I know I promised something life-changing, something that would blow your mind, something that would make you think and reconsider everything you have ever held as an inherent truth in this crazy, mixed-up world of ours, but I lied. I do that sometimes.

It's another late night during which I really should be doing homework (or, I should be enjoying the fact that I did my homework when it was assigned three weeks ago like a good student), but it just doesn't work that way sometimes. I'm more concerned with sitting around amazed at how I can live in Florida and still be cold right now thanks to the industrial-strength window unit next to me (here's to living in the Age of Technology) and thinking about just how young I should die after creating something mediocre to be considered a great artist of some sort. I think 33 might be all right--like Jesus, but minus the crucifixion (maybe).

A couple of nights ago, I got in touch with my inner 40-year-old and saw Kansas ("Carry On Wayward Son," "Dust in the Wind") live in concert--for free, no less! Let me tell you, you haven't rocked until you've rocked with a bunch of middle-aged drunk southerners to a band of 50-something-year-old men in a cramped public square on a humid Florida evening. If that's not enough to get your adreniline pumping, I just don't know what is.

The drive home was just as exciting, though. There was a ONE-MILLION CAR PILE-UP (rounded up to the nearest million) on the interstate that brought my fellow classic rockers and me to a complete standstill for a good hour and a half. Of course, we were almost out of gas, and I had been holding my bladder (in a somewhat figurative sense) since we got in the car, which added to the intensely somber mood of the evening.

Next week I plan on having similar adventures when I see the Blue Oyster Cult.

I also feel it necessary to mention the fact that I have been drinking a lot of chocolate milk lately. I honestly and sincerely can't think of a time since approximately middle school that I have, through one means or another, been lucky enough to sit down with a cool bit of chocolate milk until these last couple of days. I wonder if it's a psychological thing, the comfort that comes with the taste?

Time for me to return to my Counting Crows kick. Yes, I like Counting Crows. I have come to terms with it. I am not embarrassed anymore. Stop laughing at me.



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