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OK, profoundity attack over. I feel better now. Tuesday saw us enjoying a very interesting game of Vampire, my character swinging from damn fine ideas to really dim ones, from new information to old responsibilities, all very meaty role-play for me. I feel a bit spoilt. I want more!
Last night I went to belly dancing for the first time in ages. I admit, I enjoyed it. I thought I would be safe as the Christmas halfa is out of the way, and we could concentrate on getting basic moves right rather than living out our teacher’s dreams of choreographic extravaganza. Little did I know.
One of our routines was a North African folk dance, incorporating Egyptian, Tunisian and Nubian techniques. The steps were not so hard, though I’m well out of practice. The vocals, however, floored me completely.
The steps included a heavy knee-dropping shrugging walk backwards, traditionally intersperced by the occasional earthy ‘HUH!’ from the Pat Butchers amongst us. There was also the frenzied whirling and hip gyrating on the spot which are meant be punctuated by loud excited yips, I kid you not. But worst of all were the zaggareets. To do the zaggareet, while one hand is delicately perched in teapot mode somewhere above the head, the other sits between nose and mouth. LARPers would recognise this as the starting position for a mind-flayer impression. Keeping your hand straight, elegantly shading your gob, you then zaggareet, i.e you open your mouth and waggle your tongue from side to side or up and down, and you ululate.
The huhs were alarming, the yips were a crucifying testimony to the attempts of the English at non-inhibition without alcohol, but nothing, nothing, could compare with the horror of me finding myself in a room full of ululators. I couldn’t believe my ears.
I consider this a karmic punishment far out of proportion to the original crime...
Last night I went to belly dancing for the first time in ages. I admit, I enjoyed it. I thought I would be safe as the Christmas halfa is out of the way, and we could concentrate on getting basic moves right rather than living out our teacher’s dreams of choreographic extravaganza. Little did I know.
One of our routines was a North African folk dance, incorporating Egyptian, Tunisian and Nubian techniques. The steps were not so hard, though I’m well out of practice. The vocals, however, floored me completely.
The steps included a heavy knee-dropping shrugging walk backwards, traditionally intersperced by the occasional earthy ‘HUH!’ from the Pat Butchers amongst us. There was also the frenzied whirling and hip gyrating on the spot which are meant be punctuated by loud excited yips, I kid you not. But worst of all were the zaggareets. To do the zaggareet, while one hand is delicately perched in teapot mode somewhere above the head, the other sits between nose and mouth. LARPers would recognise this as the starting position for a mind-flayer impression. Keeping your hand straight, elegantly shading your gob, you then zaggareet, i.e you open your mouth and waggle your tongue from side to side or up and down, and you ululate.
The huhs were alarming, the yips were a crucifying testimony to the attempts of the English at non-inhibition without alcohol, but nothing, nothing, could compare with the horror of me finding myself in a room full of ululators. I couldn’t believe my ears.
I consider this a karmic punishment far out of proportion to the original crime...
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