Long Live the (Mc)Queen

I am not a fashionista, by any stretch of the imagination: I have been known to wear pajama pants on grocery store runs, and also I own a Snuggie. In my weak defense, my lack of creativity with my daily ensembles mostly stems from the fact that I rarely wear an outfit for longer than my 15-minute bike ride to and from the theatre (and also, the cost of my dream wardrobe far exceeds my anemic funds). But despite my "black-goes-with-everything" amount of effort that I put into my personal everyday look, I do have a typically girlish love and appreciation for fashion, and one of my favorite designers is the late, great Alexander McQueen, whose garments never lack for imagination or drama.

The current creative director of Alexander McQueen, one Sarah Burton, spoke with Vogue recently about several of McQueen's dresses, which are set to be part of the Costume Institute's upcoming exhibition "Alexander McQueen: Savage Beauty," opening May 4 at the Met in New York City. Turns out that the stories behind McQueen's designs are as inspired and as dramatic as they look.

The dress below is from the Fall 2006 collection, called "Widows of Culloden." Burton tells Vogue: "The collection was about the 1745 massacre of the Scottish Jacobites by the English, which Lee felt so passionately about because of his Scottish family heritage, which his mother had researched. The women were the widows of the slaughtered army. This dress was actually based on my wedding dress--I got married two years earlier. We had to figure out how to make lace work in the round with those ruffles because Lee hated gathering. So we cut out all of the flowers from the lace and reappliquéd it on tulle to make our own fabric. This is the collection most people remember as the one with Kate Moss in a hologram. Oh, my God, it was so beautiful. He loved that show."


And of this dress, from the "Voss" Spring 2001 collection, Burton recalls: "So much of this show was about the collective madness of the world. It was presented in a two-way mirrored glass box in London, and the girls had bandaged heads, acting like inmates of a mental asylum. Lee wanted the top of this dress to be made from surgical slides used for hospital specimens, which we found in a medical-supply shop on Wigmore Street. Then we hand-painted them red, drilled holes in each one, and sewed them on so they looked like paillettes. We hand-painted white ostrich feathers and dip-dyed each one to layer in the skirt."


Alexander McQueen's designs are beautiful not only for their masterful execution and obvious uniqueness, but because his pieces evoke strong reactions and emotions, and convey a sense of importance and story (if not exactly the tale which inspired the designer). His clothes are art and theatre unto themselves, and for this somewhat self-apathetic fashion lover, worthy of worship, indeed.

Grenade

I am the first to admit that I am the queen of guilty pleasures when it comes to music: I have a shameful amount of Abba, Hanson, Journey, Sonny & Cher, etc. on my iPod; and I've been known to sing Spice Girls and the like in public on multiple occasions. So more often than not, I can easily handle (and sometimes, secretly like) most of the Top 40-heavily produced-one hit wonder confections that come out of the big music man factories. There is, however, one song that makes my skin crawl, my mind boggle, and my ears bleed every time I hear it--which, unfortunately for me, is much more frequently than I'd like given its current popularity; the most recent listening occurred on the bus two days ago, inspiring this post. That tune is Bruno Mars' Grenade, and I analyze the lyrics for you today to further illustrate my deep loathing for this piece of pop.

Let me start by saying: Bruno Mars is a ridiculous stage name. According to Wikipedia, Mars was christened Peter Gene Hernandez, raised in Hawaii, and was dubbed Bruno because of his resemblance to overweight professional wrestler Bruno Sammartino. If my parents had given me a nickname because my two-year-old self had looked like a chubby athlete who pinned other men in unitards to a mat for a living, I would have shed that moniker like snakeskin, but if Peter Gene Hernandez likes the comparison, more power to him. Especially since he is now quite rich under the first name "Bruno." But I digress. Back to his major solo hit, Grenade.

Easy come, easy go, that's just how you live
Oh, take, take, take it all but you never give
Should've known you was trouble from the first kiss
Had your eyes wide open, why were they open?

