orchestral beat down

You know what’s crazy? I’ll tell you what’s crazy.

Cell phone interruptions.

They go off in movie theaters. They go off in elevators. They go off at your 1st graders finger painting exhibition.

Crazy maraca ring tones and Metallica power chord riffs. Beyonce and Jayzee and Frank Sinatra.

For the love of God – people, can’t we freaking control our technological urges?

Cell phones ringing at all the wrong times! It’s a GD shame, it’s a joke, it’s rude, it’s got to stop.

DATELINE: NEW YORK CITY

New York Philharmonic is a hollowed place. It’s a bastion of melodic nirvana. It’s where angels come to watch humans try and create perfection.

Recently, a cell phone interrupted this splendid perfection, like a spear piercing the heart of a wildebeest.

There in the front row a cell phone began chiming and spewing digitally enhanced spit balls of annoyance.

It was ugly like a crack whore reciting the pledge of allegiance during a drug round up.

According to published reports, the orchestra was in the final movement of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony, described as a slow rumination on mortality, with quiet sections played by strings alone.

That’s when an iphone idiot began assaulting the crowd’s senses with a jarring ring tone known as “Marimba”.

Marimba? That’s some margarita chasing vibe you hear in the South Pacific accompanied by a steel drum. It’s not something that the New York Philharmonic needs or wants.

And making it worse? The cell phone belched it’s nauseating sound from the first row at Avery Fisher Hall.

It ain’t brain surgery folks. If you enter the venue, be it school play, movie or ballet, turn your damn phones off.

TURN EM OFF.

Women pretend it’s your husband and he’s asking for a minute of romance. TURN IT OFF.

Men pretend you are on SouthWest and there is a musical air marshal about to slap the bracelets on you if you don’t power down your new millennium appendage. TURN IT OFF.

So when the first row cell phone douche didn’t silence his offensive mechanism, the audience shook it’s collective head and rolled it’s gigantic angry eye.

Sources say musical director Alan Gilbert turned his head sharply to the left, signaling his displeasure.

Some say he flashed a Gene Simmons tongue wag at the offender, and spewed fire and pleghm.

You would think that would be enough, like when the nun in Catholic school casts that glance in your direction.

Then it happened.

Conductor Gilbert could take no more: He stopped the orchestra.

HE SLAMMED ON THE BRAKES OF THIS MUSICAL BUS and said “hey cell phone douche! get the hell off.”

A Philharmonic spokeswoman the music director had never before halted a performance because of a cell phone.

The audience let out a collective gasp.

OH THE HUMANITY!

THE ANGELS FLEW AWAY once again realizing that man is not only imperfect, but basically asinine, set to a Marimba, down loadable beat.

Here’s a suggestion. Next time, hire some jack booted Aryan Nation types to work the aisles. If a cell phone incident occurs, administer some seat side justice.

Your phone goes off, they go off. The sign on the lobby door should say just that.

One bloody ass whoopin in front of the entire symphony would be enough to get me to slide the button to mute.

Ah how the angels would rejoice.

And that would be crazy.