I’m creative. Well, at least that’s what the tattoo on my
forearm translates to (I hope). That probably means I both appreciate and
support the arts, right? I most likely frequent the museum, hit the opera once
in a while, and show up at the ballet every time they change a program. One
might even guess I can explain the difference between the BSO and the Pops. Um,
yeah — not so much.
See, I’m a reformed ya-dude. I grew up in a town north of Boston
but, more importantly, just south of New Hampshire, a place where support for
the arts came in the form of after-school beat downs and taint-splitting
wedgies. Hey, I tried to fight the good fight, but a hit to the nuts with a
hockey stick has a way of changing a guy. I decided to put creativity on the
shelf and joined my local legion of hair-spiking, pant-pegging townies. I owned
a Chevy IROC, okay? ’Nuff said.
As I grew up, I learned to embrace my creative side. It’s
something I’m actually still learning to do today. Tonight, I’m being schooled
in ballet. I’m attending a formal fundraising event in support of the Boston
Ballet, an event that has me both eager to hang out with a bunch of ballerinas
and concerned that my former love of the mullet will shine through. “Ah yes, I
agree. Swan Lake is beautiful when it’s performed
properly. Have I ever told you I used to drink down by a lake? We’d get wasted
on peppermint schnapps and throw rocks at ducks. It’s sort of similar, no?”
Now, before I turn this into a lesson about how we need to
support the arts (’cuz you know it’s coming), I’m going to have to come clean.
I’ve never been to the ballet. It’s just never been on my radar. I mean, I
haven’t even been to the Nutcracker! What kid
hasn’t been to the Nutcracker? I’m fairly sure I could file
neglect charges on my parents for that shit, but the statute of limitation is
most likely up.
I guess I always thought the ballet was for old people. Well, let
me tell you, not tonight. Tonight, I’m pounding the booze and dancing with a
group of young and inspired people who are breathing new life into this art
form. They’re making the ballet cool again. They have edgy, progressive
directors and a stable of beautiful, talented dancers who can both walk on
their toes and shake their asses with the best of them. Have you ever seen a
well-toned, classically trained ballerina “work it out” to the rhythms of
Jay-Z? Well, I just did. And let me tell you something: it’s quite
inspirational.
It’s important to support the arts (ok, here comes the sales
pitch), but it’s also important that they give us reason to do so. And from
what I can see, they’ve held up their end of the deal. Now it’s our turn. Do
you really want to live in a city that has no ballet? That’s like living in
Springfield — and we all can see how well that’s turned out.
So where do we go from here? Well, I’m going to go to the ballet.
I’ve already made plans to catch a future performance. I suggest you do too.
Take a chance, buy a ticket, and bring your creativity down off the shelf — if
for no other reason than to try to figure out which one of these girls was rump
shaking to Hova.
If my plea still has you unconvinced and thoughts of a
ballet-less city don’t really seem to faze you, shoot me an email. I’m more
than happy to discuss this with you further. I may now be a hoity-toity
supporter of the arts who has shed his former ya-dude ways, but I still
remember how to work a hockey stick. And I’m not above using it.