So. Bruno introduces the subject of this song--we presume, a lady muse, whose presence in his life has inspired such great music--as one who is fairly relaxed with regards to how she lives her life. But seconds after proclaiming the girl's "c'est la vie" approach to life, Bruno tells us that this girl is also kind of a selfish brat. She takes and takes and takes but never gives. Bruno has clearly penned this ballad after he terminated his relationship with this lady, since his 20/20 hindsight inspires him to croon that he "should've known [she] was trouble from the first kiss." This leads into one of my very least favorite lyrics in the song: "Had your eyes wide open, why were they open?" Well, Bruno. (A) Why were your eyes open? Because there's no way you could have known her eyes were open unless yours were, too. And (B) What's wrong with kissing with your eyes open? Some people might call that very romantic. Perhaps this girl of yours just wanted to gaze into the face that so resembles the large professional wrestler Bruno Sammartino. You should be flattered.

Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, you did
To give me all your love is all I ever asked
'Cause what you don't understand is

Bruno, it seems, gave this woman all he had, and she responded by tossing it in the trash, yes, tossing it in the trash. And what did he ask for in return? Oh, just ALL OF HER LOVE. Ok, Bruno. My research shows that you are 25 years old. Most 25-year-old males--in particular, wealthy, famous, music star males--are not generally the "commitment" type. Perhaps this girl was understandably wary about giving you the entirety of "her love" because she didn't want to feel like a moron when photos of you and some other pretty young thing invariably surfaced on PerezHilton.com when you went on tour in a month or two. Cut her some slack. But no...

I'd catch a grenade for ya
Throw my hand on a blade for ya
I'd jump in front of a train for ya
You know I'd do anything for ya

I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won't do the same

Whoa there, Bruno. After berating this girl for daring to keep her eyes open while exchanging saliva with him, and further admonishing her for not giving all of her heart to him immediately, turns out Bruno is just cray-cray. He says that he would catch a grenade for this girl, slice his hand on a sharp object for her, jump in front of a (presumably speeding) train for her. He goes on to swear that he would endure all of the aforementioned pain, plus he would take a bullet to the cranium and even die for this female. Fine. So we, as listeners, are expected to believe that this is the deal: Bruno is very irritated with his lover for not fully reciprocating his feelings, gifts, etc. (Plus she has those pesky open eyes.) Despite all of his quarter-life-crisis frustration, Bruno still loves her. So much, in fact, that he would put himself in incredibly improbable, very ridiculous situations that would endanger/terminate his life, all for this lady. Are we expected to find this romantic? Because if my boyfriend played with grenades or knives, or jumped in front of a public transportation vehicle moving at high speeds, or fiddled with loaded guns anywhere near the vicinity of his brain, all for me, and ended up severely injuring himself (or worse)? I'd be freaking pissed. That's not love. That's extreme stupidity.

Black, black, black and blue, beat me 'til I'm numb
Tell the devil I said 'hey,' when you get back to where you're from
Mad women, bad women, that's just what you are, yeah
You'll smile in my face then rip the brakes out my car

Now Bruno exposes his masochistic tendencies. He reminds us of the traditional colors involved in the composition of most bruises (black, black, black, and blue), and then orders his lady love, "beat me 'til I'm numb." He follows this delicate request by insinuating that this girl whom he allegedly loves so much was actually conceived, born, and raised in Hell: Bruno asks her to give Satan his best when she goes back from whence she came. Bruno is once again starting to sound rather resentful of his romantic partner, and proceeds to generalize the entire female sex when he sings, "Mad women, bad women, that's just what you are." He continues with a gross assumption: "You'll smile in my face then rip the brakes out my car." Forgiving the fact that this is poor grammar, I fear Bruno is very mistaken in his belief that "mad women, bad women" would extract the brake system from his personal vehicle. Unless his girl is a hot mechanic, the chances of her possessing the knowledge and skill needed to break into his car and then remove the brakes are, in all realistic likelihood, very slim. I could see her slashing his tires, or perhaps running a key along the surely-bitchin' paint job Bruno has on his personal automobile. Those, I think, are much more realistic vehicular-centric revenge plans for a young single female.

