Theater Etiquette

This afternoon, my husband and I attended a matinee performance at a local theater. We arrived in plenty of time, and even a little early as is our wont. However, everyone else in our row had arrived even earlier. Since our seats were smack-dab in the middle of the row, five people had to stand for us to reach them. Based on everyone's obvious annoyance, you'd have thought we'd asked  them to donate an organ or something.

As holders of season passes to two different theaters and the Portland Symphony, my husband and I encounter this nonsense often. According to the general vibe, we are expected to apologize for disturbing everyone as we make our way to our seats, which we paid for just like they paid for theirs, stumbling over the stubborn holdouts who won't stand but simply move their knees aside. 

It's basically an obstacle course every time. And why is that? We are not talking running a half-marathon here --  all they have to do is stand up. 

More often than not, these momentarily displaced persons sigh audibly, scowl and grumble under their breath. To all of them I say, "Get a grip!" And also, I suggest getting some exercise so that the simple act of standing up and sitting back down isn't such a G.D. burden.

What's So Happy About Today?

My husband went out early to participate in our local celebration of America's founding. He is set to march in a parade of firemen, policemen, school groups, ladies who lunch, Elks, Masons, and Democrats through the streets of Freeport, decked out in his July 4th tchotchkes (see photo), along with 10 or 12 fellow Republicans in this very blue town. Not wanting to make myself a target of any Trump-hating crazies who may be roaming the streets, or actually crazies of any kind, I passed on the experience.

Call me cynical, I don't care. I also don't care to pretend to celebrate a country that is rife with division, where crime is rampant and hatred between our warring political factions rivals the buildup to the Civil War. Let's face it, America circa 2025 is no fun. The dream has not been fulfilled.

Okay, so we are not ruled by the British -- I'll give you that. I suppose that's a good thing, but it doesn't balance out rioting in the streets, murderous shootouts in many of our biggest cities, drag queen story hours in elementary schools, anti-semitism on our most prestigious college campuses and countless unwashed homeless leaving their dirty syringes behind as they traipse off to yet another outdoor encampment.

Happy birthday, America. Now just get it together and be something to celebrate and maybe I'll get out there next year.

Nowhere to Turn

You can't go outside in July without getting bitten by something. At least, not if you're me. And also, if you are everyone in Maine, America's Vacationland. And what vacation would be complete without bug bites, bee stings and more of the same? So I stay inside. 

But staying inside has its drawbacks as well. Like today I turned on the TV and saw that Trump's "Big, Beautiful Bill" had passed, opening the door to unbelievable vitriol on the part of the Democrats. One guy online commented that "the fence-sitters probably voted yes after being threatened with physical violence," and another wrote, "the party is run like a mob family, no one dares step out of line."

Maybe being outside isn't so bad.

Ours Is Not A Color Blind Society

P Diddy Combs, or whatever the heck his name is, is a piece of shit, plain and simple. The fact that he is getting leniency despite his horrific crimes and that his piece of shit fans are happy about it reminds me of another piece of shit who got off after murdering two white people and his piece of shit fans at the Historically Black Howard University also celebrated wildly, including the law school students. What conclusions can be drawn?

Draw them.

The Worst Drug Of All

The common expression, "There are two kinds of people in the world," is actually false. In reality there are three kinds, and it's indisputable. First there is the person who spends a considerable amount of their precious allotted time alive creating videos they believe to be clever or that feature their imagined talent and will eventually earn them fame and fortune, editing them and then posting them online, and then spends even more time watching the number of clicks and comments they engender. 

The second kind doesn't create any videos, and in fact scoffs at most of them, while spending countless hours watching them, commenting on them and sharing them with their friends. It's hard to know which group is worse for mankind's evolution, which is clearly on the wane intellectually and physically.

The third kind does neither. This is a rare bird indeed, and I have met only one of them so far in my life. She is a nurse who never looks at the Internet. Instead she spends her time actually living, doing things, helping her patients and her family, and being a thoughtful and committed friend. 

I wish I could be more like her but alas, I am in the group that watches the shit that floods the Internet, shaking my head in disbelief and occasionally forwarding a video to a friend or family member. This behavior exacerbates my self-hatred, leading to gross amounts of overeating, ultimately feeling sick and depressed, and thus eating more and watching more videos.

I'm not proud of it, believe me. I am confessing this behavior with the hope that my words might inspire someone to reject engaging in the first two groups and join my friend Teresa R. in hers. She might just save our species from extinction.

"It" People Are Everywhere

I am well aware that there are those confused souls among us who turn against themselves and opt for self-mutilation in the name of gender identity. To them I say go ahead -- lop off your breasts, grow a beard or don't, take hormones to be more girly or manly, that's your business and in a free country, your prerogative. 

Luckily for me, none of those people are in my immediate circle so I can choose to look away. But this morning I had no such option when I went to my doctor's office for some lab work and the technician I was assigned was one of the "It" people.

It had long, flowing hair like Cher, only curly. It had a full beard like Methuselah, only black. It sported bright red nail polish on obviously manicured nails, and wore some sort of skirt-like garment. Its bare, yet hairy, arms were dotted with tattoos and its earlobes were laden with piercings. It was a "they," coming at me to draw my blood.

Being as old as I am, I can remember when such tasks were performed by nurses in crisp white uniforms who looked like they had showered before work, unlike this guy/gal today. I was almost repulsed, but not quite. Still, I stuck out my arm and gritted my teeth and then went on my way, wondering how he/she/it had ever been hired for that kind of work when I couldn't get hired as a sales clerk at LLBean because they said my personality was too strong for their client base.

I Love Boomers

I read an article online detailing all the habits that tell the world you are a Boomer, and suggesting you stop doing them. It cracked me up, as if every Boomer isn't ridiculously proud to be one! Like we aren't the greatest generation! Oh please. Following are some of the no-nos according to the writer of the article, no doubt someone in their 20s.

Paying bills by writing a check and mailing it instead of paying online through your phone says you are outdated and mistrustful of technology. Yup, we are, and for good reason. Ever hear of scammers or identity theft? 

Calling someone without texting first. Apparently that's rude, and very disturbing to young people who need time to "brace themselves for a call."

Still using a landline. They say it's clunky and a dust-collector. I say it's the only thing that works when our cell phone service goes out or the Internet dies in a storm. Here in New England that's not a rare thing.

Typing with one finger on a cell phone. Who cares?

Using retired emojis. News flash: The Smiley Face is no longer okay to use and many others, like the crying-laughing emoji, have been replaced by sarcasm-laced lowercase text or the skull emoji.

Leaving voicemails for basic messages. The new etiquette requires you to just text it -- the human voice is for emergencies only and is jarring to others.

I have my own list of things that tell me you're not a Boomer, starting with a giant hole in each earlobe, filled with I'm not sure what, tattoos all over your neck and body, ugly hairstyles like "half a shaved head and the other half a ponytail," nose rings that look like dripping snot, and most confusing, indeterminate genders.

I'm a Baby Boomer and thank God. I like men in pants, not skirts. Sue me, I just love Boomers.