Disclaimer; I want it understood that I am making fun of myself and not the arts. I readily admit I have no couth, culture, or sophistication in my persona. I am a basic meat or road kill and potatoes kind of guy and thus this story sheds light on my cultural deficiencies and is not a criticism of those who enjoy our finer arts.
The history; I knew as a young man that some things just weren't my cup of tea to witness. Once I took a young lady to an opera in Chicago. I don't remember the name of it. It was Rigatoni or Mostaccioli or maybe it was called Ravioli. Anyway, the entire evening was very painful for me and since the girl absolutely loved opera I did a curtsy and exited stage left in that relationship not long after that night.
I also went to a ballet at McCormick Place that same year. It was the Nutcracker and I decided soon into the ballet that I would rather have the title of the ballet occur to my body than see another one.
My observations had shown me I was not into the finer things in this world and decided a simple truism as to what events I would see or not see depended on one specific item, vendors. If an event had peanut, beer and hot dog venders walking around selling their stuff, it was something I could watch without any pain. If there were no venders, such as at operas and ballets, and everyone told me to shush every time I groaned, it was an event I wouldn't enjoy.
Of course this rule deprived me of any true culture but it did give me another excuse as to why I am the way I am.
The story; My son, away at college, was running the lighting for the school of performing arts and asked if Mom and I wanted to come to one of the performances. Always a pair to support their son, we said we would and I asked what the show was about. My son said it was a series of dances, strung out in three segments with two intermissions for going to the lobby to buy some snacks. I specifically asked my son what kind of dances would be involved and he advised me there would be a little of everything. I thus pictured an evening sort of like Dancing with the Stars. Maybe a Cha-Cha, Jitterbug or Turkey Trot would be thrown in with a waltz or two-step I surmised. Wrong.
When the curtain went up, there on stage was the dreaded dress of a group of young people about to perform a ballet. As I squirmed in the seat, I took comfort in knowing this was just one small dance in a group of ten and to be fair, ballet was a valid form of dance so I sucked it up, didn't groan out loud and waited for the next dance.
That's where the world of culture and I parted ways. The next performance, as were all the others, was what people with pedigree and intellect call performance art or interpretive dance. What that means to a guy looking for a salted-in-the-shell peanut vendor is that people fly around the stage to strange music or sounds whose meaning is known only to God and the people he endowed with sophistication.
Besides the strange jumping and rolling and hugging that the dancers did, they did it to sounds that weren't exactly what I understand as music. I did recognize two of the musical compositions as one obviously was a windshield wiper going back and forth on a dry windshield. Another dance routine used the sound the toaster makes when it is trying to pop back up but the bagel is stuck on the side and won't let it.
At the intermission I knew I was doomed when I saw that the snacks for sale were chilled coffee drinks and bags of Skittles. I held back asking if they had any hot dogs and wondered how Skittles had become the snack of choice of the cultured.
Needless to say the rest of the evening was torturous. There were no ushers walking around so I couldn't use the old farting ploy that would make an usher ask me to leave. There was a really big man in front of me and I debated asking him to snap my leg at the next intermission but I had things to do that weekend that a cast would curtail.
Although the show was less then three hours, I feel that I went into the auditorium as a fifty-nine-year old and left eligible for full Social Security benefits.
The aftermath; I have added interpretive dancing to my list of things I can't sit through. I should have known that right away. My original rule made so many years ago still carries weight with me. In the future I will ask my son if the performance has any vendors. If he says no, I will go get that hernia operation that week. Either that or when I go, I will sneak in with a few hot dogs, a bag of peanuts and a full bottle of schnapps; preferably already in me.
Freelance writer, columnist, author and writing coach, ex-Chicagoan Mike Fak presently resides in Central Illinois. More information about Mike's services are available at his home website www.mikefak.com
Mike currently writes primarily humor columns for searchwarp bi-weekly and is the managing editor of www.lincolndailynews.com
Mike now offers a 26,000 word e-book on making money as a freelance writer for only $10.00 at this page. http://www.mikefak.com/id45.html
» left by sue thom from nj (1 year 182 days ago.)
hi mike, when you got it, you got it, and you got it. i witnessed everything right along with you, and felt the feelings, too.
thanks for sharing,
best regards,
sue
» left by Mike Fak(5,755) Mike Fak (1 year 182 days ago.)
Thanks Kimberly. We planted the back 40 last night. I did an interpretive dance around the tomato plants to culture them but we wife said I was supossed to cultivate them. Mike
» left by Ken McCreless(1,693) Ken McCreless (1 year 182 days ago.)
Hey Mike, I'm not all that "fa-sisticated" either. Thank God for internet on the phone. Kind of like James Bond meets Jed Clampett. Great story!
» left by Mike Fak(5,755) Mike Fak (1 year 182 days ago.)
Thanks Ken. It seems I am not alone in my head scratching when it comes to some of this stuff. Mike
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