Gave you all I had and you tossed it in the trash
You tossed it in the trash, yes, you did
To give me all your love is all I ever asked
'Cause what you don't understand is

I'd catch a grenade for ya
Throw my hand on a blade for ya
I'd jump in front of a train for ya
You know I'd do anything for ya

I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for ya, baby
But you won't do the same

Again, we have the chorus, first expressing disappointment and anger at the song's inspiration for her apathy and ingratitude, followed by the singer's suicidal declarations of all of the highly dangerous situations he would put himself into for this female.

If my body was on fire
Ooh, you'd watch me burn down in flames
You said you loved me, you're a liar
'Cause you never, ever, ever did, baby

Now, Bruno--who is very into hypothetical situations of perilous nature--professes his belief that, were his skeleton engulfed in flames, the love of his life would cold-heartedly stand by and watch him burn. I beg to differ. Perhaps this girl was a gold-digging, lying shrew who had the audacity to play tonsil hockey without resting her eyelids and the nerve to feel inadequate love for Bruno. Fine, but this does not place her in the same, rare category of human beings who can stomach the smell of burning human flesh, and who lack even the tiniest iota of basic compassion, thus enabling them to stand by and watch any other person (let alone a friend or loved one!) turn to ashes. So she said she loved you, but then maybe she didn't. This doesn't make your woman a sociopath, Bruno. Besides, with all of the dark, fatal situations you've been yodeling about for the past couple of minutes, I think you, Bruno Mars, are the one we have to worry about.

But darling, I'd still catch a grenade for ya
Throw my hand on a blade for ya
I'd jump in front of a train for ya
You know I'd do anything for ya

I would go through all this pain
Take a bullet straight through my brain
Yes, I would die for you, baby
But you won't do the same

No, you won't do the same
You wouldn't do the same
Ooh, you never do the same
No, no, no, no

And it is, finally, the last chorus of this hit. Bruno once again paints a depressing melodic picture of all of the very painful things he would do for this ungrateful wench of his, and expresses his chagrin at the fact that she "won't/wouldn't/never do the same" for him. You know what? Excuse this girl for not wanting to lethally hurt and/or kill herself for you, Bruno! Just because you are completely bonkers does not mean she has to be! If my boyfriend ever said, "Hey, babe, I love you, but only if you would personally catch a small explosive/cut your hand off/throw yourself in front of a speeding train/willingly allow a bullet to puncture your cerebrum/end your life for me," I would have to seriously ponder his own mental and emotional stability. I would also have to wonder if he actually loved me, since--I hate to break it to you, Bruno--you don't often put life-threatening conditions on love. I'd say your girlfriend was probably a very sweet person who just couldn't deal with all your extreme, Shakespearean cray-cray, Bruno. Sort of like how I can't deal with all your profoundly irritating lyrics and uninspired melodies. Thank you, Bruno Mars, for approximately 4 minutes of my life that I will never get back. (For what it's worth, I'd consider, at most, pricking my finger with a needle to recapture that lost time. But nothing more severe than that.)

the most beautiful equation

Etudes is an exercise in beauty; to me, its brilliance lies in its choreographic elegance and almost mathematical playfulness of the musicality. The strict counts and clean lines give this ballet a stunning, unexpected quality--in a way, Etudes is the most beautiful science put to music. This got me wondering: is there such a thing as "beautiful" math or science? And my research led me to what many scholars agree is the "most beautiful theorem in mathematics": Euler's Identity.

Named for Swiss-German mathematician Leonhard Euler, Euler's Identity is the equality in analytical mathematics:


where e is the base of natural algorithms (Euler's number); i is the imaginary unit--i² = −1; π is pi.

