Here we Solid Gold Bookers are - the posse - post-pole lecture.
Our inundation of spin, grab, and circumnavigation techniques via Chelsea, who Star lovingly called Teacher all night.
Destiny, me, et al (Cherry, Candy, Bubbles, Ginger, Roxie, and Lexus) still have some pole-given bruises, and a concurrent and newfound respect for the dancers of the world who employ a pole in their shows.
It all looks so easy, but let me tell You that a fireman spin out of a pirouette and into back slide to kitten crawl is oso challenging.
*sidenote: thanks to Chan Marshall for poesie this fine autumn day, a much-needed burst of words and summoning.
It should be noted that Teacher/Chelsea, a woman in the pole know, says we all now know more than several Middling City strippers, in terms of pole savvy.
It was a stupendous birthday fete, my SGB girls completely and utterly rock.
And for our next trick.

Just came from the ballet with Brucey, over at Rockwell, a Neglia affair.
I opted for this choice instead of my art event of sorts, a bennie up at Carnegie Art Center in North Tonawanda, where Jen Bullard and I shoved two coffin gurneys that we garbage picked into one of my earlier Subarus.
CAC is also where Yours Truly and Josh Marks and Theodore Pelton exhibited our fab Conflagration, a collaborative project.
The benefit features artist-made bookmarks and mine is entitled Spine Flowers as I photographed some gorgeous leather volumes with gold-leafed floral motifs. The photo is surrounded by Italian paper. Other side is another voluminous image, more abstracted, and also surrounded by Italian paper. And some great ribbon, two different patterns, coming out of the hole-punched toppermost.
Back to the ballet.
I saw Baba Yaga before and that previous set design seemed a bit better: I didn't quite get the hydraulic chicken feet below the large, Ozlike head.
Bruce's next door neighbor kid, Rory, was a goblin and a skeleton. Sparky was also a skeleton and evil stepmother. Bruce Fisher and Eric Clauss both had daughters in the show. Hard to tell who was who with the spooky costumes and all.
Reminded Bruce of the time we went with fam to see my niece, fellow b-day girl Katharine, in a school musical called Rats and the entire time I rooted for and beamed with pride at the wrong rat.
At ballet intermission the two moms in front of us were talking and Happy Jack's came up (like a bad helping of over-fried fried menu items).
I leaned forward (something that transpires daily in the MC - the friendly, mid-western conversation interruption) and said Did you say Happy Jack's, I was just there last Monday.
The mom said I couldn't believe how bad it was.
I concurred.
We compared some other notes.
What we ordered, what showed up at table, what was ingested, what was avoided.
After the ballet meandered into Burchfield-Penney Art Centre where there was some fab live percussing. And looked once again at Jack Drummer's excellent abstract works on rubber.
Time to late make and do.

Percussion, Love, percussion.