Ballet and Baseball

Yesterday I was at the Met Opera House to hear some Prokofiev. On the way I found Carnegie Hall, and then was attacked by 230 men holding "bike rental" signs by Central Park.

America Ballet Theatre's production of Romeo and Juliet is not Prokofiev's own happy ending version, no, here we get the original Shakespeare's last few minutes of much misfortune. I've never understood why Romeo happens to be carrying a lethal dose of poison in his pocket, or how he gets it past security. 

The production was stunning - everything about it was immaculate and completely fantastic, all for $29. I sat in the "family circle", which means you climb 366 steps and sit with babies who are crying in a circle around you. On the intermissions I ventured into the lower levels, and the lower I went, the more social the crowds were. But the bottom level was an unpenetrable wall of imposing private doors. That must be where the babies are coming from. 

After the ballet I went for fast "catch up" coffee with the conductor, who is the same conductor of my ballet, A Streetcar Named Desire.  Then I was off on the subway to Coney Island to see baseball, because this is New York, and you can do that. 

Above the ancient litter-strewn grounds, rusting rides, sagging tents, crowds of happy folks and blocking the view of the Atlantic Ocean was the gigantic count-down clock for next year's hot dog eating contest. It said there were only 367 days, 16 hours and 32 seconds to go.

As arranged, I met my friends at the game, by now deep in the 6th inning, deep into hot dogs, cotton candy, chanting, clapping, yelling, standing, sitting, and more yelling, for this was a little league team's big field trip day. It was tonnes of fun until right near the end, when two kids were hit by a ricocheting foul ball. 

So, another production where the last few minutes contained much misfortune, but this one had the advantage of some well-prepared paramedics. Thankfully beneath all the blood were just some small cuts and bruises. 

Then, what else? An over-the-top fireworks display from centre field, rather incongruous for us at this moment, as if someone had orchestrated a Sousa march for the pit orchestra to blast double forte through the lyrical, beautiful bows and curtain calls at the ballet.