In days of yore, which is something poets say when they either don't know how long ago something happened or they prefer not to think how many years have passed under the bridge since, I dated an aesthetic artist. Her name was Yvette and I met her on a train between Newark and Asbury Park. She said she was on a culture exchange program from France and was living in Greenwich Village. Why she was on that train I never knew, but we had a great time together on the Boardwalk and I could tell from her accent that she had culture. Besides, she was an artist?.

Culture though, like beauty, is altogether in the eye of the beholder. Sometimes it depends on whether you do or do not raise your pinky finger when hoisting a beer. A little bit of culture can often go a long way - a very long way. There are other indications of culture. Opera is a case in point.

Here we have a drama set to music with outlandish costumes and actors who break into loud solos or duets, usually in each other's face and always in a foreign language. The music never ceases from start to finish even while actors are engaged in the throes of romance or a tragic death scene. The mutual teen-age anguish of Romeo and Juliet comes readily to mind and is not unlike the throes of today's teenagers, at least in their own minds.

Opera began somewhere in Italy back in those previously mentioned days of yore. However, when nobody was looking it snuck into the United States bringing its somber Neapolitan atmosphere along with it. Folks, this is culture with a capital "K" and nausea with a small "n." To most of us unrefined commoners, opera requires both a European ear and a translator to sit through it with some degree of perception. It is also a great place to catch a few winks.

The Metropolitan Opera in New York City is the most renown of American opera centers. It has seen performers such as Enrico Caruso, Maria Callas, and Luciano Pavorotti but is best known for having coined the purely American phrase, "it ain't over 'til the fat lady sings."

Then, there is ballet; culture personified.

Ballet consists of petite and emaciated ladies in very short dresses hiked up way past their dignity flitting silently like butterflies across a stage with toes pointed outward and chased by guys in very tight pants that fail to disguise their basic male gender. This art form also originated in Italy but soon emigrated to France and Russia. The music is more elegant than that found in operas and the dancers more graceful. Loud singing is not permitted, an acceptable rule because ballerinas have more than enough to do just traipsing about on tiptoes without losing their tutus. Not surprising is the fact that the leading stars of the ballet have been Nuroyev, Baryshnikov, Njinsky, and Pavlova, all Russians. Apparently, Italians are preoccupied with the aforementioned opera, the French have unknown issues, and the Americans are all at Yankee Stadium.

Ballets usually present fairy tales such as Sleeping Beauty and Swan Lake. This brings about great sighs of appreciation from the female gallery. However, an unofficial poll conducted in 1991 revealed that guys who do attend a ballet, first of all do so under protest; secondly only to view the more masculine Nutcracker ballet out of morbid curiosity.

This particular ballet is the story of a magical Christmas Eve in which a mysterious guest appears, bringing two mechanical dolls to perform a dance for children. His gift of a Nutcracker doll (it could have been given a better name) steals the limelight. When everyone on stage falls asleep (which is easy to do), an army of menacing mice materializes at the midnight hour and the Nutcracker doll leads a troop of toy wooden soldiers into battle against them. One of the children ends the battle by pulling off the tail of the seven-headed mouse king and the Nutcracker doll suddenly becomes a handsome prince.

Guys wake up at this point because they naturally prefer soldiers to butterflies, but then they find that people are dancing and doing a pas de deux all over the place, so they go back to sleep. Too much culture can ruin a guy for life.