The reason Euler's identity is considered remarkable is because of its mathematical beauty. The three basic arithmetic operations occur exactly once each: addition, multiplication, and exponentiation. The equality also connects five fundamental mathematical constants:

- The number 0, or the additive identity
- The number 1, or the multiplicative identity
- The number π, ever-present in trigonometry, the geometry of Euclidean space, and analytical mathematics
- The number e, which is the base of natural logarithms
- The number i, or the imaginary unit of the complex numbers

Euler's Identity is a special case of Euler's formula from complex analysis, which reads (for any real number x):


And notably,


since cos π = -1 and sin π =0, then it must be true that


This gives us Euler's Identity:


The simplistic elegance of this equation, in mathematical beauty standards, is stunning; many scholars have waxed poetic about this one equality. A poll of readers conducted by The Mathematical Intelligencer magazine named Euler's Identity as the "most beautiful theorem in mathematics"; in another poll of readers by Physics World magazine Euler's Identity tied with Maxwell equations (of electromagnetism) as the "greatest equation ever". There is an entire 400-page mathematics book written by Dr. Paul Nahin devoted to the identity: Dr. Euler's Fabulous Formula; the tome professes that Euler's Identity sets "the gold standard for mathematical beauty." After proving Euler's Identity during a lecture, Benjamin Peirce, the noted American philosopher/mathematician and a professor at Harvard University, said, "It is absolutely paradoxical; we cannot understand it, and we don't know what it means, but we have proved it, and therefore we know it must be the truth." Perhaps Stanford University mathematics professor Dr. Keith Devlin was most poetic: "Like a Shakespearean sonnet that captures the very essence of love, or a painting that brings out the beauty of the human form that is far more than just skin deep, Euler's Equation reaches down into the very depths of existence."

Etudes has the same sort of clean beauty and technical impressiveness as Euler's Identity, albeit in a completely different way. Etudes takes the precise structure of the ballet class and emphasizes the beauty behind pure technique, much as this equality stresses the importance and beauty of the most basic numbers and functions in mathematics.

studies--etudes, and an apology (of sorts).

At the moment, we are preparing for the April 30 premiere of Balletaften: an evening made up of August Bournonville's Konservatoriet; Johan Kobborg's new work, Alumnus (composed of Les Lutins and Salute); and Harald Landers' classic, Etudes. For me, these evenings are an education unto themselves. I've learned more of the Bournonville style--new to me--through Konservatoriet. Being a part of the creation of Salute has forced me out of my comfort zone and into a girly, very "not me" sort of character; convincingly conveying a coquettish, flirtatious personality has never come very easily to me, a dancer who has always felt more natural in plotless works. And Etudes is a lesson in and of itself: the releve section gives me butterflies just thinking about it, and at the end of every rehearsal, my legs and feet are quite spent. All of these work-related lessons got me thinking about what other kinds of lessons I have learned, and am trying to master, this year.

I think I have changed a lot in the past year, both as a ballet dancer and as a human being. The results of lessons learned in the studio can (hopefully) be seen onstage, but the others--those daily bits of knowledge we pick up; the life consequences that teach us most of all--are less showy. In my second season with Royal Danish Ballet, I have learned to seize opportunities when they come, and to take those chances and run with them. I have come to realize that letting people in can be a good thing. This one is an unmastered study: in times of stress or frustration, I often become offensively introverted and shut people out, usually the ones closest to me. I now know that if a dinner utensil proves unnecessary during the meal, thus remaining clean, it is wise if one does not put the clean utensil on the dirty dinner plate at the meal's end. This is thoughtless and only increases the amount of dishwashing. I am trying to master a difficult lesson, which is that in times of work frustration or ballet-related stress, one should not bring those problems home. It can be very hard for me to leave whatever happens at work, at work; I used to be very good at this when I was younger, and I think it's extremely important for the preservation of personal sanity. And so, I'm taking great pains to remaster this skill. When one does laundry, do not forget about it and make sure someone is home to hang it dry. A very close call has caused this particular lesson to become quite ingrained in my brain. Do not, under any circumstances, return to old bad habits or dark places, no matter how enticing or comfortable they may seem. The consequences are simply not worth it, personally or professionally.

