To My Stolid Neighbor at the Killers Concert:
Excuse me, I brushed against your motionless shoulder once again with these legs of mine that simply can't stand still. There you sit, your crossed ankles propped up on the back of the empty seat in front of us, as if you are being forced to listen to boring in-laws pontificate about politics after a sleep-inducing Thanksgiving dinner. Are we in the same place? Are you in the same building as the seven thousand other Killers fans that are now raising the roof of Salt Lake's E Center? Or perhaps you were replaced with an alien life form while Brandon Flowers sang "Space Man".
Please understand me, I am very accommodating when it comes to performance etiquette. After all, until I reached my twenties, my entire performance experience consisted of sitting in hushed blackened halls, unwrapping my mints during the interspersed applause so as not to encourage the wrath of the snow-head sitting in front of me. I know when to be quiet. But I also like to think I know when to be loud, a propriety you clearly have yet to master.
Your playing the statue at a Killers concert is akin to me shouting "Whoo hoo" and pumping my arms when Violetta dies in Traviata. Disturbing, disconcerting and just plain wrong. So lighten up, soldier, and put some soul into it.
Neylan--I don't even know who the Killers are, but I can appreciate your feelings at the concert and that need to know that those around you are as involved and animated as you are experiencing. So many of the greatest and most profound things need to be shared, and it's easy to resent it when some one by you is such a stick!!! You know that I have always been animated, and I can recall times such as the one you told about. Hay---just remember that even an old babe such as I can groove at a good rock concert!!!!!!
Posted by: Diana B. Anderson | October 05, 2009 at 12:39 AM