Saturday, December 01, 2007
Notes from the Balcony
Tonight we stampeded into the holiday season with the first holiday concert featuring holiday decorations and songs and sleigh bells and trumpeters (that sounded as if they had had far too much grog at the neighboring taverns). The holiday concert featuring holiday decorations and songs and sleigh bells and trumpeters (that sounded as if they had had far too much grog at the neighboring taverns) also featured choirs of angels; some of them children and some of them college students. Parents of the angels were also present at this gathering to listen to the heralding therein. And amongst all the angel choirs and all the parents, some of them were well-behaved and some of them were not. And here begins my tale.
We generally sit in the balcony. The acoustics are better and the seats are less expensive. From where we are sitting to the stage is approximately 75 yards. Add to that the fact that the choir is sitting behind the full orchestra, so add another 25 feet or so. Suffice it to say it would be nearly impossible for a person sitting on the stage, with white hot, blindingly bright stage lights to see their parents in row nosebleed. But that doesn't stop them from trying.
The parents, that is.
To my right one row in front of me in the nosebleed section was mother, two children and a generic old person. They sat down and took off their coats, enabling the entire balcony to feast upon their festive garments that included a leather cowboy mini skirt, a red multi-tiered (but I think not on purpose) long taffeta skirt-type thing, and a shoulder wrap that I'm certain was fashioned from curtain swag. The baggies of candies were unwrapped -- they were either red-hots, jelly beans or Skittles -- and then the show began.
The parents, that is.
Although nearly a football field away, the mother attempted to achieve the impossible: she tried to get her angel choir child to acknowledge her presence by getting her attention. And how exactly did she do this you may ask? By doing the chicken dance. THE CHICKEN DANCE. The hand hand (cluck cluck) elbow waving hands in the armpits (flap flap) butt wiggle (shake shake) CHICKEN DANCE. From 100 yards away. Was she successful? Of course not. Did that stop her from doing it over and over and over again until the concert started? Of course not. Did I maintain my composure and politely ignore her while discussing more pleasant trivialities of the day? Of course not.
The well-behaved in this equation, as I mentioned earlier, were the angel choirs, not the parents. And there is a very good reason these children are well-behaved: They are taught to be professional and polite. There are expectations, and if they don't behave themselves, they will be killed, baked into pies and fed to ravenous atonal beasts. Simple as that. It's a horrible fate, and one that no child wants to tempt, so as you might expect, they behave themselves. They don't move. They don't wave. They don't fidget. They sit still, keep their mouths shut (unless singing) and listen politely.
But does this deter the bad-bad parents? No! It makes them try all the harder. Throughout the auditorium parents upstairs, downstairs and in my lady's chamber were carrying on trying to get a response. Not to be outdone by the chicken dance lady, to my left in the row in front of me another set of parents were waving and flailing their arms so frantically overhead, I thought they were trying to land small aircraft. Did it work? Of course not. Did that stop them from doing it over and over and over again until the concert started? Of course not. Did I maintain my composure and politely ignore them while discussing more pleasant trivialities of the day? Of course not.
I made notes.
Today marks the opening day for Holidailies, and I had a blog to write.
Welcome new and returning readers. Let's remember to be polite.
Please no flailing about and NO CHICKEN DANCES.
If you cannot behave, I'll have to kill you, bake you into pies and feed you to atonal beasts.
And then I'll talk about you.
Happy December, 2007.
Labels: Holidailies 2007
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