The scene of the crime
The staging area
The cheer squad
The bakesale
The witness and paparazzo
The partner in crime
Friday night was fun tho. Greg had been commissioned by Hunter University to be part of an art performance installation based on American pageantry. The basis pretty much, explained by Darren, the charming proprietor of the gallery on west 41st street with an odd little Scottish accent, was to remove the barriers commonly found between a would-be spectator and the groups performing in each room of the warehouse. First thing that came to mind was that those barriers are really only there so someone doesn't get knocked the hell out, but hey, this might be fun.
We functioned like a normal guard unit would, showing up late and not being prepared in the slightest. We managed to throw together a few combinations thta most of us caught on to. I remained in the rear to allow for maximum entertainment and least possible injury to innocent gawkers.
And there were gawkers. Quite a few. I was surprised actually. These art show crowds can be quite easily intrigued. But not as surprised as when the Hungarian band came in blasting their sousaphones and saxomophones, skirted dancers in tow and integrated themselves into our attempts at "pageantry". My crew seemed less than amused. I loved it.
The whole shebang was only about 2 and a half hours, but considering I hadn't done this since I was 22, my limit was reached about 45 minutes in. I hung in there because it was my swan song, but I was mostly doing runs and skipping the reps. In the end I gave you a few good takes and can feel good about it being the very last time I put myself on the stage. Curtain call? Nah.
And when I took my water/text/nap breaks Laura, like a good wife, filled in for me. She hadn't learned anything but of course that didn't stop her.
She's still got it.
The evening ended up exactly how it should have. With silk hanging from the rafters and me breaking a light. It's only fair.
The All-Stars of West 41st
The staging area
The cheer squad
The bakesale
The witness and paparazzo
The partner in crime
Friday night was fun tho. Greg had been commissioned by Hunter University to be part of an art performance installation based on American pageantry. The basis pretty much, explained by Darren, the charming proprietor of the gallery on west 41st street with an odd little Scottish accent, was to remove the barriers commonly found between a would-be spectator and the groups performing in each room of the warehouse. First thing that came to mind was that those barriers are really only there so someone doesn't get knocked the hell out, but hey, this might be fun.
We functioned like a normal guard unit would, showing up late and not being prepared in the slightest. We managed to throw together a few combinations thta most of us caught on to. I remained in the rear to allow for maximum entertainment and least possible injury to innocent gawkers.
And there were gawkers. Quite a few. I was surprised actually. These art show crowds can be quite easily intrigued. But not as surprised as when the Hungarian band came in blasting their sousaphones and saxomophones, skirted dancers in tow and integrated themselves into our attempts at "pageantry". My crew seemed less than amused. I loved it.
The whole shebang was only about 2 and a half hours, but considering I hadn't done this since I was 22, my limit was reached about 45 minutes in. I hung in there because it was my swan song, but I was mostly doing runs and skipping the reps. In the end I gave you a few good takes and can feel good about it being the very last time I put myself on the stage. Curtain call? Nah.
And when I took my water/text/nap breaks Laura, like a good wife, filled in for me. She hadn't learned anything but of course that didn't stop her.
She's still got it.
The evening ended up exactly how it should have. With silk hanging from the rafters and me breaking a light. It's only fair.
The All-Stars of West 41st
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