is that a telephoto lens in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?

Today was the day for beautiful long-haired boys. The Scruffy Brit and I walked off our respective hangovers on the beach in the very deserted Coney Island where the sun was shining and the sand was dirty. He took lots of pictures with his fancy camera while I held his lens cap and danced around trying to keep warm. He's kinda dreamy. And that's all I'm going to say about that at this juncture.


Later on, Ellen and I were going to the Broken Social Scene concert so I went over to her apartment beforehand. Doors were supposed to open at 8, so we arrived at what we thought was a cautious 9:20. Turns out they'd been playing for over an hour upon our arrival, while we'd been watching the first two episodes of Lost, eating arepas, and freezing our asses off for the sake of cheap caffeinated malt liquor. Missing the majority of the performance of my current favorite band...for the second time: smooth move, Ex-lax.


I was so upset I wanted to cry, but then the couple songs we managed to catch were so heart-wrenching-in-a-good-way I wanted to cry so it all evened out in the end. At one point I counted fifteen musicians on the stage including five brass players, five maraca players, two guitarists, three or so vocalists, and two drummers including my favorite band member and future husband John Crossingham. I might have to attempt sneaking into tomorrow's sold out performance. I don't know why a little Canadian jam band brings me so much joy, but I'm glad it does.