enfinblue's Bluey (credit to Fifi for the nickname!) Diaryland Diary

"I am seeking, I am striving, I am in it with all my heart." -Vinc3nt V@n Gogh

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Men in tights. No - luscious men in tights.

So the ballet, the ballet.

Swoon, swoon.

I was in the loge. I probably still like the orchestra best, but the loge is pretty lovely. Actually - no - the loge is best. You get lots of room. I'm thinking that I'll buy seat 1 in loge 9 for next season... I felt like that woman in the Renoir.

No, no, more like the stiff-backed girl in the Mary C@ssat:

girls

Sigh.

SO lovely.

I could perhaps have used a little bit less staging and costuming and a little more dance - it was the M3rry Widow - but more or less it was AWESOME.

And at the very end I had the biggest, heart-stopping treat, for the current artistic director of the National B@llet, Canada's most famous ballerina ever, came out on the stage and very modestly, with her back to the audience, bowed to her dancers. It was beautiful.

This woman has the grace of a princess. She started dancing with the National Ballet in 1969 and became its most famous prima ballerina. She retired in 1997. I love this woman. I saw her dance in my childhood in Toronto - Swan Lake, Giselle, Romeo and Juliet.

AH. Lovely. My heart really did skip a beat.

Which reminds me of the other observation I made tonight: How I wish I had a little girl sometimes so that I could take her to the ballet. Or, hell, a little boy. I can't imagine anything better than having a boy who wanted to be a ballet dancer. Male ballet dancers are the most beautiful men on earth, whatever their preponderant sexual orientation.

And I won't tell you about the tights tonight.

Swoon.

Collect yourself, EB!

Speaking of delightful men, have I ever told you that I have a crush on the oboeist of the National Arts C3ntre Orchestra, the one (the orchestra, that is) that played with the ballet tonight? (Another good reason to sit in the loge - true appreciation of the orchestra.)

I tell you, I don't care if this guy spends six hours a day making his own reeds and another six blowing saliva out of the various orifices of his instrument...love, pure love. He is the god of oboeists. All I know is that he was once an American and his name is Chuck. I can well imagine that he is taken and then some. :)

I know, I know, I have peculiar taste.

I won't tell you now about the guys who contacted me today on the dating site. Cue rolling of eyes. Dating is such a rotten game. I'm sure it's not these guys in particular for the most part - just the fact that guys seem to uniformly believe that women are looking for one thing, when really they are looking for something quite else. Or maybe I'm only talking about me. Most of these guys pretty much say exactly the right thing to turn me off. :(

OOps.

Well, I'm really really hungry, so I should go.

Oh! Funny story! I decided to be a lady tonight and wear my ballet

dress.

And I decided, too, that I would wear black sheer tights instead of nude ones. Like I said, lady.

But all I had was a pair of those lace-topped stay-up things that cling to your thighs. All fine and dandy, I suppose, but as usual I was running late and so I accidentally pulled on one of them inside out. This means that the thing that sticks to your thigh was on the OUTSIDE, and therefore my one leg of hose started to become granny hose as I was running - yes, running (oops) - to get to the hall. Quite a scene.

Speaking of scene, when I got to the NAC I discovered that they had CLOSED for repairs my usual secret staircase to the entrance from the canal, and therefore I was BOOTING it in 2.5 inch heels the additional 500 metres to the entrance of the hall in the last five minutes. Oops again.!

Oh well. Life is but a dream. And a joke.

I try to pretend that I am a lady but you just can't take the tomboy out of me.

11:10 p.m. - 2008-04-25

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