Seems like my blog is turning into something resembling critical responses of what I watch/read/listen to, and the occasional poem. I guess that's better that sordid details of my life (Sordid I tell you!).

So this weekend's view was of Ballets Russes . Combine my nerdity for ballet with my nerdity for documentaries and you can see that the movie made me a happy camper. The movie strikes a great balance between recounting the tumultous history of ballet since the Russian Revolution and recounting the tales of crazy old ballet divas and divos. (When I taught male ballet dancers I really wanted to call them ballerinos. But that seems wrong? If any of them read this [unlikely but not impossible] what do you fellows call yourselves?)

There's something difficult to me about watching dance critically. Human bodies in extremely coordinated motion--be it sports or dance or even musical performance--are so compelling, it sometimes is difficult for me to see the larger scope and view it as a mode of communication and expression. I suspect the pathway in my brain is something like "Hello, reptile brain here....Ooh, pretty human in motion!...potential mate?....Nope?....Okay, we'll transfer this call to the smart part of your brain so you can be all analytical like you seem to enjoy so much." Some time is lost in that transaction.

Sometimes I worry that I'm actually an old lady in twenty five year old woman's body. I like going to bed fairly early. I like ballet. I like the fiber arts. At least I still like spicy food. And the youth of America don't scare me (maybe in an abstract sense?). So maybe I'm all right. Yeah, I'm all right.