Entering a draught

Lots of people do lots of things when they're running low on ideas.

Vincent van Gogh cut his ear off.
A couple (of hundred) actresses stripped.
Barbie got her breast size reduced.
Beethoven went deaf.
A couple (of dozen) actors decided they'd be directors.
Ariel collected dinglehoppers.
Whats-his-name went crazy.
Mary Kate started listening to shitty music.
Carrie Bradshaw wrote about the search for the perfect french fry.
My computer decided to screw up the hard drive.

I sat contemplating how terrible Milky Way bars were because of their astonishing lack of texture.

Where am I going with this? A very boring place.

Last night was the last night I had to rope ushers in for. This means the end of the season is coming to a close. I'm not sure if I'll be working there next year after my study-abroad quarter, but I would love to. I enjoy the people I work with, the music, and what I get to do. We'll see if I can continue.

If I would have been asked (in all my glory) to go up on stage to make some closing remarks (or something...) about the season and such, I don't think I would have talked too much about the music. I would have talked about the strange lady who without fail, would arrive late to every concert I had to "manage" and would stand outside in the hall waiting to be let in. She'd always wander in like she fell into the place by accident, walk over to the door, pull on it before I stopped her and told her she couldn't go in quite yet, and every...single...time she would try to see if she could see any part of the stage in the crack between the doors.

You can't. There is a large metal bar between the doors. But that hasn't stopped her yet.

Then she'd start to talk (loudly) to see where we were in the program and when she could sit down.

I'm not entirely sure where I'm going with this. If I didn't think about it too hard, each concert was painful for two reasons:

1. The people performing had more talent in their pinkies than I had in my entire body
2. In 60 or so years, I will be like a majority of the audience. Old, decrepit, mostly impatient, with paper-thin skin, and probably with some sort of a diaper for a leaky bladder.

But what I'm trying to get at is that I really liked these Friday night concerts. I liked sitting in the back row of the concerts and either fall asleep, or listen/watch to everyone. Some people would fall asleep, others would talk, others would do nothing at all, still others would listen attentively, then others would go I think solely to cause trouble.

Then when the piece was over, they'd sit in a silent stupor because their hearing aids turned off, because they didn't realize the piece was over, or because they had all fallen asleep.

Or because they were enjoying what they had just heard.

In short, I hope in 60 years I'll able to appreciate something as much as these people do.