Saw Maximo Park last night, and they were really great. REAL. Of course the entire band was there but I’ve included a picture of the lovely singer Paul in one of the many crazy jumps he did, at the low-ceilinged Doug Fir no less. Skinny, pale dark-haired British hotness was what i was thinking, even as I was staring directly into his gigantic nostrils the entire time. HA!
Because I only got 5 hours of sleep I’m, well, sleepy. At least I’m not hungover like every other once a week.
Also, why do yuppies feel it necessary to try and debate/argue with the band while they’re trying to entertain me? Douches.
Tiny air hearts for Paul Smith.
Why do I keep reading these books about alcoholics and drug addicts? Oh yeah, because one person’s depravity and pain is my reading pleasure. I’ve got to stop, some of these books are so good that I feel like I did the things the drug addict-alcoholic-sex addict-etc had just done. One more memoir and I’ll probably start craving Thunderbird.
I guess what I’m saying is, well, read any good books lately?
I think that I would like to build a distillery in my apartment. I don’t know exactly what that entails and I’m pretty sure that it’s more than I can actually tackle, but I have the best name for my heidi brand liquor!!
It’s good, no? Well back to Footballer’s Wives. So wrong, yet so right.