Oh, Hey There

The other day, I was all daaaamn I've done a ton of writing lately.

Which I have.

In my head.

Isn't that great? I compose entire entries, and then they never get an audience. Except the one in my head. And that audience really enjoys what I have to say.

One of them that I never got to share with you was about hedgehogs.

They're cute.

And I want one.

Too bad it would have a crazy person for a mother.

Anyway, that's not even the point of this post. At all. The point is concerts.

Concerts, in case you weren't aware, have rules. Not the kinds of rules that are embossed on a cheap piece of plastic and nailed next to the door, but the unspoken rules that everybody should have the common sense and lack of idiocy to follow.

First rule: Leave your fucking candy at home.

Honestly.

When your crinkly wrapper begins to overshadow the violin solo, we have a problem.

So unless what you are unwrapping is vital to your immediate health, put it away, I'm begging you. Before I get violent.

Second rule: When asked to sing along to a piece, sing the melody like everybody else in the entire auditorium.


Yes, we know there is a harmony to this song. Do you know it? Great. Do you sound good on it? What's that? You don't? Then shut the hell up.

There was this one lady tonight, seated a bit further down the row than my family, who had one of the classic old lady voices. Like the muscles that used to hold her chords in place so she could sing nice, clear pitches have gotten so old and flabby that her vibrato has practically taken on a life of its own. She's singing away, the floor is on the verge of shaking with the reverberations of her vocalizing, and decides that it is absolutely necessary to broadcast her knowledge of obscure harmonies.

Now, I'm not saying harmonizing is a bad thing. But if you learned it back when you still had teeth and haven't sung it since, you probably should not attempt it any more. Because, news flash, it sounds like shit.

Also, she decided that the rest of us silly audience members had clearly never been in a choir before, because instead of singing along with the conductor who was at least 100 feet away and therefore not on the same tempo as the sound that was actually reaching our ears, we were listening instead to the choir, and singing along with them.

Silly us.

So she sang with the conductor. Putting her a fraction of a beat ahead, a couple notes off key, and dangerously far away from any sort of sound that people would ever voluntarily listen to.

Third rule (and, may I say, the most important rule): I. Don't. Want. To. Hear. You. Breathe.

Ever.


EVER.


Like, Christ. If I wanted to hear some sort of confirmation that you were still alive over there, I would just wait until the song was over and see if you clapped. But unless you just finished running a marathon, I don't want to hear your breath ever. Blanket rule.

Especially if you're like the woman to my right who couldn't even breathe in a normal pattern like every other person on the planet.

You know, most of us take an in breath, let it out. An in breath, let it out.

Not that you can hear us.

But no, no no. That was not good enough for this woman.

Instead, she voted to take two quick breaths, one right after another. Hold without noise for about five seconds. Then two more quick breaths. And hold.

All while sounding like an elephant with asthma.

Well, lady, if there was a chance I was going to enjoy this piano solo, you just blew it. Thanks.

I could barely contain my rage.

Other unmentioned rules include: keep your illness at home or at least don't cough like you're a wild animal, note that stage whispering does not actually count as whispering, especially during a quick, sensitive song, and please for the love of god do not clap in the middle of a song. It's not over until the conductor's hands are down or the soloist breaks out of the moment. Everybody knows that. Everybody.

But anyway, on a calmer, less violent note, the concert was fantastic! I now kind of wish that I could play the violin, or that I was a man so that I could sing tenor.

You know, either works.