of scuffling for position goes on in the middle of the room and despite the impressive nature of my moves, I see no great need to grandstand front and center.

As it turns out, this peripheral position also afforded me a measure of safety when the fight broke out recently. The one lady got a little angry when the other lady spun wild with her salsa twirl. A spandex New Jersey catfight broke out, slap slap slap.

The instructor turned off the music and we all silently watched the two of them go at it. Some others were really worried the brawler ladies would hurt themselves, but mostly I just damned it all to hell that I didn't have my phone on me with the camera. Freaking YouTube massive viral opportunity FAIL.

Last week it was too hot to run on Saturday so I decided I'd take a Zumba class at Alvin Alley on 54th Street. I don't know what the hell I was thinking. The class consisted of 45 broadway dancers and, oh yes, me. I would suggest it was inspirational in a stretch goal sort of way.

For example, when the teacher said "kick it" most of the students flung up a leg and touched the ceiling with the pointed toe of their special dancing sneaker. On the other hand, I focused on not mistakenly nailing anybody in the back of the thigh.

I also noticed that it takes a broadway dancer like, one viewing, to memorize five hundred steps. In the end, I think I earned an A for effort. Nonetheless, I was careful to apologize to everybody in my immediate vicinity lest anybody want a piece of me. Luckily, I wasn't in New Jersey.

Sunday, August 07, 2011

Is there a 3 foot tall doctor in the house with a solid right hook?

Scene: Ella and Jackson’s 4th Birthday party at the community pool. Shallow end. Bright afternoon sunshine.

Three chubby-cheeked girls in flouncy pink bathing suits cluster over a soggy stuffed dog with mangy tan fur. The dog has been laid out on miniature boogie board near the edge of the water.

Little Girl 1: “The doggie wants to go swimming!”
Little Girl 2: (Hands on hips). “No he doesn’t. That dog is dead.”
Little Girl 3: “Quick! Maybe we can do CPR!”
(Plucks off Ariel Princess Ring from forefinger, starts pounding the drenched stuffed animal on and about the chest and head.)

Tan colored water sluices from patient, fur barely visible under earnest paramedic wallops.