Valentine’s Day is the celebration of love, romance, and relationships … and your local florist. But mostly love, I guess. Id est, Valentine’s Day is the celebration of the most complex, perpetual, make-the-rules-up-as-you-go life gauntlet that any of us will experience. I think it’s agreeable that much like art, love is ubiquitous, subjective and open for interpretation. Therefore, what’s a more appropriate way to honor Valentine’s Day than by taking time out to appreciate art (both visual and musical), with a romantic theme? At least this was my thinking when I purchased my tickets to the Bechtler Museum of Modern Art’s Music at the Museum: “Chamber of Love” concert.

The Music at the Museum event is a regular happening, which varies in subject matter, but has two consistent elements: a concert and featured works of art often pulled from Bechtler’s private collection and thus not on exhibition at the museum regularly. The Chamber of Love theme was specific to the timing with Valentine’s Day and consisted of the story of two works of art, the two artists who fell madly in love over a long holiday, face-melting vocal stylings from a very talented soprano, and guitar duets both original and classical (each love songs of course).

The only way for me to possibly to explain my experience is to say that it was a downright religious one. It was sensory ecstasy. No kidding, I saw a grown man with a mustache openly weep.

As a foundation, the Bechtler space is incredibly beautiful and with the additional layers of impassioned and incredibly talented composers, performers, and musicians, it was wholly transcendent. Granted, you have to have a taste for this kind of thing. Opera and music with no words isn’t for everyone, I know, but if it is your cup of fancy artsy fartsy tea, you simply must check out the next Music at the Museum.

For more information on Music at the Museum and other Bechtler Museum of Modern Art events, visit www.bechtler.org.

Megan Henshall is a project coordinator by day, favorite child, rollerskating enthusiast, blogger, and lover of all things social and under appreciated. For more writing/ramblings/rants visit www.dearsuchandso-keyboardventing.blogspot.com.

Halfway through the final performance at the 5th Annual Runway for the Ballet this past Saturday, I regretted dropping out of dance class. I was 8, I hated tights (and still do), and I mostly wanted to express myself through spontaneous movement rather than learn choreography. More exaggerated snapping and Ariel-like hair flips, please! Saturday, I realized that I should have shut up and done as I was told because now I would have crazy athletic integrity, a regular forum for a lot of people to pay attention to me, and the piece de resistance — a ballerina body.

Runway for the Ballet is an event to look forward to every year. It’s the perfect combination of art and fashion, culture but also partying. For those of you who are romantically attached, it makes a pretty remarkable date night. Fellas, here’s a not-so-subtle pointer; you can get some brownie points and possibly sexual favors for ponying up for tickets to this next year. For the single Charlotteans, I have to admit that it has been some time since I was in a room with so many eligible pretty people, both male and female.

• Hanging out at the ballet

I had a realization during a recent night out Uptown. Irony is the new black, Charlotte. Get with it or prepare to feel left out.

The first act in the cirque d'ironie began when we decided to enter a BAR named Prohibition. Cue up that awful Alanis Morissette song where, in the video, her 7th alter ego has special needs and forgot to brush her hair. It IS ironic, I DO think. Eh hem, call me a history geek, but in order to be called Prohibition, shouldn’t we refrain from the excessive sale of alcoholic beverages?

Unleeesssss, (detective voice) the premise is that the bar is an insurgency against the concept behind 1920s prohibition and general mainstream moral and cultural impositions? In that case, it’s a whole new brand of insincerity because I saw a LOT of bowties and bandage dresses. No one in a state of rebellion or principal would wear either of those things. Not ever.

It was like I had entered an alternative dimension ruled by stylish mockery. Grown men wearing My Little Pony T-shirts and closeted gay men making awkward passes at confused girls. Couples shag dancing to Neyo and too many neon colored shirts and accessories to count. People irrationally self-deprecating on the dance floor and then being overly confident in their pickup lines. At point, circa 1 a.m., I looked at my cousin and asked, “What the heck is going on?” To which she had no response other than a shoulder shrug.

Then I did the only thing there is to do when life stops making sense. It is, ironically, what I do best. I promptly inserted myself into a group of total strangers and wobbled my by and large uncoordinated (except for when I’m wobbling) white ass off.

Megan Henshall is a project coordinator by day, favorite child, rollerskating enthusiast, blogger, and lover of all things social and under appreciated. For more writing/ramblings/rants visit www.dearsuchandso-keyboardventing.blogspot.com.