Less than your best just won’t cut it with this fed-up spectator

Less than your best just won’t cut it with this fed-up
spectator

There’s an old saying that states, "When a wise man (or woman)
saves his (or her) hard-earned money (or bartering monetary unit,
such as salt or beads) and spends it on a luxury such as a play or
concert, that performance should be worth every penny."

Well, maybe that’s neither old nor a saying, but the point still
stands true.

When I spend my money, the very life-blood of my soul, at the
movies, theater, WWF Wrestling match, nudie bar, whatever, I expect
my evening to be fun-filled and just beaming with top-notch,
flawless entertainment.

Oftentimes I come home disappointed. One such night occurred
recently at a local freak show called the Cirque du Soleil ­
the cruelty-free circus, as my music professor puts it.

Ah, but what a cruel night it was indeed!

I had just come back from the buy one, get one free,
lap-dance-o-rama at Sid’s House O’ Flesh down on Sunset and I
decided that nothing could be more fun than topping off the night
with a little Canadian circus magic.

My seats were fantastic and the show was going great. But as is
the norm in life, just as things get good, something always takes a
turn for the worse.

And this night was no exception.

The Cirque du Soleil really is fairly excellent. I mean, just
because the acrobats , clowns and other assorted freaks weren’t
good enough to make it into an American circus doesn’t really mean
that much when you look at it from the big circus picture.

Things went awry about three-quarters through the evening. In
one of the more complicated acts, three gymnasts attempted to jump
from pole to tiny pole way up in the sky.

First gymnast jumps! Success!

Second gymnast jumps! Success!

Third gymnast jumps! Failure!

I said, third gymnast jumps! Failure!

This fool kept missing the pole and falling down! Teeming with
annoyance, I sat there waiting for this well-paid performer to do
his job correctly, but he kept missing. The worst part of this
whole thing was the audience kept clapping for him ­ as if his
blatant failure was what they shelled out 50 bucks a pop to
see.

Why did the audience cheer?

If I went to a doctor for an appendectomy and ended up with a
vasectomy, would I applaud? No.

And if I went to a prostitute and she turned out to be a he,
would I break out a big "Yo Joe?!" No way.

In fact, in most any scenario stupid is as stupid does and a
fuck-up is a fuck-up. If you’re at a performance and the person
screws up, don’t cheer him; that will only encourage the performers
to mess up again and again for cheap applause.

Instead of positive reinforcement, boo, hiss, and demand your
money back!

If you went to a movie and the actors in the film kept
forgetting their lines, would you stand for it?

And if you went to the theater and the same thing occurred,
you’d want to give the actor a fat tomato in the head.

Somewhere along the line, society grew complacent with mediocre
performances. Sure, everyone is human and makes mistakes, but I
don’t usually pay to see it.

When did this all come about?

Maybe this ideology grew out of sporting events.

Look at football. Yeah, everyone loves a touchdown pass or an
awesome catch, but what gets the most applause? Is it a great play?
No.

The most cheering occurs when an injured player who has been
assumed dead walks off the field or is taken off in a
stretcher.

Everyone claps heartily. But let me tell you something,
optimists of the world, it ain’t cause the crowd is glad the
athlete’s okay. It’s because the game can start again.

"Get that pansy failure the hell off the field," the audience
thinks to itself. But applause ensues instead. The whole thing is
very confusing.

But whenever this cultural mutation may have arisen, it’s
irrelevant ­ let’s end this baby here and now!

The times they are a changin’ and if you’re with the movement, I
applaud you.

But if the next time you’re out on the town and you see a less
than Oscar-like, David Hasselhoff-esque performance and you start
to put your hands together, watch out, because I’ve got a ripe
tomato waiting for you.

Believe it.

Today, Stevens is a second-year political science student. And
he’s just like Buddy Holly, not like Mary Tyler Moore. He doesn’t
care what they say about us anyway. He doesn’t care about that.
Hah! Try getting that out of your head! His column runs every other
Tuesday.