A Night at the Symphony, Take One

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R Man and I and our good friend Anne went to the symphony last night, the first performance of our series for this season. They played Mozart and Mahler, either because they wanted to offer a thoughtful contrast between two vibrantly different composers or because they’re working their way through the alphabet. Who knows.

R Man and I both love Mozart, but this was a terribly dull piece, plus the San Francisco Symphony always plays with a sweet rich sound and I like a more brisk, butch little Mozart. Mahler bores us both and this was very Mahlery, meandering along, never reaching a conclusion and sounding much too influenced by Wagner. It was based on 12th century Chinese poetry and had some lovely exotic parts, but all in all, it was Mahler. Tragically, the SF Symphony specializes in him, so this might be a longish season.

Also adding to my season long concerns, the woman in front of us seems to be one of those hags who loves to glare at people at performances in order to emphasize how sensitive she is. When we were getting settled in our seats, I picked up the programme and, pretending to be outraged, said to Anne “I thought this was Blue Man Group. I’ve been cheated.” Haglady immediately turned to give me a three-quarter Evil Eye. I have to admit, it was very well done, I commend an artist when I encounter one. Just enough of a turn in her seat to let me know she was on to me, just enough of a stiffening of her posture to imply her disdain, not quite meeting our eyes, but telegraphing her distaste never the less. “Just a joke,” I said, which brought on another round of turning, stiffening, and telegraphing as if to say she was too much of a lady to know what I was talking about. Good thing I hadn’t addressed her as “honey” as I so often do.

She also got in a good glare at some poor schmoe who succumbed to a coughing fit towards the long delayed end of the Mahler. Maybe he was snoring, maybe he was just hatching an excuse to flee, I don’t know. Anyway, he very thoughtfully got up and left. She glared. Shortly after that, his wife left to join him, understandably, and the Glaring One was able to unleash her full arsenal. She turned around, aimed at the departing woman’s back and RAISED HER EYEBROW.

Oh, the bitch is in for it now. I shall remember that eyebrow and she will regret it. I don’t approve of people who chat in concerts, but I also don’t think you have to sit there in unbroken reverential stillness. Making such a huge deal out of the normal trespasses of being an audience member pisses me off. Should this stiffed out bitch continue to do so, I will have no choice but to put spit wads in the back of her fussy little page boy hairdo.

She will have brought it on herself.

About mrpeenee

A former bon vivant and terror of a number of New Orleans bars in the mad, gay 1980s, I'm now quietly retired and widowed in San Francisco. I have a crooked nose due to an unfortunate Frisbee accident.

8 responses »

  1. Oh honey, forget spit wads: bring John and have him leave his cell phone on so he can be outraged by the mysterious disturbance when it vibrates. That’s the best symphony outing ever!

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  2. I just went to our symphony’s champagne gala opening thingy, and the guest violinist was none other than Itzhak Perlman! That was a most pleasant surprise, and the entire performance was phenomenal. Wagner and Strauss. Just beautiful.As for dealing with the hateful hag, I suggest quietly farting, after which you can disapprovingly frown at <>her<>!

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  3. Whatever you do, make it something that will frighten this woman from ever looking in your direction again! A lewd facial expression or gesture might be fun. Or just say “You know you want it, bitch!”

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  4. I may be out of line here Sweetie, but my I suggest killing her with kindness. Whenever she starts to turn, put on your most brightest, wonderful smile, and say “Isn’t this just all soooo, wonderful?”And then perhaps a silent but deadly in her direction would seal the deal, so to speak!You are so hilarious Darlin’!Hugs from the HinterlandDen Den

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