kupcakes and kills

Wednesday, sep. 24, 2003   |   0 comments

Yesterday started off dynamitedly with coffee and a large Miette cupcake (yellow cake with whipped, chocolate ganache frosting!), hand-delivered to my door (whom did I favor sexually in a past life to deserve this, I wonder and wonder?) by Liz and her manfriend, Ivan; the day ended with the three of us reuniting to meet up with Erika and friend Jeremy for another fine night with The Kills.

The band offered up a real sexy time, as always, even though the crowd was somewhat subdued, possibly due to its overall youngness, which as we know can promote the kind of self-consciousness that chokes all forms of visible expression (and just forget dancing, are you completely hi? on hugs?), and possibly the result of the not-entirely-packed status of the venue. Their fan base for sure has grown too large for the Bottom of the Hill, but the Great American Music Hall is perhaps a little too roomy a shell, yet, for that hermit crab of a band.

Oh and also the middle band, something-something (and not “Hot, Hot”) Heat, they attracted this weird, REALLY young, super-enthused group of fans who were all up, up in it, right there the front row, meanwhile wearing bunny ears? I don’t know. Anyway, fun. And I bought a poster! I don’t think I’ve “bought a poster” at a live musical performance in over ten years.

In between those two great-day bookends, I got a blood test, a sexy sexy blood test, to determine whether all this iron pillaging has smote my anemia (we’ll see!). I went to work. (I know, what with the traveling and rip-roaring, I bet you forgot I had a job. I sure did.) And then I went to the gym and ran three miles in thirty minutes! Probably not that impressive to you fiddle-fit readers out there — because that is how I imagine you all, pausing between spin classes and wind sprints for a smidge of Evany time, just until your heart rate calms enough for the next interval. But I’m a slow trotter, and to date I’ve never managed to finish in thirty minutes, and it’s been a goal of mine since way back in January, back before my path to fitness took that month-plus detour into the appendectomy cul-de-sac. So that was good, if not in any way “fun.”

Tonight, West Wing season premiere with Jill and Liz. I’m not freakishly bothered about that sort of thing, typically, but the three of us watched a tape of last season’s cliff-hanger, and now we’re all charged and pumped and ready for battle. Plus, pizza! And maybe hamburgers! And tacos! Oh, I’m hungry.

And tomorrow night, dance-dance revolution at Popscene from ten until this ass gets tired. And this ass never gets tired. Pow!