Recently in an effort to make our children appreciate the fine arts, my wife had us attend a New York Ballet performance. If you’ve never attended a ballet, the only way to describe it is choreographed jaywalking. You wouldn’t see this much running around if Hillary Clinton made a surprise visit to the Oval Office when her husband was president. The fact that not one of the dancers became enmeshed in the others path says something about their agility. However, I found myself comparing the first half of the ballet performance to an Olympic Curling event. I didn’t get it.
This performance was my first introduction into interpretive ballet. From the precise moment they started until the very end, each man quizzed their date by asking, “What are they doing now?” Forgive me, but my interpretation of this ballet was Gumby playing the game Twister to Gershwin.
The most difficult part of the evening was convincing my eldest 12-year-old son that I was moved by the performance. My wife insisted before we went that, “I must not poison our children to the finer works of art.” Dabbing my eyes occasionally to simulate being overcome with emotion with the beauty of it all, I should have netted an Oscar for my performance. Now I can’t tell if I made my wife happy or my son thinks I’m a wimp.
The men wore the usual ballet costumes, shrink-wrapped colored cellophane. My wife casually mentioned the reason I find ballet so boring is that I am jealous of the men in their tight outfits and how well they dance. This is a total untruth! If I were to fit into one of those same outfits with my size, I would look like a kielbasa ready to explode. Second of all, if I could raise my legs as high as my head, you’d better bring a dust pan and broom, because parts are going to fall off.
The final scene had a very good looking blond being passionately held and kissed by her handsome partner. My wife leaned over and whispered in my ear, “Why don’t you ever do something like that?” I replied, “Don’t be silly, I don’t even know that girl.”
Next time there’s a fine arts event, my wife says she’s going alone.