Could you not talk?
Today was part two of my birthday celebration (David took me for a delicious French bistro meal last night. ) Today, David had the day off, and he had planned a few different options for how we might spend the day. (We had tickets to a play in the evening.)
I chose David's suggestion of going to North Point state park; part of the site is the location of the old Bay Shore Amusement Park, a popular site for Baltimoreans from the turn of the century through the 40's. There are a few remnants of the park that still survive -- a pier, a fountain, a trolley shed (where city dwellers would disembark) and a restaurant (which has now been turned into the visitor's center.) You can see some photos here (scroll down to the section on Bay Shore.)
We wandered in the beautiful spring weather along paths through meadows where butterflies floated about. It could not have been any more serene. It was the best way to spend the first day of my "new year": I always like to go someplace I've never been before on my birthday, and I like to spend some time in contemplation. This was perfect. (Also, David knows I have a mini-obsession with vanished amusement parks. So, points for David for acknowledging my odd little interests.)
We came home, ate a quick meal, and walked to the theater. It was Radio Golf, by August Wilson, at CenterStage. The production was excellent -- they always do good work, but this cast was above even the usual high standards. I found the play mesmerizing.
Except for The Woman Next To David Who Talked. When an amusing character said something funny, she remarked, "Oh! He's CRAZY! Tee hee!"
I was proud of myself for nipping this in the bud. David was leaning forward at this moment, so I took the opportunity to look over him at the woman, and just said, "Could you not talk?"
Now, that was more curt than Miss Manners would really suggest in this situation, but I. Have. Had it. Get a grip, people.
She was late 20s to early 30s-ish, in a smart white pantsuit from the 90s -- appropriate I suppose since the play was set in that decade. She looked at me and said, "Sorry."
Another funny line followed almost immediately, and David chuckled. The Pantsuit sneered, "Can I laugh?"
I didn't hear the next few lines because the blood was pounding in my head so loud. ERRRRGHHHHHH!
David told me later that before the show, Pantsuit Patty was regaling her companion with anecdotes about how well-connected and powerful she is. I can see that she is truly classy, through and through.
Still, the play was engrossing, and Pantsuit Patty was at least paying attention. When people are chatters in the theater, I mentally cut them a little slack if they are at least following the action (as opposed to being bored, taking a cell call or texting their friends...) But still. Is it so hard not to talk? Sometimes I think I would be happy having taken a vow of silence in a monastery somewhere.
Well, at least until the latest Desperate Housewives was on, and I wanted to talk about just how off-track the writers have gotten with Bree -- but that's another story for another time. I'll fill you in on my adventures in the monastery later, too.
I chose David's suggestion of going to North Point state park; part of the site is the location of the old Bay Shore Amusement Park, a popular site for Baltimoreans from the turn of the century through the 40's. There are a few remnants of the park that still survive -- a pier, a fountain, a trolley shed (where city dwellers would disembark) and a restaurant (which has now been turned into the visitor's center.) You can see some photos here (scroll down to the section on Bay Shore.)
We wandered in the beautiful spring weather along paths through meadows where butterflies floated about. It could not have been any more serene. It was the best way to spend the first day of my "new year": I always like to go someplace I've never been before on my birthday, and I like to spend some time in contemplation. This was perfect. (Also, David knows I have a mini-obsession with vanished amusement parks. So, points for David for acknowledging my odd little interests.)
We came home, ate a quick meal, and walked to the theater. It was Radio Golf, by August Wilson, at CenterStage. The production was excellent -- they always do good work, but this cast was above even the usual high standards. I found the play mesmerizing.
Except for The Woman Next To David Who Talked. When an amusing character said something funny, she remarked, "Oh! He's CRAZY! Tee hee!"
I was proud of myself for nipping this in the bud. David was leaning forward at this moment, so I took the opportunity to look over him at the woman, and just said, "Could you not talk?"
Now, that was more curt than Miss Manners would really suggest in this situation, but I. Have. Had it. Get a grip, people.
She was late 20s to early 30s-ish, in a smart white pantsuit from the 90s -- appropriate I suppose since the play was set in that decade. She looked at me and said, "Sorry."
Another funny line followed almost immediately, and David chuckled. The Pantsuit sneered, "Can I laugh?"
I didn't hear the next few lines because the blood was pounding in my head so loud. ERRRRGHHHHHH!
David told me later that before the show, Pantsuit Patty was regaling her companion with anecdotes about how well-connected and powerful she is. I can see that she is truly classy, through and through.
Still, the play was engrossing, and Pantsuit Patty was at least paying attention. When people are chatters in the theater, I mentally cut them a little slack if they are at least following the action (as opposed to being bored, taking a cell call or texting their friends...) But still. Is it so hard not to talk? Sometimes I think I would be happy having taken a vow of silence in a monastery somewhere.
Well, at least until the latest Desperate Housewives was on, and I wanted to talk about just how off-track the writers have gotten with Bree -- but that's another story for another time. I'll fill you in on my adventures in the monastery later, too.
posted by crumblord at 9:25 PM
1 Comments:
I never have a problem with the chatterers when I usher at Center Stage—instead, there is always someone who falls asleep. Sometimes this is sketchy, because you don't want to "shake" the person to wake them up and suddenly have them sue CS for inappropriate touching or something. Usually, if there is an empty seat next to them, I sit there and try to make a quiet ruckus of my own. There was an usher I used to volunteer with that would always fall asleep as well—and snore. Maybe it's me. Maybe I just create a tranquil web around me that lulls people to unconsciousness.
'Twas a good play, yes.
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