I’m no Countess, so I won’t dare to write a blog post in which I claim to know everything there is about class or manners.

I come from people who wear fake mustaches to Christmas Eve dinner, so I really don’t have much basis for telling you anything. Except that fake mustaches make your upper lip sweat.

Real quick, speaking of countesses, I also promise here and now, with you all as my witnesses, to never record a song about class and then force you to listen to me perform it at your next society function. Just wanted to clear that up in case there was ever any doubt.

Back to, as a family friend’s West Virginian mother says, fetchin’ up. There are a few things on my mind, and I may have gotten a bit carried away. I decided to split my lengthy rant into two posts. Today: loud talkers. Friday: sportsmanship and airplane etiquette.

I recently spent a couple days with humanity. It seemed like nearly all of humanity, but according to more accurate calculations than mine it was in the neighborhood of 100,000 representatives of the species.

I was fortunate enough to attend the 2011 Tournament of Roses Parade and football game, where my beloved Horned Frogs played – and won – an amazing game.

This glorious weekend was all caps F-U-N. Because I was so happy to be where I was, with some of my favorite people, I was able to overlook an awful lot. In fact, I didn’t try to kill anyone with my mind the entire weekend. Until I was on the plane home.

But more on that Friday.

Thankfully that death-by-mind level of personal annoyance was a one-time thing over the weekend. While I may not have felt the urge to smack anyone else, I did frequently have cause to look at my friends and say, “What? Did we just hear – or see – that? Really?”

Let’s focus on Things We Heard first.

I’m admittedly sensitive to noise. I can’t drive if the radio is too loud. When the kids are running around, yammering at an 11*, I can feel my brain start to misfire. Background noise, like vent fans, could be used to torture information out of me.

My own, special noise sensitivity aside, I can’t be the only one who wonders if our culture has a malfunctioning volume control.

People, I kind of think you talk too loudly.

Early the morning of game day, after taking all of LA’s mass transit to get there, my friends and I settled into our seats to watch the Rose Parade. About the time we saw Paula Deen’s teeth shining up at us from the parade route, we were accosted by the worst type of loud talkers: those who are so obnoxiously loud you have a hard time believing they’re for real. And because they’re so outlandish, you can’t help but get caught up in their crazy, so that instead of enjoying the company you’re with, you’re all listening to Mr. and Mrs. Crazy Pants behind you.

These two gave a running commentary on the Rose Parade, complete with enlightening facts about every activity, creature, plant material and music note we saw or heard marching down Colorado Boulevard. Apparently, the male half of this couple has done everything. According to him: “There’s really nothing I haven’t tried.”

She, however, “comes from the kind of Podunk town that has rodeos, so I haven’t done everything.”

(Quick point: I lived in one of the largest cities in the U.S., and we had a rodeo. Not only has she not done everything, she also appears to know very little about rodeos. Good thing she is hanging out with Mr. Everything. He can educate her. On everything.)

Back to the commentary.

As the Budweiser wagons rolled by, he tried to name every breed of horse.

“Are those really Clydesdales? I don’t think they are. No, I believe they’re another kind of horse that looks kind of like Clydesdales. There are lots of different horses…”

Later, he named every instrument he saw in one of the marching bands, like the Rain Man of parades.

“There’s a clarinet. I see a saxophone. Quite a few cymbals. Tubas. French horn! I see a French horn. A flute, and some trombones. Lots of trumpets. Oooo. You really don’t hear a lot of snare drums these days. Can you hear that? Can you pick out the sound of that snare drum?”

One of my girlfriends whispered, “It’s a big band. I think we can safely assume all the instruments are there.”

Before you go worrying that I’m making fun of someone who has legitimate issues, I would never do such a thing. I honestly believe the only thing wrong with this man is that he considers himself an authority on everything. He did declare that most of what he saw in the parade was “the.best.ever.” And on that one point, I have to agree.

The thing is, odds are excellent that the strangers in your immediate vicinity are not at all interested in what you’re blathering about.

At one point I was standing in a line where the people behind me and the people in the line next to me all knew each other. They were passing their phones back and forth, sharing pictures and YouTube videos, screaming about what they had done the night before, and what they were about to order, all while leaning around me to get a better look at the menu.

(By the way, loud talkers, it’s a football game. Here’s the menu: hot dogs, nachos, pretzels, churros, M&M’s, beer, wine, soda. This requires no debate or thought. Pick a junk food item or two and move on. If you’re wondering, I went for the pretzel: three days’ allotment of carbs, right there, and a week’s worth of sodium. So yummy.)

On Friday, if you’re not totally put off by my Countess-like snobbery, we’ll examine sportsmanship and airplaine etiquette. For example, we’ll discuss why it’s important to teach your children that it’s never okay to represent your organization while chanting:

Sex and Beer!
Sex and Beer!
That’s what we
Like around here!

I wonder…

:: Do you think we’ve lost our ability to keep anything private, including conversations with our companions?

:: Do you think we’re all so self-centered that we can’t imagine why everyone wouldn’t want to hear what we have to say? (Asks the lady, blathering to the entire Internet…)

:: Just because you’re an authority on something (or everything), does that make it okay to espouse your knowledge to everyone in earshot?

* This is my second reference to This is Spinal Tap in under a year. Not sure what that says about me… not sure I want to know.