I spent Super Bowl Sunday at the ballet, as you do. Beer and balls aren’t exactly my idea of fun. And while you could argue that both sports feature men in tights showcasing superior athletic talent, I prefer Swarovski-encrusted tiaras over dirt-spattered headgear. I suppose the overwhelm of giddiness I feel is what football fans feel. No matter how many times I’ve been to the ballet, the predictable dimming of the theater lights and cacophonous humming that crescendos into unison continue to give me the butterflies. Everything at the ballet is beautiful. Perfect. Magical. Two hours of submergence in a whole other world where beautiful humans create beautiful things leaves reality bereft of something… intangible. Words aren’t enough to translate the feeling. . . . xx