Night at the Ballet

Although I could have used the title from the previous post to describe parts of this weekends activities, I’ll refrain from making such judgments only because this weekend proved how much of an uncouth ignoramus I really am. Last Friday Liz and I were treated to our first ballet at the Kennedy Center in Washington DC. Having little desire to take the Metro into the city after the week’s FBI warnings, we decided to follow a map and drive ourselves—a feat for which we thought we might be ready.

We were wrong.

After literally going around in circles, back and forth from the Lincoln memorial, we finally found the place we were planning to park through some play of haphazard navigational coincidences. Entering the parking garage in a long line of traffic, we only hoped that we had the foresight to bring enough money with us to pay the parking fee.

We didn’t.

The cost, we found out, was ten dollars. I pulled out the two available dollar bills in my wallet. Liz found five. We scrounged around the car for loose change after that. Luckily, though, the attendant was good enough to let us in on what we had. Who says there’s no heart in the city?

Previous cultural excursions into the DC are were not so traumatic to our egos and included visits to the famous Corcoran Gallery, as well as the Smithsonian National Museum of African Art.