Don’t clap too soon, wait till they’re done, don’t clap too soon, wait till they’re done, don’t clap—

So this is the Symph-Tacular Winter Series.

Four concerts times two seats plus parking equals . . .

Jesus. I could’ve gotten something I wanted.

Like one of those three-wheeled motorcycles.

Why did that pop into my head? I don’t want one of those. I’ve never even thought about one of those before.

All the fun of a motorcycle without most of the fun.

At least my wife looks happy.

Guess that’s worth more than a killer weekend in Vegas for my fantasy-football draft.

That’s something I would’ve wanted.

Steak dinner, pool cabana. Maybe, like, a cool hat . . .

Shit. You zoned out, she noticed, and now she’s pissed.

Hold her hand.

You’d think, for what these tickets cost, the seat would at least be comfortable.

It’s like a two-by-four wrapped in red velvet.

Those balcony seats are probably pretty plush.

I guess if you’re about to be assassinated, you deserve to be comfortable.

Ooh, but sometimes the assassins are in the balconies.

That guy looks like he could be an assassin. He’s got assassin hair.

Just listen to the music listen to the music listen to the music.

Mmm. Very relaxing.

Except for that conductor flapping around.

I know that, technically, orchestras need conductors, but I don’t really get why.

Like, if all the musicians are really good at playing their instruments, and they all have the music in front of them, couldn’t they just play it?

Sure, someone needs to tell them when to start and stop, but other than that . . .

They’re not even looking at him!

I bet it annoys them when he’s all, “Play soft, play soft, look at my stick getting very low. NOW PLAY LOUD LOOK AT MY STICK WAY UP HERE!”

If I were in the orchestra, I’d probably roll my eyes when he did that. Just enough so the audience could be, like, “That guy gets it.”

Are they done? Do I clap now?

They’re not done.

The violin section seems to be where you find the most attractive women.

But are they just “orchestra attractive”?

If I were involved with one of the violinists, would I have to learn a lot of stuff about violin? Like, if she asked, “How did I play tonight?,” would I have to have a specific, informed answer? Or could I just say, “Great!”

Or maybe, “Honey, you were awesome, as always. You should totally be first chair. Babe, I know, it’s so political.”

Or maybe, “Jesus, Deborah, you’re first chair, why are you still so insecure? Do you understand how many people would kill to be in this orchestra? You’re at the top, but you’re still not happy because all you can think about is some other orchestra, a bigger one, the one you’re not in. Why measure yourself against—No, I’m not saying you’re not good enough to play with them. You’re taking what I said out of context because you don’t really want to have a conversation about this, you just want to punish yourself. Look, I think you’re an amazing violinist—Oh, right, I don’t know anything about violin because for the first six months we were dating I just used to say you played ‘great.’ Well, that was EIGHT GODDAM YEARS AGO! You think maybe I’ve picked a little up since then?!”

I don’t know if being involved with a violinist would be a good thing.

Is my wife wondering the same thing about the conductor?

Is it weird how she’s looking at him?

Is it weird that I’m very aware that he is achingly hot?

But is he just “orchestra hot”?

Look at his hair—it’s all in his face, and he doesn’t even care. He’s just so lost in . . . whatever the hell he’s doing that I swear they don’t really need.

Is it just sexy when someone is so passionate about something?

Do I look like that when I check my fantasy-football scores?

Holy crap, if we could have our draft in this room that would be amaz—

Clap now?! No. Almost. Good catch.

I swear that with one month of practice I could play the big drum as well as that guy.

Says in the program that’s called a “timpani.”

That’s a bad name for it. A big drum like that should have a powerful name, like Bang Box.

O.K., maybe naming instruments is hard.

Anyway, I could play the timpani as well as that guy.

Like, I couldn’t do a timpani solo, but whatever he’s doing now I could do.

Are there timpani solos?

I guess “2001: A Space Odyssey” sort of had a timpani solo.

Bwaw-bwaww-bwawwwwww BA-NAHHHH!

That’s horns.

Dum-dum dum-dum dum-dum dum-dum dum-dum dum-dum DUM.

That’s timpani.

I could do that.

Weird movie.

Monkeys.

Wow, that was a phlegmy cough. Dude tried to hide it under the horns but he just missed.

The horn people definitely stick together. No bullshit in that row. You can tell.

I feel like at lunch no one talks to the harpist.

Harper?

Harp player.

Now I’m rooting for her. Poor old harperina, lugging that harp home after concerts . . .

My wife was right: classical music is really opening up my mind!

And my butt’s asleep, so the seat’s not really an issue anymore.

They’re done!

Clap clap clap clap clap!

Oh God, there’s more?