I am my father's daughter

Any of you who have ever gone to a concert with me can relate to this.

10:30 p.m. My cell phone rings. It’s my dad. Wait a minute! My dad never calls me. I pick up. Here is the gist of the conversation:

Elise: Hello?
Dad: I’m at the Harvard Club in New York. I just got out of the Weezer show.
Elise: How was it?
Dad: Well, a scalper tried to charge me $60 for a ticket and all of the signs said the show was sold out, but I ended up getting a ticket at the box office for face value. Also, it was at the Roseland Ballroom, which is small, so that was good. Guess what the problem was?
Elise: Everyone was talking.
Dad: Well, the people in the back were talking… The people in the front were singing as loud as they could. When songs from the new album came on, the singing people didn’t know the words so they started talking. People just don’t know how to experience things anymore. When we go to see Dinosaur Jr. we’re going to have to stand way at the front to avoid all this.
Elise: No! You can’t do that. You’re 6 foot 3. That’s not fair to us little people.
Dad: What? I can’t hear you.
Elise: I’ll tell you later.

10:40 p.m. I walk into my stepmom’s room.

Elise: Dad’s staying at the Harvard Club.
Stepmom: Oh. He called?
Elise: Yea. He just called to complain about all of the talking people at the Weezer concert.
Stepmom: He just went to a Weezer concert? Tomorrow he’s on a panel discussion. If I were him, I would be pacing back and forth in my hotel room.

That's my dad.