Baby it's bad news

I meant to get online last Wednesday to blog about how much fun I had last week with Kenneth and Sarah at Cake Shop watching Living Things (St. Louis, represent!), perhaps the best band you've never heard of (which I think was the headline in Spin when they were written up a couple of months ago). I wanted to go on and on about the sex appeal of the incredibly dirty lead singer and the amazingness of the cupcakes that we ate and how pissed I was that the free Sparks had run out before we'd gotten there and how MC-5-ish the (way too short) set was, but instead I woke up to hear about the bombings in London and all of that seemed like bullshit.

I don't really know what to say instead (as sincererity and politics aren't really my strong suits, at least when it comes to blogging). But since I lived in London for a year and ever since have considered it the only place outside of NYC where I would live--I figured I should at least tell you all how saddened by all of this I was and how my heart goes out to the people of London. But I would also like to point you in the direction of this really interesting article from the Voice that talks about what it was like to live in London on that day (which, incedentally was also Leah and Adam's birthdays) and how this kind of attack is met with sadness but not flag waving and solemn factual news reports instead of crazy graphics and alamist cable news reporting. Just something to muse on....

In other, happier news, we are all settled into the new apartment. Thanks to all who came and helped us warm our new house on Friday (though I guess we really didn't need the help--I drank so much I was fucking flamable). That whole evening was hilarious--starting with the nigh before when Shaya decided that we had to start cleaning and haning curtains at like 2 am. In the course of the night, I went from the shindig at our place to Hip Hop Karaoke (though, sadly, I mised Jon's performance of "99 Problems" by Jay-Z) to the Magician to Orchard Bar (where Marisa and I danced our asses off until the unfortunate DJ choice to play Bush happened--fucking ""Breathe in, breathe out," my ass! I've never been so happy for a band's demise, outside of Creed!!) to some after hours place that I can't even remember because I was seeing double by then. Everything after that (Marisa buying and eating a package of Peperidge Farm cookies in like 4 blocks, the sun coming up, the weird Electroboy we befriended) is a total blur. I had such a good time, in fact, that I had to spend the rest of the weekend recovering. Yeah, I'm old now. I take comfort in the fact that yesterday at work, when I was getting my official ID, the ID guy thought I was an 18 year old intern. Ah, if only I could still drink like that!