Tonight, we went to see the Russian National Ballet perform Swan Lake
at the boondoggle
. (That's not the "you did WHAT?" part.) It was okay. The boondoggle's stage is not the largest in the world; if I were a betting man, I'd bet that it just met the touring company's minimum size requirements. Everything looked and felt cramped, and as a result, it seemed like the dancers were holding back. (It may not have been the stage, though--a quick Google for "Russian National Ballet"
reveals that they've been that way for a while.) Even for someone like me who isn't really into ballet and dance, the performance felt restrained and noncommittal--and, at two hours, dreadfully truncated.
At least they had the non-bogus ending. I'm not sitting there for two hours to have the Prince not get the girl and kick the badguy's ass. (Also, the lighting was fantastic. I don't know what it is, but the lighting has been just great for every show we've seen there.)
Anyway, the "you did WHAT?" part of the evening was this: Lani's ballet class was on one side of town, and my office is on the other, with the boondoggle in between. We planned to have Sir F. Crisp kick me out of his car as we rolled through town, whereupon I would stalk and kill my own prey for dinner, and Savannah and Lani would take care of themselves before driving into town, and we'd meet up close to the venue.
As I walked up State Street, I assessed my options. I had been thinking that I'd go to a "Japanese" restaurant, but there I figured there'd be no way I'd get in and out in the time I had available to me. (Also, the "Japanese" restaurant is not inexpensive.) My only real option was Noodles & Company, and frankly, giving up one chain (the "Japanese" place) for another wasn't real high on my list.
So what did I do? Totally without thinking?
Yes, that's right. I was going to be jammed into a crowded hall with people right up close in all directions, so naturally I went to Parthenon
and had a gyro. STUFFED WITH ONIONS.
I wanted to die; I felt so stupid. I wanted to apologize to all the people around me. All the fryers and grills at Parthie's were going non-stop the whole time, so I was doused in Greek food. I washed my hands three times and I could still smell the onions. Not that the food wasn't good--heck, it was great as always--but the last thing you want to do is smell like an onion for a crowded concert hall.
Every time I caught a whiff of my hands, I said to myself "Oh my GOD, what is that sm...oh." Sigh.