I've been back from the Badly Drawn Boy show for all of about 30 minutes. My clothes smell like this unique combination of an old club and cigarette smoke that I really shouldn't like, but I do, so I'm going to sleep in these clothes and let the mix put me to sleep.

I had planned all day on dinner after the show, but I spent my last five dollars on parking at the local mall. I could always dip into my emergency stash (I had to in order to buy a ticket, CD and shirt) and repay myself later, but the danger in doing that is I'll continually do it if I start.

I snuck my camera into the show (not quite sneaking when the neglect to pat you down) and I hope some great photos come out of it. About midway through the show, the tall guys that were standing in front of me both in line and outside moved to the side, and a group of very very very very short girls took their places. When I say short, I mean short. The tallest of the five couldn't have been more than 5'0". Two of them who stood next to me at one point were about as tall as my bicep. They couldn't have been more than 4'8". But they were cute and helped me find the pen I dropped, so it was all good.

I'm sure I'll have more on this tomorrow. But forgive me. It's after 12:30. I'm a bit tired.

Update. 6:41: a.m.

I have to agree with him. Who would shoot Jam Master Jay? They were the "eat your vegetables and take your vitamins" of the rap game before the real violence and controversy and hoopla began. I mean, how can you hate a group who penned great lyrics like, "Roll to the rock, rock to the roll DMC stands for devastating mic control"?

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