One of the few fervent supporters of this column (just kidding, I guess there are millions and millions of fans, but they are all timid in expressing their comments and idea) and a person whose opinion I hold quite dearly, has told me last week that my column is turning gloomier and gloomier and that I am exhibiting less of my proverbial sense of humor and more of my less proverbial aggressiveness. I have acknowledged this as being so and I can probably blame this state on the few days of the month we all tend to be a little moodier (yes, men have those too, may it be an attempt to quit smoking, an interdiction to go to the pub or a 1-2 days period of abstinence).

As to the column from the previous week, I will let you know that my boss is a very interesting and kind person, despite being somewhat of an organizational freak (no, we are not doing some butt kissing here, just stating facts) and the article was definitely not directed to him, but to general archetypes we all tend to deal with at some time or other.

This being said, I have to tell you I had the enthusiastic privilege of seeing a modern ballet show last week, all tidied up and festooned with modern symphonic music. Having arrived about 10 minutes early, I had the pleasure of hearing the orchestra tuning its instruments. I was waiting patiently for the opera to start and when it did . . . heck, there was no actual change. They had started playing, but it still sounded as if they were tuning the instruments. Nothing changed over the next two hours and I left with a sudden headache brought about by the modernist explosion of agonizing unrest.

The dancing itself certainly matched the 'playing' (I wanted just to write playing, but I had to turn around and mark that this did not fit any definition I know). I am somewhat surprised the main dancer did not break his back with all the sudden moves he attempted and I am certainly surprised he didn't break someone else's back with some of the other moves. The end was bliss: the main hero, accused of murder, was judged, condemned and decapitated. It was strange to feel a little joy at your torment being so suddenly ended, but you had to turn human and stop rejoicing. Don't go to modern operas/ballets on Sunday: the weekend of rest and relaxation will not help.