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 . . .