Then there's the general rude factor, as best exemplified in two recent movie theater experiences. The first was at the Crest Theater during a screening of "A Christmas Story," which two tween girls talked through the entire time. "Like, what is that thing? A leg? Why is it glowing? Dumb."... "Oh my god, what does that ginger head keep laughing like that? So annoying. Dumb. And he's ugly."... "Are those robbers real? Why are they moving so fast? Stupid. Hehehehe. He put a cap in his a**. Sweet." These are direct quotes. My mother, who has even less patience for bad manners than I do, actually moved seats, leaving me to suffer alone. Then during "The King's Speech" at the Tower Theater there were two ladies having a heated argument through the first quarter of the movie. On and on and on they went after numerous 'shushes' and an employee intervening twice. The King may have been struggling to find his voice, but they sure the hell weren't. And then amongst this vocal squabble the woman two seats in front of me got a phone call and actually had the gall to answer it and start a conversation! Five minutes later someone finally walked over to her and told her to cut it out (only the rated R version of this line.) Meanwhile, the argument between the two women got to the point where I couldn't even focus on dialogue, whole scenes flying by like a silent film. Finally, the employee came back and asked them to leave. And as they began to file down the stairs, you know what I did? I said 'to hell with manners' and began a slow clap. Yes, just like the dramatic slow clap found in countless movies. My mom picked up my trail and in a matter of seconds I had gotten the entire theater to clap them off stage and out the door. Does this make me ill mannered, myself? No. Sometimes, my friends, you simply have to fight fire with fire. (But never, please never, spandex with spandex.)
Showing posts with label American pastimes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label American pastimes. Show all posts
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Miss Manners
I may not be the most well mannered girl in the world (yes, my burps have been known to shake a house or two), but in public I try to be as polite and well behaved as possible. Yet, lately I've been hit with a barrage of rude, ill mannered Americans, leaving me scratching my head as to what in the world has happened to our society. And I'm not just talking about our behavior but our appearance, as well. When did it become okay to wear leggings as pants, for example? I understand the necessity for them in the winter under dresses or over-sized sweaters (although I thought we'd left that particular craze back in the 80s) but with a waist length t-shirt? Come on! My face literally crinkles up like I've bitten into a bitter lemon every time I see a girl trying to pull this off like it's some hot new trend. Just because Sienna Miller did it back in the early 2000s doesn't make it okay. Camel toes simply aren't proper, and I certainly don't want to see every lump and bump of your lower half as contoured by a thin sheath of spandex. The airport this holiday was full of them, as were shopping malls, Starbucks and even (gulp) restaurants. I've got my own lumps and bumps to think about without the lasting image of yours engraved in my mind for heaven's sake! I put it right there with wearing Crocs outside the house if you're neither gardening, camping or going for a walk in the woods. I watch old movies or look through photographs of my grandparents and long for a time when nearly all Americans actually cared about their appearance. Didn't matter if you were poor or rich, hot or busted; you put your best self forward, and in doing so, made the world a little more beautiful. I used to be one to go straight from the gym to run errands, sweaty shirt and all, but no longer. So, yes, I practice what I preach.
Then there's the general rude factor, as best exemplified in two recent movie theater experiences. The first was at the Crest Theater during a screening of "A Christmas Story," which two tween girls talked through the entire time. "Like, what is that thing? A leg? Why is it glowing? Dumb."... "Oh my god, what does that ginger head keep laughing like that? So annoying. Dumb. And he's ugly."... "Are those robbers real? Why are they moving so fast? Stupid. Hehehehe. He put a cap in his a**. Sweet." These are direct quotes. My mother, who has even less patience for bad manners than I do, actually moved seats, leaving me to suffer alone. Then during "The King's Speech" at the Tower Theater there were two ladies having a heated argument through the first quarter of the movie. On and on and on they went after numerous 'shushes' and an employee intervening twice. The King may have been struggling to find his voice, but they sure the hell weren't. And then amongst this vocal squabble the woman two seats in front of me got a phone call and actually had the gall to answer it and start a conversation! Five minutes later someone finally walked over to her and told her to cut it out (only the rated R version of this line.) Meanwhile, the argument between the two women got to the point where I couldn't even focus on dialogue, whole scenes flying by like a silent film. Finally, the employee came back and asked them to leave. And as they began to file down the stairs, you know what I did? I said 'to hell with manners' and began a slow clap. Yes, just like the dramatic slow clap found in countless movies. My mom picked up my trail and in a matter of seconds I had gotten the entire theater to clap them off stage and out the door. Does this make me ill mannered, myself? No. Sometimes, my friends, you simply have to fight fire with fire. (But never, please never, spandex with spandex.)
