Last night, as I descended into the subway at Dundas and University to travel one station south, a young man who looked to be about sixteen was handing out copies of something called "Black History". I really had nowhere to put it, so I said "No thank you". We had this delightful running conversation as he followed me down the steps. He implied that, because we were both sporting bow ties, we had bonded and that I was duty bound to take one of his publications. I told him he was dressed much more smartly than I was. He guffawed, "No! Look at those shoes ..." as if flattery would work, and I hurried on my way ...
I saw Kyle Rae and his husband. I saw Steven Page in the Sponsors' Lounge. I saw Moses Znaimer. And, I'm sure, I was given the eye by his sister Libby. Lots of top brass from the television world were there. Lots of people I couldn't put a name to but knew by sight.
The thing to note about great acoustics is this: they magnify every error, every missed note, and they force the singers and the orchestra to be at their very best. There is nowhere to run and nowhere to hide in the FSCPA.
Also, every sneeze sounds like an avalanche, every dropped program hits the floor with a loud "bang!" and every candy wrapper being opened sounds like a building collapsing.
