Letter to the Concert Grinch

Dear Sir with the pubic-esque curly hair that smells like stale cigarettes,
I hope you know that you ruined 15 minutes of my hypnotic submersion into concert mode as the Swell Season flawlessly performed their amazing duets. I was preparing my camera, allowing it to sink into "standby" as Glen explained bits and pieces into their #1 hit, "Falling Slowly," until your musty face crept right onto my shoulder. I hope you know that your chin touched my shoulder, and I am NOT okay with that, you boundary-crossing prick.
You said, "Did you KNOW how distracting that is, to leave the screen on like that? Did you KNOW? That's distracting, did you know that?"
By the end of your stupid spiel, YES, asshole, I WAS aware of that.
Are YOU aware that we were at a concert? One in which people perform? One in which people play instruments and sing into microphones, one in which the singers encourage the crowd to get involved? And when the crowd gets involved, that includes singing melodies and harmonies, reacting with laughter and smiles, connecting with the amazing talent? Part of that connection is via cameras, whether it be pictures or videos. If you've not been to many concerts, maybe my bright camera screen was a bit distracting for you. Yes, I scanned through my camera to delete things in order to create more memory space to record one of my favorite songs of all time.
Lucky for you, it didn't matter--my memory was full anyway.
BUT I'll have you know that 4 rows ahead of me, a drunk woman stood up every 2-3 minutes in an alligator clap, alternating screams with throwing her head back to the Ryman ceiling.
THAT can be distracting, you prude, but you know what? It's NOT. That woman, though off her sobriety rocker, let herself go with the music. She became part of the scene, she could zone out everything else, even the hundreds of camera screens that shone throughout the 3+ hours of total performance.
So: a word to the un-savvy concert grinch,
You should be shot by the aesthetic police. Learn to love art, in all its forms.
And the next time you go to a concert, brush your damn teeth.

A Concerned Concert Junkie,
Jamie effing Ogles