So on Sunday Hubba-hubba and I had a rare Mr. Personality-free night. We went to see this band at the Hollywood Bowl. The Bowl is a SoCal landmark, the summer home of the Los Angeles Philharmonic, that I absolutely love. It is an outdoor ampitheater carved into the side of a forested hill. As the sun began to set, you simply had to look up to see the small clouds scudding across the sky illuminated to pinks and yellows. It was beautiful and relaxing, and I was looking forward to a wonderful night.
The concert began and I am getting into the music, for it has been a very long time since we have seen this particular group perform live. They are actually better live than on CD. Rarely do you hear such awe-inspiring voices that are pitch perfect and in need of no assistance of any kind. And, they were even accompanied by a 50-piece orchestra. Talk about a great show.
Another great thing about the Bowl is that they allow you to bring food and alcohol so that you can "picnic" during the concert.
But, the worst thing about the Bowl is that they allow you to bring food and alcohol so that you can "picnic" during the concert.
I say that because there are all kinds of inconsiderate people who will fumble with opening up chip bags for half a song. They will accidentally knock over their wine bottle and send it crashing to the concrete floor where literally everyone in the ampitheater can hear it. They seem to think that they are actually at a real picnic, and the louder the music gets, the louder they feel they need to shout over eat to hear each other.
It was our misfortune to be sitting directly in front of such a group. I seem to have a karma for that kind of thing. I, who play strictly by the rules, am always being forced to sit in close proximity to buffoons who answer their cell phones in the middle of a movie. Or people who have no idea of what is going on in class, and so must loudly whisper with a fellow clueless buffoon to figure out what page the teacher is on.
So for about 20 minutes of the concert, I was furious. I wanted to turn around and ask these people why they shelled out over fifty bucks a ticket if they were going to make enough noise to not even be able to hear the music. I certainly hadn't paid all that money just to inhale their pot smoke and then endure their frantic pawing open of snack bags as the munchies hit with a vengeance.
With atypical restraint, I resorted to turning and throwing them nasty looks, well as making snide comments about them to Hubba-hubba. Who, incidentally, can never seem to hear other people and their noise as much as I can.
Is it a guy thing vs. a girl thing? Or maybe it's just a bitch thing. Yeah, that sounds about right.