Making My Private Life Public

Last month I wrote an article on why my husband and I never post photos of our child online.  Included in this post I explained why we also do not disclose any of locations we have been with our daughter and why we try to limit the amount of personal information we share regarding her.  Not long after writing this particular piece I stumbled across an article featured in Time Magazine that held a similar concept to the one in my blog.

The brief article, entitled My Experiment Opting Out of Big Data Made Me Look Like a Criminal, describes how personal information is collected throughout the government, academic and industry markets.  The mantra of “if you don’t like it, just opt out” is thrown at individuals who are uncomfortable with how public their lives are becoming yet this is not as simple or easy as its advocates proclaim.  Janet Vertesi, the article’s author, demonstrated how complicated this catchphrase really is with a nine-month long experiment to see if she could keep her pregnancy a secret from the Internet (which would have fed that information through databases that companies use for targeted advertising). The author concluded the article by stating that her ‘experiment’ was personally inconvenient to herself and her husband while making interactions with family and friends extremely awkward and rude. She even wrote that she and her husband were seen as inconsiderate, abrupt and antisocial.

All of this to say, I was encouraged by what I read.  I can relate with the above statement as many people view my husband and I as “inconsiderate, abrupt, rude” and somewhat “antisocial” for being picky about what we share via the Internet regarding our daughter.  It is very unfortunate that our desire to live private lives have caused the individuals and community around us to label us in such a manner while straining relationships.  And although the Time’s article features a slightly different topic then the one that I shared a few weeks ago, the theme is the same.  The ability to opt out of publicly sharing every aspect of one’s life is viewed negatively and met with fierce criticism.  Gone are the days of personal, face-to-face interactions among individuals.  In its place is surface-level relationships with individuals merely interested in learning the details of their peers lives without ever holding a conversation. Convenience, comfort and complacency have made our society unwilling to invest richly or deeply into individual human life.  And have alienated those who desire this and more.

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The Nutcracker: A Twist on a Childhood Fairytale

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog about how my husband surprised me with tickets to go see the San Francisco Ballet perform their world-renowned The Nutcracker.  Although it has been a few weeks since we watched the spectacular performance, I cannot help but relive the breath-taking performance that we saw danced upon the stage of the ornate War Memorial Opera House.

Having performed in The Nutcracker multiple times myself, most recently with The Sacramento Ballet, I was intrigued to see how the SF Ballet would present such a classic story.  The ballet opened up with the classic scene of last minute shoppers bustling about foggy streets on a cold Christmas Eve.  Herr Drosselmeyer, an eccentric toy maker, puts finishing touches on a magical nutcracker before caravanning to the home of the Stahlbaum’s.  Choreography during this scene, as well as the following party scene, was almost identical to other companies presentations thereby offering familiarity.  Yet small changes to the choreography of the life-size dolls that are presented by Drosselymer during the party enhanced the believability of the story, drawing in the audience.

Moving into the scuffle between mice and the Nutcracker, one would have believed they were indeed transported to the base of a ginormous Christmas tree.  Mice poked their heads out from the presents and performed comical antics, provoking laughter from all the children in the audience.  Dramatic fighting shortly ensured, however, as the King Rat histrionically challenged the Nutcracker to a dual.  Aided by toy soldiers who marched out from a life-size Christmas present, the Nutcracker eventually overthrew the mighty mice – but only after a canon was fired and the Rat King’s tail was caught in a life-size mouse trap.

The Nutcracker is transformed into a handsome prince, who embarks with Clara through a wintery wonderland.  Typically, the Land of Snow scene is one of my least favorite sections of the ballet.  Yet, the SF Ballet performed an incredible, breath-taking and gorgeous rendition of dainty snowflakes falling from the sky.  The choreography, coupled with heavy paper snow which fell from the auditorium’s ceiling, was the most stellar I have ever seen, enrapturing me in an awe-inspiring spell.

Choreography in scene two was as equally wonderful.  Beautiful costumes, lively characters, energetic movements and boisterous music performed by the San Francisco Ballet Orchestra all contributed to the spectacular display of artistic flare.  Arabians withered their way out of a gigantic magic lamp, Russians popped out of canvas-covered , carriages and Madam Du Cirque revealed small circus children and a dancing bear.  The colorful yet elegant flower waltz – lead by the Sugar Plum Fairy – signaled the end of the celebratory festivities.  To end the evening, Clare was transformed into a princess to dance in the arms of her prince, who happened to be her Nutcracker.  I don’t think I enjoyed this ending to a classic story that I have grown to love so dearly.  Somehow the innocence and childlike wonder of the previous festivities seemed to disappear with the pas du deux of Clara and her prince.

Reading through the SF Ballet’s program, a fun fact drew my eyes.  The Company’s current production of The Nutcracker, featuring over 300 costumes, includes three sets of “Drosselmeyer” costumes for the different casts.  The Snow Queen’s tutu alone took 80 hours to make – and SF Ballet has created five sets total, equaling 400 hours on construction time on one character’s costume alone.