Maybe it's just where I live, but I sometimes feel that manners and culture are falling by the wayside. There are times when one must look beyond his own needs and wants and consider what is good for the Order. Generally there are norms to which we all adhere so as to live harmoniously with others of our species. There are standards for behavior at home and standards for behavior in public, amongst the other earthlings. Unspoken Rules, you may think they are called, some call them Common Courtesies. Attending several recitals in the past few weeks, I have observed a breach in common sense on the part of the public. Here are some reminders to facilitate the entire congregation's enjoyment.
While attending a performance of the arts, it is customary to clap to show one's appreciation for the performers and their accomplishments. This applause should occur at the completion of the piece, not during. One should ascertain that it is indeed finished before expressing approval with abandon.
It is not customary to shout, "WOOOOO!!! WOOOO!! GO ASHLEY!", during the performance or even afterwards, no matter what the performer's name is. One should note that this type of exaltation is usually not enjoyed by the artist, nor the other patrons.
Equally frowned upon by other spectators is tapping in time to the music on the backs of their seats. This does not enhance their experience; rather, it detracts immensely from it.
Talking to one's companions during the presentation is also a distraction to other members of the audience. If one has more to say than, "Do you have a hanky?", or "That was wonderful!", to one's neighbor, it probably should wait until later. It is terribly shabby behavior to conduct an entire conversation while the artist is presenting himself to the world after months and weeks of preparation.
Allowing one's child to talk loudly, whimper, or cry, during the performance, is reprehensible. It matters not a whit to anyone in the audience if the child, or its guardian, is remotely related to the performer; the creature should be removed from the assemblage immediately.
When one considers the space-time continuum, cell phones have been around a relatively short amount of time. Consequently, the rules regarding cell phones and other electronic devices are proportionately new. However, it shouldn't be that difficult to turn one's cell phone off prior to a production of any kind. Any sort of activity for which a cell phone is used, be it communication by voice or text, playing games, taking pictures, searching the Internet or playing music, will be a disruption to the participants as well as to the constituents of the audience.
Of the six principles listed above, five of them were violated at the show I attended this evening. I found myself feeling bitter about the amount of money that I spent to procure the tickets; I realized I was fantasizing about living in a bigger city, where perhaps the audience members did not have such a personal connection to the performers; I became hyper-critical of those around me (particularly the giantess that was seated in front of both me and my daughter, who found it necessary to frequently lean to each side and whisper to her companions for lengthy amounts of time).
How sad that I have to give up gentility to shop locally. I would love to patronize the arts in my own community; there is a wealth of local talent to explore. How am I supposed to appreciate the artistry on hand when I am sitting chin-to-jowl with texters, talkers, trumpeters and tappers? How can I teach my daughter proper etiquette when it is not being followed by the majority of the population? It is a case of "Do as I say, not as they do."
FREEWAY FREELOADERS
*disclaimer: I have used the pronoun "he" throughout this post, not because my belief is that only the fellows are freeloaders, or the reverse, that freeloaders are only fellows, but because I prefer its use as a gender-neutral pronoun as opposed to the clumsy "he/she", or the more impersonal "someone", the unpronounceable "s/he", or the grammatical nightmare of "they".*
I have ranted to you before about those people forlornly standing at the exit ramps, holding their ratty cardboard signs that say things such as, "Homeless, son and I are just trying to get by", or "Please help, need money for gas", or some other lame excuse. Where did that permanent marker come from, anyway?
When did we all become so cynical? Well, probably when we noticed that the person holding the ratty (yet good enough to use again tomorrow) sign wasn't barefoot and dressed in dirty rags. Maybe when the person exhaled fumes from the fire stick he was smoking. Do you know how much a pack of cigarettes costs?
According to my limited research, in the summer of 2011 a pack of cigs in the Evergreen State cost $9.89. WOW! Yesterday, the 10th of December, I paid $3.39 for a gallon of gas. That really is food for thought: cancer sticks cost almost three times the cost of gas! So the next person who is smoking and holding a sign that says, "Ran out of gas! Trying to get to Portland!", is probably trying to get to Oregon because he heard that a pack of puffs only costs $5.59 there. Plus there's no sales tax. Now THAT'S savvy shopping. Get someone to pay your gas money so you can go down and buy your butts for cheap.
