So I went to the concert. And here's the story.
So this was my first time alone in downtown Fort Worth. Not counting the fact that the map I used from the Bass Hall website said that an exit from the Carter-Burgess parking garage was an entrance. So in order to avoid having to go all the way out of downtown Fort Worth, I had to drive up a one-way, luckily avoiding a collision. I ended up parking in a parking lot across from the Barnes & Noble and walked in kind of heart-attack-y. Another guy I knew from previously was with the group, as well. Had a problem pronouncing Ybrik...ouch. Parked illegally, had to go get some cash out of an ATM to pay the damn parking machine because it wouldn't take a debit card, which is the only thing I ever carry. So I hung out in Starbucks for a while and then walked over to the Bass Hall. Everyone else already had their tickets -- I had to go buy mine right there. Liquidated another $65 for floor seats -- the very front row right in front of a bunch of violins. I think they just installed those, the reason being that when I got in there, I sat in front of four Asian kids in the very front row -- there were a crapton of Asians there, which isn't really all that surprising. Never met an Asian I didn't like. One of them said he called on Tuesday and they were sold out, but then he called back and there were a bunch of seats left. But anyway, anytime someone walked on the path near the seats, they rocked back and forth like bumper cars. We had a name for stuff like that at Bell: EXTREME SITTING.
Watched the first half of the concert -- the Squall/Rinoa dance is still totally ROFL. Then, in the intermission, I found three of my friends from Bell there. I talked with them for a while, and they jokingly questioned why I came in a band shirt and a Hawaiian tourist piece instead of a suit. We all talked about wanting to hear One-Winged Angel, but the lazy bastard choir already left. The second half was good as well, but nothing compared to the end. We all clapped incessantly, so the orchestra kept on having to stand up and sit down. Finally, the conductor asked if it was time to go home. Everyone yelled "NO!" I was probably not alone in thinking:
You are not leaving without playing One-Winged Angel. I will not LET you leave without playing One-Winged Angel. I will restrain every single one of you until you play One-Winged Angel. So play One-Winged Angel or Baby Jesus will cry.
Then the conductor started taking requests, and as if on cue a bunch of us screamed "SEPHIROTH!" Wham. The choir came back in, and it was glorious. Hearing that live was...liekzomgwoah. Of course, we didn't let them leave without playing it again. Then I was like "ok, fine, you can go home now." The trip back was pretty easy, aside from the claustrophobia outside the main auditorium.
Moral of the story: Never reserve anything in advance, ATMs are your friend, and One-Winged Angel is the shiznit.
