Last week, I read an article by Joan Acocella in the New Yorker about Alexei Ratmansky, the artist-in-residence at the American Ballet Theatre (ABT), and it made me want to:
1. Become a Romanov and time travel back to Russia at the end of the 19th century so that I could go watch an original performance of a Tschaikovsky ballet in a royal box, wearing a tiara.
2. Go see a performance by the ABT, currently in season, at Lincoln Center.
So I called Grumpy, who is the only straight man I know who loves the ballet, and said to him: “Buy us some tickets to the ballet, bitch.”
Then he said to me: “Yo girl, why you tripping, I be busy and shit.”