Ben Folds revisited

Last Friday, the husband and I went with a couple of friends to see Ben Folds play with the Fort Wayne Philharmonic Orchestra. We've seen him several times, but this is the first time we've seen him with an orchestra. I'd love to know who did the arrangement, because he typically doesn't have tubas and cellos in his music. It was lovely, and the "opening act" was the orchestra all by themselves, and they played a Beatles medley. You just haven't lived until you hear violins bust out on "Come Together."

But I guess I should've warned our friends that we are the people that always sit in close proximity of assholes. Friday was no exception! Right behind us were the young, probably half-drunk assholes: the assholes that sang WAY too loud, wolf-whistled WAY too many times, laughed WAY too loud at Ben's jokes, and kept yelling out, "Rock This Bitch!"

We were in a theater. Like super old, ornately gilded ceiling kind of theater. It was gorgeous. And small. Small enough that you could hear pretty much everything an audience member said. (I would've taken pictures, but photography was forbidden, not that that stopped anyone and then I felt like an ass for following the rules.)

Look. I want you to enjoy your concert experience, I do. You paid just as much money as I did. But you're only two feet behind me; I can hear everything you say and do, jackass. And when I'm trying to listen to Ben sing, I don't want your tone-deaf ass muddling that up. And for the love of god, if you shrilly wolf-whistle in my ear ONE MORE TIME, I'm dragging you out of the theater to beat the ever-loving shit out of you.

Rock that, bitch.