Armed with embroidery floss, The Time Traveler's Wife, tube socks, and Pirate Booty, the lovely Alexandra and I will be carting over to Madison to see The Decemberists, once again. And, for some unreasonable reason, all of our Decemberist-loving friends have prioritized athletics over songs about being so nonathletic that Chuck Taylor's are the only shoes they own with laces.
So we are left with two extra tickets and the image of us trying to scalp them should be entertainment enough. I'm wearing red, hoping that I can be shirt buddies with whoever is the opening act, and so that my best friend Lisa will see me and remember our lunch plans from the concert last November. Its cool, Lisa. I know you're busy, and I know in my heart of hearts that this is not a reflection of our friendship.
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