PBJ

So last night was Peter, Bjorn, and Johnny. Punny!

We saw PBJ @ Scala in King's Cross, which is far less well-kept than the name would let on. I stepped in vomit. Then a scalper made fun of us for drinking an unlabeled bottle of cider across the street from Scala. One self-deprecating moment after another.

Man: "He's a good date!"
Johnny: She brought it! It was her idea.
Man: I've been there, on a park bench with my girlfriend and a cheap bottle.
Me: Hahahahahaha. (Swig)

The concert was so much fun. Like being at a Swedish prom. Other highlights included cheese, awkward conversational moments with strangers, and rocking out. Also, I was given a wristband because I look 16. I made a minor scene, but with good reason. I'm 20!!!

Now I'm going to Barbican Gallery to see Le Corbusier--The Art of Architecture. I'm excited!!

WOW!

I am drinking Alka-Seltzer for the first time in my life. How exhilarating. It was in the care packages that my parents sent me last week. Care packages are my jam.

I've been sustaining myself on a diet of hot chili peppers since my cold started on Saturday, and while they make me cry like a dumb schoolboy, they really do the trick.

I'm not letting nasal congestion slow my roll, right now I'm going to Scala at King's Cross to buy tickets for Peter, Bjorn, and John also my jam. All the while reading "Snowball Berry Red" for Modern Russian culture. Reading Week is shite.