Then there's the general rude factor, as best exemplified in two recent movie theater experiences. The first was at the Crest Theater during a screening of "A Christmas Story," which two tween girls talked through the entire time. "Like, what is that thing? A leg? Why is it glowing? Dumb."... "Oh my god, what does that ginger head keep laughing like that? So annoying. Dumb. And he's ugly."... "Are those robbers real? Why are they moving so fast? Stupid. Hehehehe. He put a cap in his a**. Sweet." These are direct quotes. My mother, who has even less patience for bad manners than I do, actually moved seats, leaving me to suffer alone. Then during "The King's Speech" at the Tower Theater there were two ladies having a heated argument through the first quarter of the movie. On and on and on they went after numerous 'shushes' and an employee intervening twice. The King may have been struggling to find his voice, but they sure the hell weren't. And then amongst this vocal squabble the woman two seats in front of me got a phone call and actually had the gall to answer it and start a conversation! Five minutes later someone finally walked over to her and told her to cut it out (only the rated R version of this line.) Meanwhile, the argument between the two women got to the point where I couldn't even focus on dialogue, whole scenes flying by like a silent film. Finally, the employee came back and asked them to leave. And as they began to file down the stairs, you know what I did? I said 'to hell with manners' and began a slow clap. Yes, just like the dramatic slow clap found in countless movies. My mom picked up my trail and in a matter of seconds I had gotten the entire theater to clap them off stage and out the door. Does this make me ill mannered, myself? No. Sometimes, my friends, you simply have to fight fire with fire. (But never, please never, spandex with spandex.)
Labels:
American pastimes,
Crest Theater,
Manners,
Tights,
Tower Theater
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Honking And Yelling
There are two ways Americans love to express joy. Perhaps above all other options. And those two things are honking car horns and yelling. The heroine of joyful articulations. Last night, after the San Francisco Giants won the World Series, the streets of Midtown Sacramento came alive with a cacophonous mixture of piercing car horns and blissful, unhindered outcries. A mixture that wasn't at all unpleasant. In fact, it put a smile on my face. Sent my heart racing like on Halloween night when kilos of sugar surged through my veins robbing me of sleep. The way the horns sliced the air like knives and drunken men of all ages sent expletives flying into the night sky like confetti had a thrilling, almost punk rock quality to it. We're not just celebrating... we're making some f'in noise!
It's not just the sports crowd that get into this. We dress up bridal vehicles just for the sake of making complete strangers honk and holler in celebration of matrimony. Sometimes I'm even tempted to do it when a funeral procession passes just as a way to cheer everyone up. Can you just picture a row of car following a hearse with everyone honking horns and whooping it up out the windows? Would be one hell of a send out. (That may actually have to go into my will.) We stand at street corners holding up signs that sum up our political beliefs in catchy slogans in hope that others will agree and unleash a litany of honking. We do it as parades pass. Or when we arrive at a friends house to pick them up for a night of debauchery, "HONK! HONK! HONK! Get your butt down here! And bring the flask! HONK! HONK! Woohoo!"
My first introduction to this celebratory audial expression of delight was in 5th grade when the 6th grade teacher led his class and our own out onto the sidewalk to demonstrate against the war in Iraq. The first one, that is. Bush Senior. We held up handmade signs in our little Catholic school uniforms and screamed at oncoming traffic "Honk for peace in the Middle East!" like pint-sized UN cheerleaders. With each pounding of a horn or holler out a car window, my excitement grew and grew. To a near feverish state. I'll never forget this one guy in a white convertible with a matching white suit and tight Jheri curls literally driving around the block in circles to up the ante on his fantastic rave of honks. At one point (while stopped at a light) he jumped up onto his seat and started honking with his foot. I kid you not; I couldn't make this stuff up. I had no idea what the war was about, but if raging against it caused a grown man to stomp on the steering wheel of his Chrysler Sebring, then I was a peace crusader.
It was this man I thought about last night as the honking and yelling lingered well past midnight. That if I had planned better I would be an hour and a half away in San Francisco with my head out the moon roof of my Rav4 tapping out "We Are the Champions" on my steering wheel with my boot heel. Well... there's always next year.
It's not just the sports crowd that get into this. We dress up bridal vehicles just for the sake of making complete strangers honk and holler in celebration of matrimony. Sometimes I'm even tempted to do it when a funeral procession passes just as a way to cheer everyone up. Can you just picture a row of car following a hearse with everyone honking horns and whooping it up out the windows? Would be one hell of a send out. (That may actually have to go into my will.) We stand at street corners holding up signs that sum up our political beliefs in catchy slogans in hope that others will agree and unleash a litany of honking. We do it as parades pass. Or when we arrive at a friends house to pick them up for a night of debauchery, "HONK! HONK! HONK! Get your butt down here! And bring the flask! HONK! HONK! Woohoo!"
My first introduction to this celebratory audial expression of delight was in 5th grade when the 6th grade teacher led his class and our own out onto the sidewalk to demonstrate against the war in Iraq. The first one, that is. Bush Senior. We held up handmade signs in our little Catholic school uniforms and screamed at oncoming traffic "Honk for peace in the Middle East!" like pint-sized UN cheerleaders. With each pounding of a horn or holler out a car window, my excitement grew and grew. To a near feverish state. I'll never forget this one guy in a white convertible with a matching white suit and tight Jheri curls literally driving around the block in circles to up the ante on his fantastic rave of honks. At one point (while stopped at a light) he jumped up onto his seat and started honking with his foot. I kid you not; I couldn't make this stuff up. I had no idea what the war was about, but if raging against it caused a grown man to stomp on the steering wheel of his Chrysler Sebring, then I was a peace crusader.
It was this man I thought about last night as the honking and yelling lingered well past midnight. That if I had planned better I would be an hour and a half away in San Francisco with my head out the moon roof of my Rav4 tapping out "We Are the Champions" on my steering wheel with my boot heel. Well... there's always next year.
Labels:
American pastimes,
San Francisco,
SF Giants,
World Series
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