I can be passionate about many things. Winning is one, since I never broke my maiden playing sports (and the attitude of losing, especially to a hated rival, has led to some depressing moments, including forced starvation on Thanksgiving). Not being late to concerts is one of those since it's akin to buying a $26 ticket and wanting to see a whole show, not half a show since you're paying $26 for $13 value.
There's an inside joke among friends about numerology with my recent luck at arts events. After the Messiah one-off in 2009, I noticed my choir folder with Suzanne Ringer's group had been #48, a number that meant exxxxcellence (there were four at the time, now five x's). With the recent spat of bad luck, apologies to Mike Joy that I've made too many withdrawals at the Luck Bank that I have overdrawn. And that means the number I have drawn is #13 too many times. After an attempt to attend Shakespeare Alive! at the Piccolo Spoleto Festival (a plethora of arias from Shakespeare-based operas; Christian Elser from Greenville Light Opera Works and Mary-Therese Heintzkill of Lake Michigan College (I've mentioned her a few times in the past) were singing) ended with excessive tardiness that I plead my case and was denied, and my anger showed (I can be hot under the collar of my suit) with a bit of humour based on Menotti lore (my voice teacher created the lore!). I told Miss Heintzkill I would try again the next day, another long drive.
So Sunday came and the day started badly, with someone trying to run me off the road on the way to church, forcing me to jump a high kerb. Later that afternoon, police came and would not allow me to even buy a ticket to Shakespeare Alive, this time way early for the concert, long after I calmed down after being forced into pleading for entry last night! People seem to disrespect forgiveness, what was needed to calm down a heated incident, and it seemed that the Unitarians that owned the concert venue decided I was Public Enemy #1 for speaking out against their evils (there was a "wedding" at their sanctuary next door and I noted Secretary of State Mark Hammond should reject this false "wedding" that violates state law) and refused to respect anything. So two attempts at tickets failed, a friendship was denied a third helping, and I ended up grumbling . . . with a ticket and unable to attend. Go figure. I was left frustrated, banging on my steering wheel, and crying all the way back to the trusty Mouse powered truck twice.
How much unluckier can you be?
Maybe the National Guard. J. R. Hildebrand goes into the wall with just 1,800 feet from the 500-mile point at Indianapolis, and Dale Earnhardt Jnr runs out of E15 just 1,000 feet from the 603-mile point at Charlotte.
That's it. Maybe my truck had a National Guard sticker! ◙
