Alan Fox

Last Thursday evening I was seated in a theater waiting to see the stage production of World of Dance, a show I enjoy watching on TV.

I was there with a close friend, one of my daughters, and her husband.  We had all enjoyed a wonderful dinner at a nearby Indian restaurant (one of the best in Los Angeles).  Our seats were toward the front of the orchestra section, though not quite in the center. There were several preshow “warm-up” acts that were reasonably good.  After an intermission the main show began. I think.

I don’t remember clearly, because I was so annoyed.  “Annoyed” is an understatement. I was angry.

The woman seated to my left one row in front of me, and immediately in front of my daughter, was taking a video of the performance.  She held her cell phone high over her head, directly blocking my view.  I was fuming.

But what to do? At every live show I have attended there has been an announcement banning photography.  The auditorium was dark.  I would have had to leave my seat and search for an usher or someone else to help me.  I waited.  Maybe the woman just wanted to video the opening act to remind herself where she had been this evening.  She certainly wasn’t watching the dancers. She focused her full attention to her cell phone.

Apparently her cell phone had a great view.

I was reminded of an experience in a movie theater years ago.  Three people in front of me were talking loudly during the movie as if they were in their own living room.  I asked them to stop talking but they only laughed at me.  So I called an usher who spoke with them, and then suggested I take another seat.  The theater was full, and I refused.  Eventually the rude group stopped talking.

But back to the dancing.  I was worried my daughter was as bothered by it as I was.  And then the woman directly in front of me also started to video the performance!

Simultaneously, my daughter and I finally tapped the woman in front of my daughter on the shoulder.  We were a tag team – I touched the right shoulder, my daughter touched the left.

“You’re blocking my view,” I said.  She was immediately responsive, sort of.  She lowered her camera a few inches, still interfering with our view of the performance.

At the next intermission, we found an usher, who spoke with both women.  Then she reported that because there “hadn’t been an announcement” there was nothing she could do. The usher helpfully suggested we change seats if we were disturbed.

Fortunately for us the two woman stopped recording toward the end of the show. Maybe their cell batteries died.

Whoopee!

Tonight I’m going to watch a televised football game at home.

The videographer will be at the game.  I will be watching from my bed.

Each of us will be where we belong.

Alan

There are two major areas in which you are unique — your memories and your preferences.  Your memories, of course, strongly influence your preferences.

For example, when I was a boy our family ate dinner at 5:30 pm on the dot.  I still like to eat dinner early.  I also like to begin meetings on time. My reasons are tied to my memories.

When I was travelling in Spain I was shocked that dinner customarily began after 10:00 pm.  When I ate dinner that late it was difficult for me to sleep.  Although it wasn’t the end of the world, it was difficult for me to go against my long standing preference.

Yet diverse preferences can cause serious arguments.

When I was growing up I learned that the best way to maintain peace was to stay clear of certain subjects, including politics, religion, and money.

Recently, my dear friend, Diane, brought her entire family to stay with us for a week.  At the first dinner no one brought up politics.  The next morning I asked Diane if her family was on the same political page as she and I.

“Oh, no,” she said.  “One of my daughters is strongly on the other side.  She’s such a wonderful daughter in every other way.  But she’s just wrong on that.  We don’t talk about politics anymore,”

I entirely understand.  But when millions of people vote for one side, and millions of people vote for the other side, how can any of us believe that one side is absolutely right and the other side is absolutely wrong?  We all feel that our opinions are important, but we have to recognize that, in the final analysis, our personal opinions reflect our personal preferences and not some immutable truth.

In fact, I’ve never met anyone who agrees with me on all of my preferences.  Are they automatically wrong?  Or am I wrong in their mind?

Whether you start dinner at 5:30 pm, or after 10:00 pm, whether you cheered for the Dodgers or the Red Sox in the recently completed World Series, or whether you simply don’t follow sports at all, it’s just a matter of your personal preference.

It’s easier for me to enjoy my life when I remember that even though my father loves raw oysters, I don’t have to eat them.  When I remember that all opinions are personal and not universal, it’s easier for me to enjoy our conversation (and to lower my blood pressure).

Do we agree?  Or, perhaps you have a different opinion?

Alan

Who do you talk to more often than anyone else?

If you’re like me, the answer is — yourself.  But when you talk to yourself you should be careful. There’s no one else to hear you, or comment, or give you advice.

My solo conversations (or internal monologues), begin as soon as I wake up in the morning.  They used to go like this.

“What time is it?  Should I go back to sleep or should I get up?  Should I work out this morning?  Oh, yes, today is Thursday.  When is my first appointment?  What’s on my schedule?  Drat!  It’s going to be a tough day.”

The final sentence in the above monologue is a really bad idea. I should not start the day by telling myself I’m not going to enjoy myself because whatever I tell myself tends to become a self-fulfilling prophecy.  So I will restart.

“What time is it?  I’m feeling good and looking forward to every opportunity the day might bring.  It’s going to be delightful.  I’m looking forward to it.”

Every day of my life brings a new parade.  Naturally, I enjoy some of the marching bands more than others.  But I think it’s always best to take a certain page out of my father’s book.

Every night before he goes to sleep Dad gives thanks for another beautiful day.

I aim to do that every morning, as well as throughout the day.

You can talk to yourself whenever you like, without even moving your lips.  You can tell yourself whatever you choose.  No one but you will ever know, so your secret is safe.

But I’m not going to talk myself out of having a good day. I’m going to look forward to everything I do, and applaud each new experience.

I refuse to rain on my own parade.

Alan