David Beagle

Though I don’t outright dislike classical music, I’ve never been particularly fond of it either.  And while I hate to admit it, I did find the Tokyo String Quartet to be rather unexciting, and left my house with low expectations.  However, I found my expectations defied and enjoyed a fantastic evening.

Walking into Carnegie Hall I prepared myself for the lengthy walk to my seat, and I was reminded immediately of Don Giovanni.  Going up the steps I saw what appeared to be an attractive woman ahead of me, and gentleman that I am, thought of giving her the pleasure of my acquaintance.  But, as she rounded a corner I caught a glimpse of her face, and decided against it.  “Love may be blind,” I thought as I disappointedly continued the arduous climb, “but unfortunately, I am not.”  Finally reaching the top of the steps, I was reminded again of Don Giovanni, and laughed as I thought about how the eponymous character probably would have hit that anyway.

The orchestra was magnificent and I enjoyed it far more than I did the string quartet.  There may have been something intrinsic to the pieces themselves that made them seem better to me, but I think part of the reason for my preference was that the number of instruments involved in the orchestra made everything sound grander.  My favorite part was what I believe were the French horns.  Although I tried to take in as much of the performance in at once – the sounds of individual instruments and of combinations, the movements of the musicians and the conductor – I couldn’t help but pay more attention to the horns.  I tried to anticipate when they would play, and was oddly fascinated with whatever it was that their musicians were doing as they occasionally turned and shook their instruments.  The only negative comments that I can make are about the seating arrangements, and what I think was one foul note played at the end of the performance.  Still, I was thoroughly satisfied coming out of Carnegie Hall.

However, the evening was not yet over.  I’ve been to restaurants that use attractive service to entice customers, and I’ve been generally unimpressed, so my expectations were low when some friends and I went to the nearby Hooters after the show.  However, I was pleasantly surprised by my experience.  The fries were unexpectedly good, and the wings were delicious, even though the last of mine was actually a fried pickle that got mixed in with the order.  Our waitress overheard me recount the story of the woman on the steps from earlier in the evening and told me that I was full of myself.  To which I responded, “I suppose I am full of myself, and hey, if you play your cards right, maybe you could be full of me, too.”  She slapped me.  Hard.  But not being one to hold a grudge, I still left my phone number on the check before leaving.

Even before writing this response I noticed the parallels between the orchestra and Hooters.  My shattered expectations, my encounters with women, the last sour note and the pickle.  Uncanny, yes, but it does seem that, indeed, Hooters is the Beethoven of restaurants.  I’ve since changed my ringtone to the Fifth Symphony in remembrance of this night, and cannot help but be overwhelmed with nostalgia every time it is the waitress that calls me.