Two concerts down, four more to go. GODDDDamn, I hate concert season. The sweet voices? Love them. My kids? Love them too. The rest? I hate concert season. The parking-three-blocks-away-on-a-cold-night, the orchestra's endless pieces, the band's endless pieces, the singers (not endless, because those voices are so lovely, even doing horrible holiday medleys and singalong Rudolph), the national anthem (wtf?) and occasionally, the Fruited Plain song. Wartime made this township particularly patriotic. Each section punctuated by the announcements from administrators about how wonderful the teachers are. Teachers announcing how wonderful the school system is, how supportive the school administration is, how wonderful our kids are, how wonderful we are for driving our kids in to practice. We are to give ourselves a round of applause for being so wonderful. The concerts last, no kidding, a few hours. Yes, the teachers, the school, the kids are wonderful. It's just the concerts and...