Running out of gas is really not that bad of a problem, not one that tugs my pity-line, anyway. My dad ran out of gas plenty of times and not once did we stand on the corner begging for help. Usually it was something we had anticipated, so we had a spare can of gas in the vehicle. There was one time on Highway 1, in the Canadian Rockies, in the middle of the night, when he had to steal a bike to ride to a gas station to get the gas. (I can tell you this now because the statute of limitations has run out on theft. And as you will see, it wasn't really theft.) The bike had two flat tires. He almost had a lift back to our vehicle with a trucker, but the guy wouldn't let him bring the bike. Instead he rode it and put it back where he got it. But the point is that running out of gas is not the end of the world.
The nerviest freeway ramp rustlers are the ones who say they are veterans, or have starving, sick babies at home. Those are the people that have no shame, and really lay the guilt on thick. I think if we knew that the person truly needed help, most of us would have no problem giving him money. On the other hand, if a person truly needs aid, aren't there organizations waiting and willing to provide assistance? Red Cross? Goodwill? Visiting Nurses? Various churches and missions offer food and clothing banks. I would think that that would be a much easier way to get needs met than standing in the cold and the wet, getting splashed by every car that drives by. Unless getting splattered and receiving the evil eye is a small price to pay for better benefits.
I'm not saying to stop giving them money (ARE you dishing out the dinero?). If you have to give, maybe you could give the guy something like food (a loaf of bread and peanut butter can last a few days), the business card of a charitable organization, some dry socks, or your old galoshes. Preferably something incombustible, so he can't smoke it.
I have ranted to you before about those people forlornly standing at the exit ramps, holding their ratty cardboard signs that say things such as, "Homeless, son and I are just trying to get by", or "Please help, need money for gas", or some other lame excuse. Where did that permanent marker come from, anyway?
When did we all become so cynical? Well, probably when we noticed that the person holding the ratty (yet good enough to use again tomorrow) sign wasn't barefoot and dressed in dirty rags. Maybe when the person exhaled fumes from the fire stick he was smoking. Do you know how much a pack of cigarettes costs?
According to my limited research, in the summer of 2011 a pack of cigs in the Evergreen State cost $9.89. WOW! Yesterday, the 10th of December, I paid $3.39 for a gallon of gas. That really is food for thought: cancer sticks cost almost three times the cost of gas! So the next person who is smoking and holding a sign that says, "Ran out of gas! Trying to get to Portland!", is probably trying to get to Oregon because he heard that a pack of puffs only costs $5.59 there. Plus there's no sales tax. Now THAT'S savvy shopping. Get someone to pay your gas money so you can go down and buy your butts for cheap.
Running out of gas is really not that bad of a problem, not one that tugs my pity-line, anyway. My dad ran out of gas plenty of times and not once did we stand on the corner begging for help. Usually it was something we had anticipated, so we had a spare can of gas in the vehicle. There was one time on Highway 1, in the Canadian Rockies, in the middle of the night, when he had to steal a bike to ride to a gas station to get the gas. (I can tell you this now because the statute of limitations has run out on theft. And as you will see, it wasn't really theft.) The bike had two flat tires. He almost had a lift back to our vehicle with a trucker, but the guy wouldn't let him bring the bike. Instead he rode it and put it back where he got it. But the point is that running out of gas is not the end of the world.
The nerviest freeway ramp rustlers are the ones who say they are veterans, or have starving, sick babies at home. Those are the people that have no shame, and really lay the guilt on thick. I think if we knew that the person truly needed help, most of us would have no problem giving him money. On the other hand, if a person truly needs aid, aren't there organizations waiting and willing to provide assistance? Red Cross? Goodwill? Visiting Nurses? Various churches and missions offer food and clothing banks. I would think that that would be a much easier way to get needs met than standing in the cold and the wet, getting splashed by every car that drives by. Unless getting splattered and receiving the evil eye is a small price to pay for better benefits.
I'm not saying to stop giving them money (ARE you dishing out the dinero?). If you have to give, maybe you could give the guy something like food (a loaf of bread and peanut butter can last a few days), the business card of a charitable organization, some dry socks, or your old galoshes. Preferably something incombustible, so he can't smoke it.
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