Theatre Etiquette For Dummies
Alright, people. It took all my grace and composure to not clunk two geriatrics’ heads together like Moe the other night.
Here’s a little primer on theatre etiquette for everyone out there. If you are at the theatre and you are not on stage but are sitting in the audience with a program in your hands then KEEP YOUR BIG FAT MOUTH SHUT. What is so hard to understand here? The actors are getting paid to speak. Not you.
All night long, these two old farts were talking right behind us. They were constantly asking each other, “Who is that?” or “Is that boy dead?” It’s not like we were watching Shakespeare, it was the freaking Miracle Worker. Then he would have to ask her, “What did she say?” Well, if you would keep your freaking dentures still for 5 seconds, you could hear what the actors were saying.
And they couldn’t keep the characters straight. It wasn’t that the play was complicated; these blue hairs were just morons. For example, it wasn’t until halfway through Act Two, after several references to the fact, that they finally understood that the only older male actor on stage was playing Helen Keller’s father. Who the crap did you think he was? Matlock?
And to make it worse, every 5 to 10 minutes someone in our vicinity would let loose the most foul silent-but-deadly fart into the air. Is it that hard to keep the O-Ring clenched for a couple hours? All show long. Talk talk fart. Talk talk fart.
You are at the theatre. This is a public place. You are not in your front room watching a DVD. Pull your heads out of your ADD butts and realize that while at the theatre you need to shut up, pay attention, and keep all your holes shut.
What What
I am sitting here, doing homework, and like all attention challenged Americans I have the television on in the background as I work. Unfortunately, what is on is a horrible show called Madden Nation.
Madden Nation is a show about a bunch of losers playing EA Sports Madden 2006 in a tournament where the final winner gets $100,000. The guys playing were pathetic. They were slamming the controllers and getting in each others faces after good plays. With the amount of trash-talking-in-your-face-what-what these dudes were throwing at each other you would have thought they were the athletes themselves actually on the field involved in something that mattered.
Now, if you’ll excuse me. I have to go beat some more blacklist rivals in Need For Speed Most Wanted. You should see all my fly cars. They rock.
Of Love and Puke
So, if you read the previous thread, you know today is my anniversary. Yes indeed. My beautiful wife has put up with my crap for eight years.
“So, Strude, if it’s your anniversary why aren’t you out on the town with your wife?”
Glad you asked. As we pulled up to the babysitter’s house, my wife gets my 2-year-old out of the car and I hear BLECH, SPLASH, “Oh, no.” My daughter had been sick yesterday, but feeling fine today, or so we thought. We were wrong. So, we turned around and came home. Although, it wasn’t a total loss. After all, I don’t recall ever seeing pink puke before.
We were going to see a play that we are reviewing for our website. Instead, my wife and son are at the play and I am home taking care of my daughters with my fingers crossed for no more barf.
I guess the important thing to remember is that while tonight was bust, that the last eight years haven’t been. It’s been a wonderful ride. I still hope I don’t see any more pink puke.
Eight
Happy Anniversary to the most wonderful thing to have ever happened to me.
I love you, baby.
Confessions of a Cubbie
It’s that time of year again, yep, the time when I reflect on the fact that when growing up, many factors conspired against me to make me a Cubs fan. Growing up, I wanted to choose a baseball team I would root for. Salt Lake didn’t have a Major League team (and we probably never will) so I was forced to look elsewhere for a team. I chose the Chicago Cubs.
Why?
In Little League, I was always on the Cubs and my parents’ cable subscription included WGN from Chicago that aired many a Cubs game. I became a Cubs fan at a young age watching the likes of Ryne Sandberg and Andre Dawson and listening to the slippery slurs of Harry Caray. I was hooked and doomed.
Little did I know the years of disappointment that would come from these twists of fate.