I wonder if the director could feel the animosity radiating from the percussion section last night. If we'd had any real weapon--as opposed to sticks and soft mallets--he'd probably be dead right now. I wasn't even the one at whom he was yelling, and I still wanted to tell him to fuck off. I understand he's all freaked out by the fact that we have two concerts on Friday, but my god, if he wants to live to see another day, he needs to dial it back.