You were the three fat pigs at the Gypsy Den in Santa Ana on the last Friday of July, sitting at the round table closest to the stage, on which two sets of performers were playing live music for the other 15 tables of interested listeners. You were not only talking and laughing throughout the two-and-a-half hours of music, but you had your backs to the stage with your laptop open, casting a spotlight on your face and your actions—also visible to the musicians—in the subdued lighting, as you proceeded to rip CDs, one after another, all night long. It was obvious to all that you have no appreciation of live music, as you occupied a prime table while managing to disrupt six to eight nearby tables, as well as the singer, who was a mere five feet from your fat asses. But all the while, you were ripping off other musicians’ music—and only consuming one water and one coffee/tea each, so you were ripping off the coffeehouse as well. Karma bites, and I have faith that yours is coming.
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