There is a belly-dance workshop in the Faris theatre today. I poked in about an hour ago to see what it was like, as the sound, strange and incessant, has attacked the foyer since 8 am. What I found was utterly surreal – 200+ women in various hip-scarf heavy interpretations of yoga-wear, (one t-shirt: GOT TECHNIQUE?), bellies dutifully bared, lined up in threes so as to make a large circle, and walking very carefully backwards, arms help stiffly in the air like some strange parody of choreographed children cheating at a game of freeze-tag, while the instructor shouted “Left foot! Right foot! Hands! Hips! Left foot! Right foot!” over blaring electro-clash ethnic music.
I escape in about fifteen minutes. (I do not use the word “escape” lightly, here. That music’s been beyond terrible). After work, I’m going to the Tesla Exhibition. There’s a Tesla Gala planned as well, but as the highlights of the evening are apparently The Lord’s Prayer and folk dancing, it’s likelier that I will be finding somewhere with cheesecake and holing up with whatever kind company is available until it’s time for the Purple Party. Any takers? Chocolate probably loves you more than your last lover did, I promise.
edit: Haven’t escaped yet. I’ve no idea where the evening girl is, as she’s forty minutes late and counting. The belly-dancers have ended thier lunch-break and the 1960’s Warner Bros. Bugs-Bunny-has-dressed-up-as-as-exotic-woman music is back on full force and the instructor is now barking pilates instructions. Save us all.