Season Tickets

I went and heard the St. Paul Chamber Orchestra tonight, and it was quite the concert. It was an entirely French program, with pieces by Bizet, Honegger, and Poulenc. I'm pretty sure my favorite piece was the Poulenc sextet for winds and piano. I was familiar with the piece; I think I heard it in Nottingham once. Anyways, it's great, I'd highly recommend it.

The seats were literally in the second row, a seeming hairsbreadth away from the cello section. Being that close to the stage, to the visceral power of the strings, well, it was somewhat mesmerizing. It reminded me of those stage seats I had in Vienna. This was from a different angle though. Whereas in Vienna I could see the emotion on the conductor's face, here I could see the emotion on the musicians' faces. Always a joy to see.

I'm a big fan of people watching at orchestra concerts, mainly because there are all sorts of funny old people. I've come to realize that the orchestra concert is really one of the only socially acceptable places remaining to wear a bowtie, and old men tend to wear bowties with great aplomb. This gives me hope for the future - I have a couple bowties.

All the old folks at orchestra concerts know each other, presumably (I like to think), because they all have season tickets. I mean, what else is there to do?

I'm intrigued by the concept of a season ticket. It seems like such a big commitment, both in terms of time and money. I mean, that's a pretty big deal, to decide "Well, I think I'll go to every single concert this year." Or every single baseball game, or go skiing every single day, or spend your life at Disneyworld. That's just amazing to me. But maybe that's a reflection on my current state in life more than anything; that of the poor law student in a decimated economy.

The most shocking thing to me, is that if you have season tickets, they come with baggage. For me, this baggage comes primarily in the form of having to find places to park in metropolitan areas. I hate having to park in the city, I might even hate it as much as I hate raisins. But, in any event, there are other logistical problems too. To a certain extent, you have to rearrange your life in order to accommodate the commitment you made.

This whole diatribe might be ridiculous to some, since it's coming from the proverbial pen of someone who, in fact, has partial baseball season tickets for next summer. I think the key here though, is the word partial. Unlike the theoretical folks I've described, I haven't quite made the ultimate commitment yet.

I actually think that making commitments, at least broad, initial ones, are subordinate to the logistical concerns that underlie them. It's easy to know what you want, it's not quite so easy to figure out how to deal with those desires in reality. I think that's true in life as well as season tickets.