It’s been way too long since I’ve experienced the joys of having Angie Pontani as a teacher.
Now that I’m signed up and guaranteed a spot, I wanted to encourage all my ladies to sign up for Angie Pontani’s next go-go dance class with the School of Burlesque!
Angie is my dance idol, and ever since she won Miss Exotic World 2009, it’s been hard to pin her down in NYC as a teacher, so this is a class you should take advantage of if you have any interest in it at all!
Go here to register for the class, which is Saturday March 7th from 4-5:30.
I cannot rave about this enough.
If you live in any of the cities listed above and have a vagina, click here. Because you simply must dance.
Lately I’ve had a real hankering to take a hip hop dance class. This is partially out of boredom, as the dance classes here have been kinda lame in comparison to Chicago. Does that sound crazy? It’s true.
Yep. Throw the book at me. I’m guilty as sin.
Neary just sent me this fantastic Madonna video from 1983, and I love it love it love it. The little choreographed moves? The backup dancers? Priceless!
(skip the first minute if you’re allergic to annoying weirdly made up emcees in tuxedos)
The Retro Blog has a great blog post tracing the pre-Golden Girls careers of Rose, Dorothy, Blanche, and Ma. Go read it, but I had to repost this.
The election season is heating up, guys, and it’s getting really exciting. Lots of change on the line. You can really make a difference with your vote. Educate yourself.
It’s the New York Burlesque Festival Golden Pastie Awards!!!
Nominate your favorite New York burlesque dancers in these exciting categories, and email your picks to email@example.com!
McCain’s got “most likely to win on survivor” on lock, right? I mean, that’s a given.
Biggest Media Whore
Best Booty Shaker
Most likely to win on Survivor
Most likely to go Gay in 2009
Most likely to turn their name into a unpronounceable symbol
It’s 1987, and I am 8 years old and in the third grade. I get permission to go to the mall one Saturday with my best friends, the Sensational Six. I was excited about this grown-up trip, as we were going to be allowed to walk around sans parents, so I had my sister help me fix my hair. So of course, she took the crimping iron to it. The zig-zaggy dirty blonde mass was pulled into a banana clip, the jean jacket was thrown on, and I was out the door. I had a blast that day, acting stupid in Claire’s Jewelry, screeching loudly at cute boys, eating at the food court, laughing at everything, and just relishing the freedom of walking around in a big building without adults. This trip culminated in me buying George Michael’s album Faith on tape at TapeWorld. I had been a big Wham! fan, but when I saw the video for Faith, it stirred something weird and exhilarating inside me, and I decided that George Michael was the greatest man of all time. I campaigned hard for the tape, wrestled from its huge hard plastic hanger, to be played in the car on the way home, and succeeded. We all rocked out to Faith, the first track, and kept rocking to Father Figure, the second track. But then, track three: I Want Your Sex. I shrunk inside my jean jacket, feeling like a pervert and wishing I could disappear, as both parts one AND two of I Want Your Sex played and everyone stared out the window, silently begging for it to be over.
It’s 2007, and I’m in the hospital, smack dab in the middle of my “big sick”. It’s early morning. I’m woken up every morning at 4am by the blood draw folk, who take various containers of blood from me, and at 5am by the xray people, who sit me up in bed and take xrays of my chest. The cold metal I have to put my back against to get the xrays wakes me up permanently, and from then I just lay there, exhausted and bored and lonelier than I’ve ever felt. At 6am breakfast arrives, and I feed myself with some effort, as my hands still don’t really work. I usually follow breakfast with a bout of weak crying. Early mornings are the hardest. I am used to curling up in bed with Kumail at 6am, I’m used to being able to curl up, and I am unused to this much pain and terror. My entire life has changed over the span of two weeks, and I can’t really even grasp any of it. The Today show, which before made me want to vomit, is a welcome relief when it starts, as it’s at least distracting. Today’s guest is Stevie Nicks, who is scheduled to perform. I don’t know why I didn’t expect it to happen, but after a brief ass-kissing by Matt Lauer, she stands there, flanked by two musicians, and I hear the first strains of Landslide. I’ve never known heartache so profound. Stevie sang “can I sail through the changing ocean tides, can I handle the seasons of my life?” in her husky, aging voice, and I just broke, as I had been asking myself the same questions. I’ve never cried that hard in my life. I cried for myself, for my family, for my friends, for my parents’ dog at home without them, for my old life, for my independence, for my scarred body, for my lungs, for my heart, for everything. I cried, and when the song was over, I stopped. I supposed that if I was really asking myself if I could handle the seasons of my life, and if I had to have an answer, the answer would have to be yes. I was going to have to be okay with what was happening to me. And like it was any other day, I pulled myself up to sitting and reached for a magazine by my bed, muttering “It’s going to be ok” over and over like a mantra.
It’s 2000, I think, and Amber, my pudding sister for life, and myself have taken a Greyhound bus from NC to Atlanta. Why didn’t we drive? I don’t remember. Anyway, the trip was horrendous, and deserves it’s own blog altogether. We went down there to visit our friend Josh and to see the CURE!!! The trip was a blast, with Josh’s cracked out roommates and leather couches and weirdness, but managed to make it to the show, and stood in line for an hour or two with the rest of the gothed out crowd. Once inside, we took advantage of our relative youth and aggressive tendencies, elbowed our way to front row at the show, and waited and waited and waited. I always thought it was a cliche, but when the lights FINALLY went down, and when the first strains of guitar started, my breath caught in my throat, and I ceased feeling the push of the crowd around me, the screams in my ears. It felt religious. When Robert Smith began singing, I found myself wiping tears from my eyes, wondering why I was crying. I looked over at Josh and Amber, and they were both crying too, smiling like jackasses and absently wiping their own eyes. All of our eyeliner had streaked down our faces. It was a gorgeous moment. If only I could remember what song was playing…
It’s 1994, and I’m 15 and at Hellenbach, the natty terrible club we hung out at in my hometown. It’s 2008, and I’m at Don Hill’s at the Mondo dance party. It’s 2004 and I’m at Holiday Club in Chicago. It’s 2002 and I’m at a warehouse in Atlanta. It’s 1999 and I’m at a rave. It’s every moment I’ve ever had on a dance floor where the energy, music, and my mood match up just right to make me feel like I thought adulthood was supposed to feel, free and powerful and crazy and amazing. And I’m dancing.
I got this email from the World Famous Pontani Sisters but haven’t really seen it advertised anywhere else, so I thought I’d post it here. If you live in Brooklyn, run, don’t walk, to the Burlesque Flea Market!
Spend the afternoon with the Pontani Sisters sipping cocktails and SHOP, SHOP, SHOPPING! The Pontani Sisters will be selling off tons and tons of costumes, fabrics, trimmings, headdresses, costume jewelry, dance shoes and more! Don’t miss this amazing opportunity to purchase outrageous costumes and notions! Other vendors will be on hand offering up eccentric items like Lola Staar T-shirts, Our Lady of Perpetual Drama, Peekaboo Pointe pasties and sooo much more, including racks of pristine vintage clothing dating from the 1940’s to the 80’s!
cash only (ATM is conveniently located next door to Royale)
It’s at the Royale, at 506 5th Ave in Brooklyn, this Sunday from 4pm to 8pm!
Pasties with 25 cent stickers on them! Feather fans that still smell like makeup and exhibitionism! Dresses that conveniently velcro all the way up the side! Come on down and you’ll find me deliriously walking the aisles spending all the money I don’t have.