My dad asked me at Thanksgiving dinner if I wanted to bring my family along to an L.A. Master Chorale concert that he and my mom and my sister are going to next month. Tickets range from $24 to $68.
I said, “There isn’t really anyone at my house who’d enjoy that. We’re philistines. In fact, to be honest with you, I’d be more interested in watching American Idol. Now, I’ve never seen American Idol, but at least it’s free and I wouldn’t have to leave my house.
“And what’s with calling yourself the ‘Master’ Chorale anyway? What hubris! Who gives themselves a title like that? ‘Listen to us! We’re the masters of choral music!’ Oh yeah? Why don’t you just sing something and let people decide for themselves what masters you are.
“I mean, if you play third base, you don’t tell everyone what a great third baseman you are. You just play third base and let people see for themselves if you’re great or not. Right?”
Now, I stand by every word of that . . . I just wish someone had told me ahead of time that my brother-in-law, who was in attendance at the dinner, is in the Master Chorale . . .
Hahaha. “I didn’t know she had a pony. How was I to know she had a pony? Who figures an immigrant’s going to have a pony? Do you know what the odds are on that? I mean, in all the pictures I saw of immigrants on boats coming into New York harbor, I never saw one of them sitting on a pony. Why would anybody come here if they had a pony? Who leaves a country packed with ponies to come to a non-pony country? It doesn’t make sense… am I wrong?”
Oops.
My housemates, who strive to separate themselves from the philistines, (although they do watch American Idol on DVR), are going to see Cats at the OC Performing Arts Center next month, but unfortunately, we don’t know any of the cats in the show personally.
Oh, and the female housemate has no problem telling people she’s an outstanding third baseman, and outfielder, and shortstop, etc. Whether it’s true or not, that’s another story.