Teacher behavior does not go gently into the night, or: Once a teacher, always a teacher!

  Let's talk bands! My top three, that is, my all-time favorites, are the Beatles (of course!), the Police, and Little River Band. I'll never get to see the first two, not now, not ever. But the third is touring, including right here in my little home town.
 I bought a ticket as soon as I heard! Couldn't wait! So excited!

In fact, the venue, or place of performance, was one of our landmarks--the Strand Theater, built in the 1920's, and completely refurbished over a dozen years some time back. OK, great! I wore a thick, lovely gauze dress, the first dress I've worn in years, for the occasion. Ooops, I needn't have bothered. Most other audience members put on their old, torn jeans, t-shirts, or short shorts and tank tops. There were a few, like me, who dressed for the occasion. Hmmm, so far, disappointing.

My seat was in that upper balcony level, you know, for the faint of heart who fear heights. I held on as the usher showed me the way. Another weird thing: My seat was among three other patrons. It was odd how we clustered like that with empty seats all around us. Then, ug, then, the good ol' boys came in and were seated behind our cluster. Four of them--and those who think a theater is just an extension of their dens or deer stands or wherever guys hang out and talk in whatever voice that blusters out. And what came out were curse words used in good ol' context--that is, not in anger, but like "the" or "just" or any other everyday word.

I thought, This talking won't last. They will mind their manners when the band comes on. They didn't. Blah, blah, blahty-blah-blah. On and on. Normal voices--that is for good ol' boys. One even declared that he hoped he didn't spill his Jack and coke (drink). Oh great. I've heard of people getting drinks spilled on them during various performances. Finally, I turned around--yes, Teacher Mode came on. "This isn't your living room, Boys," quoth I. They stopped for a minute. Stunned by the Teacher Voice, I suppose. I've been told I can spew in a most condescending tone. Nope, their silence didn't last. Blah, blah, blah returned. At least they didn't cuss me of spill drink on me.

Even so, I picked up my things and moved down a few rows to the empty section, a whole tier lower. Ah, quiet around me. Then four women and a man moved to the row in front of me. I moved down. The two women near me talked the entire time. More blah, blah, blah. Laughing, giggling, singing along (which was fine, even expected). I worried that they, too, would spill their drinks--not on me, however, but on the floor of that fine Shreveport landmark.

Then there's the band. Little River Band. So great in their '80's heyday. The sound system was not set correctly, at least not to my ears. The instruments took precedent. Too loud, way too loud! The major problem was the voice mikes were not on the same level of volume. I could not understand half of what they sang. I know a live performance is not the same quality as a studio production, nor did I expect it to be. But I did expect to hear their voices at least at the same level as the instruments.

Then they had to urge the audience to clap and sing along. They lost me when they invited the audience to party. It's Friday night! That was the moment it all seemed like a nightclub with an audience most interested in their own little worlds, when the band seemed like an old, tired touring band. I kept thinking, This is not enjoyable.

I stayed for 40 minutes, then picked up my things and left, promptly forgetting I had ever been in a place where I could hear my third all-time favorite band.

I plan to buy a new CD.

(Note: I did not take the photo.)