But perhaps most important of all: never take the ones you love for granted. My grandmother, who had been quite healthy, suddenly underwent kidney surgery recently, and I realized how fragile--and beautiful--life can be. I have started to look at my life and the people I love, and I have come to the distressing conclusion that I do, more often than not, take it for granted that my family and friends and boyfriend will always just be there for me. It is a shockingly easy thing to do, and often it isn't until we almost lose or do lose someone that we are jolted awake to the fact that the people we build our lives with are, in fact, very special commodities. Whether it's family, a friendship, a relationship, even a pet, I think the most crucial lesson I have learned also happens to be the most recent: to remind myself daily how freaking lucky I am to have certain spectacular people in my life, and to treat them accordingly. This lesson goes hand in hand with some of the above (not shutting people out; keeping work stuff at work; etc), and it's a new work in process for me, but I have a feeling that it is a very important study--and one that won't bring on any nervous butterflies.

inception, personified

Visual artist Maria Fischer has created a beautiful literary representation with her book Traumgedanken, or "dream thoughts." The text is a collection of literary, philosophical, psychological, and scientific passages that provide different insights into various dream theories. But what makes this book particularly unique, and a dreamlike work of art unto itself, is its design.

The book is designed as a physical model of a dream about dreaming. The slices of reality used to assemble a story bring the different text excerpts together. They are connected by actual threads which tie into certain key words--with the threads personifying the fragile, confused nature of dreams. Five of the pages contain illustrations made out of thread, with their form and color relying on key words on the opposite page. In this manner, Fischer has stunningly created for the reader an abstract image of a dream about dreaming. Moreover, there are five pages where a large excerpt from a text of the opposing page is stitched into the paper, thus rendering the text illegible since the type’s actual surface is inside the folded page. Fischer uses this to express the enigmatic characteristics of dreams, as well as the idea of dream interpretation.

Fischer has, in my opinion, created something wonderful. She has managed to (literally) weave together art and science, and has wisely chosen a more "creative" science as her topic--that grey area of dreamland. I hope to one day get my hands on a copy, if only to see for myself what it is like to untangle the threads and discover dreaming...

Mental Disorders

I find mental disorders, minimalism, and graphic design fascinating (albeit each in very different ways), so when I saw that freelance British designer Patrick Smith had combined the three, I was intrigued. Smith has designed a series of minimalist posters on the often touchy subject of mental disorders. This could have easily gone very wrong--and many, maybe, will think it did--but I find I quite like the way Smith simply, beautifully illustrates the core idea behind each disorder; perhaps because I am all-too-familiar with the third in this series, I appreciate the subtlety and dark wit behind the posters (not to mention the use of my favorite font, the eternally perfect sans serif Helvetica).


OCD.


Dissociative Identity Disorder.


Anorexia Nervosa.


Depression.


Agoraphobia.

Sassy Gay Friend, and Fun fun fun fun fun....

Laughing is one of my favorite activities. I am (embarrassingly) easily amused, and I unfortunately have no shame when I laugh: if you ask almost anyone who knows me, they will tell you that I laugh/chuckle/snort/guffaw like a certifiable idiot. This does go completely against the silent, unapproachable, glamorous ballerina picture that's been so associated with my profession of choice, but I can't help it. (Nor can I help my insufferable snoring at night; it seems I am destined to be very loud and somewhat obnoxious at all times.) And when I am feeling at my very lowest, the first thing I do--following the obligatory quick personal pity party, of course--is go out in search of a good laugh. My friends and family are always excellent sources, but sometimes unavailable. And it is then that I turn to what might be the greatest cheer-up invention in the history of mankind: YouTube. I may have to search around for a bit, but it never fails to bring me some form of joy.

I had a couple of "must find humor" days this week, and YouTube didn't fail me. Today I will share two of the biggest laughs I got this week. The first comes from one of my favorites: Sassy Gay Friend. Introduced to me this summer by one of my very best, very own SGFs, the latest installment involves Black Swan, and how she could have been helped, if only she had a Sassy Gay Friend...


And the second video is an unbelievably magical performance of the now-infamous Rebecca Black's Friday video. Widely panned both at the Royal Danish Ballet and worldwide, the song and its accompanying video are generally agreed to be fantastically terrible. But this parody, starring the always-hilarious Stephen Colbert and Jimmy Fallon, brings me so much happiness I have no words...it almost makes me like the song. Just a little bit. Enough so I'm only mildly ashamed of writing that.


With that, I leave you to enjoy the weekend. Remember: Sunday comes after Saturday, and always listen to your Sassy Gay Friend.