F'boy Tom Goes to the Ballet

Yes, I went to the ballet recently. It was Giselle! I wish I could say it was a life-changing event. It was not. I wish I could say I now have a greater appreciation for the ballet. But I don’t. You see I am one of those cultural arts dullards. The ones that wives drag to the ballet, symphony, and yes, even the opera.

We walk into auditoriums and take our seats throughout many cultural arts venues in Cincinnati. We tend to drink and eat too much before any event. This gives us the sustenance we need to survive 2 and half hours of sautees, demy plies, or pirouettes. A few carbs and martinis in the system always make it easier to snooze in the exceedingly small auditorium seats designed for people Mike DeWine size.

When I am not snoozing or looking out in blank space, I spend time asking myself who else goes to the ballet? Why are they here? I have come to the conclusion that there are five kinds of people who go to the ballet. The first are dolts like me, dragged there by wives or significant others. You can always tell who they are. They tend to slouch over and their eyes start drooping about 10 minutes into the first act. We just don’t get it.

The next group is comprised of people who I don’t believe have anything else to do. They try to look like they are cultural arts afficiados. They scour their programs. They applaud after every “jeté en avant, grand.” They even chat with each other about the aesthetic qualities of the production. Don’t kid yourself. It is all a big lie. They would rather be home watching reruns of “Everybody Loves Raymond.”

The third group are people who have unusual hairdos. I think the ballet attracts people who feel they can finally be themselves and wear their mullets. bobs and various artificial attachments. At Giselle last week I saw guy who wrapped his hair around his head like some coonskin cap. It sort of floated or bounced off his head as he got up from his chair at intermission. Another women had these long hair additions that made her look more like an older, taller American Girl doll than a women in her 60s. I normally don’t see these folks at a Reds game.

The fourth group are the season ticket-holders. They are the real mystery to me. They pretend that they actually go to the ballet more than once every decade. For whatever reason, they can watch a whole season of “pas’ de rois or quatre.” Since I only attend once every decade, I am not certain they actually go to all the productions. My theory is they give their tickets to the second group of folks, the ones who have nothing else to do.

The final group are what I call miscellaneous. They include young girls, friends visiting from out-of-town, and people who believe going to the ballet or opera really makes you a better person. Young girls can be excused. But their mothers cannot be.

Friends from out-of-town go because you can’t think of anything better to with them while they are visiting. Most of them end up snoozing within 10 minutes not because they are dolts like me. They are just so tired because you make them sleep in guest room on a mattress that you moved in there 10 years ago!

And what about ballet goers who believe that the arts are good for them? That too will pass just like a bad case of heartburn. If they really want to improve their lot, they should take glucosamine and condriotin daily and floss in the morning and at night.

I know I am being far too critical of the ballet. George, Margot and Rudolf are far better people than I ever could be. They get it and I don’t.

I wonder though. Have they ever sat through an entire production of Giselle in seats designed for Linda Hunt with a half of pound of pasta slowly digesting in their stomachs? Next time I go I promise not to snore. I will also bring my own hair attachments.