Those of you who read the Hive regularly know that when it comes to concert reviews, Mike Oz is The Guy. There's a reason for this: I am complete crap at it.

I always forget to bring paper, so I am unable to take notes. Years of killing off brain cells with vodka and "Saved By the Bell" reruns have dulled my brain into a state of lethargy. What was the playlist? I don't know. What was the crowd like? Beats me. Did you have good seats? Can't remember.

Armed with this knowledge, I invite you to take a journey into the mind of a moron, as I try to break down last night's Harry Connick, Jr. concert for you in my own special way. Without pictures. Or, you know - pertinent details.

Oh, I have details. Just not the ones that matter.

All times are approximate:

7:30: The parking lot looks kind of empty. Why is the parking lot so empty? Oh, god. No one else is coming, are they? Harry is going to be so disappointed. Fresno has disappointed Harry. I'm so ashamed. Hey, what's that parking structure over there for? I've never seen that before. Oh.

7:32: There is no trying to find a handicap parking space at a Harry Connick concert. Not that I need one. But let's just say if I needed to know where to buy a pair of orthopedic shoes or some elastic waistband pants, I could probably get an answer pretty quickly in this crowd.

7:36: We're in! I have to go to the bathroom. Damn, man. Women are nasty. And older women? Just don't care anymore. I should have gone at home.

7:44: Wait, they serve alcohol here? And you can take it into the theater? One plastic cup of merlot, please.

7:53: Haha! These seats are awesome. Aw, man. Are those people moving down the row going to sit next to us? And is that - oh no. I know that dude. He's a corporate bigwig at my work. And he has no idea who I am only I'm going to tell him because I can't stop the words from coming out of my mouth thanks to this damn merlot and now he's going to feel bad because he has no idea who I am even though we work in the same building and I've doomed us both to at least ten minutes of forced small talk. Oh god, stop talking, Heather. Seriously - did you just tell this man you really enjoyed his speech at Jerry Goodman's retirement party last year? Stop talking. Please shuuuuutttttt uuuuuuuupppppp.

7:54: Hmm. Actually, this guy is really cool. So is his wife. We should talk some more.

8:00: Curtain's up! No warning - just lights out, curtain up and the band is playing a medley of tunes that have appeared on Harry's albums, like that one song from Blue Light, Red Light and that other one from We Are in Love and "Danny Boy" from Come By Me, I think, and maybe "Pure Imagination" from Songs I Heard. Who knows? At this point the merlot is playing its own lovely tune in my head.

8:07: Suddenly from stage left, it's Harry, looking all cute in a black suit and tie. No words - he simply takes a bow, then strolls over to the baby grand piano and starts playing "Come By Me." The crowd goes nuts as the Centrum Silver kicks in.

8:09: Crap. I have to go to the bathroom.

8:15: Seriously. I gotta go. I can't get up, though - I'm in the middle of the row. The 4th row. Everyone in the theater will hate me. The dude from work will judge me. Harry will smite me.

8:17: I clap so vigorously after "Won't You Come Home, Bill Bailey" I send a tidal wave of merlot into my lap, the seat and my purse. Now I have to get up and go to the restroom.

8:19: "I'm sorry, I hate to be this person, really, but..." I say to the dude from work as I push my way down the aisle and out of the auditorium. In the bathroom, I choose a stall, reject it, then move into another. The woman cleaning the sinks mutters "If you see someone go in and then come back out, you know it needs to be cleaned..." Luckily, I can still hear Harry singing, as the concert is being piped into the john. Every artist's dream, no doubt.

8:25: Back outside the theater, I tell the man in front of the doors I can wait until the song is over. He tells me not to be silly, flings open the door and pushes me inside. I stand against the wall, certain all eyes are on me, and try to think of a way to make the situation even worse. Got it! I loudly whisper to a security team member, "Is it okay to just go?" He doesn't hear me. "Should I wait for the song to be over before I go to my seat?" I whisper even louder. "Just go!" he hisses back. I do. People judge, hate me.

From this point on, I was able to thoroughly enjoy the show, which was fantastic. Harry was in fine form, singing his little heart out and playing the hell out of the baby grand, an upright piano and - lord love him - an organ. He even danced. Really. At one point, he took off the jacket and tie and stood with his back to the crowd, clapping his hands and shaking that ass from one end of the stage to the other.

The stage setting was a giant backdrop with a painted French Quarter-style house complete with wrought-iron terrace. There were gas lamps on stage. The band wore suits and ties. Three ceiling fans hung from the top of the stage and lazily turned in time to the New Orleans-style music, mostly from Oh My Nola, which was absolutely meant to be played in front of a crowd. The CD doesn't do these songs justice. It was a perfect setting, and really added to the overall laid-back, good-time feel of the show.

Here's the thing about Harry - the guy's got charisma. He can perform the hell out of a heart-breaking song and then plop down on the edge of the stage and tell a pointless story about a pair of linen shorts and matching shirt that kept him from scoring with the ladies when he was a teenager performing in New York clubs. "I don't know why I'm telling you this," he joked more than once. "I feel safe with you guys."

Harry only performed one song for his encore, and he let the audience decide what that song was ("I hope you don't think me indecisive"). After what he called "an awkward moment" in which he said he couldn't remember the words to "Only You," ("It 's a pretty famous song. You'd know if the words were wrong.") someone called out "It Had To be You!" and it was game on.

I don't know if you know this about Harry, but after his shows, he usually comes out and greets his fans. Last night, however, Harry hopped in a car and headed to the airport right after the show because of "personal issues" (at least, that's what the guy with the walkie talkie told the crowd waiting for him by the buses). But his bass player, Neal, came out (he was very nice) and one of the amazing trumpet players - Leroy, I believe - stopped by, which was very kind of them both.

Instead of getting angry at not being able to meet the guy they paid good money to see, the collected crowd simply wished Harry the best and went off into the night. That's Harry Connick fans for you. We know he'll be back, and we can't wait to see him again.

And lord help me - next time I'm drinking water.

[Picture source]