Dear Loud Guy Watching Basketball at the Bar:

I was at Livingstone's last night before the Dorktown Anniversary show, conquering the quesadilla craving and saying hello to my friend Jack.

Other than you, it was the typical 8 p.m.-on-a-weekday scene at 'Stones. The soft-rock standards were piping through the place. It wasn't too busy, though people were having dinners under the dimmed lights. I think there was a couple on a date next to us.

This all made you yelling at the bar about basketball stand out that much more. I'm not opposed to people being loud at 'Stones. I'm all for the post 10 p.m. rush of loud frat boys and drunk girls that place seems to attract these days. In theory, at least. But you woo-hooing about the Lakers and Game 3 of the NBA Finals was sorely out of place amongst the quieter dinner crowd.

The guy who might have been on the date kept giving you the evil eye. And I was left wondering, why you were even there dude. It's not like 'Stones has a 48-inch plasma. It has a fuzzy 13-inch TV behind the bar. Could you even tell Paul Pierce and Ray Allen apart?

Go to a sports bar. Heck, go to Starline Grill or Sequoia or Bobby's. I'm sure they could appreciate your loud breakdown of which shots the Celtics would have to sink in the last two minutes to tie the score. They might even throw a high-five your way. Me, I can do math and I just wanna eat, drink and conversate in peace.