Tonight is the Elvis Costello concert. WOOHOO!
AND I actually hired a sitter. I had to -- because Jon is out of town at a conference, and I didn't want to impose on our usual sitter-friends on a weeknight, and because we really need to start finding some reliable, work-for-pay sitters: we need to get back to having "date nights."
It's pathetic, how long it's been since I've seen a first-run movie in an actual theater. I think it was last September. It's been at least three years since I regularly went to movies or fully participated in pop culture; entire fashion movements, starlets, sitcoms, rumours and gossip, slang, and pop hits have passed me by. My real age is 39; my pop culture age is 72. I look at the People magazines my friend Andee graciously brought me the other day (dog-eared from being thumbed by at least a half-dozen different people, each of us vaguely ashamed of reading these -- they're like culturally-endorsed porn): I don't recognize half of the people featured.
And what music are the kids into these days? Are they still listening to that Snoopy Dog Dog?
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