My stomach is hating me yet again. I have three more things to read for tomorrow and no motivation whatsoever to do it. Instead, Mike and I are watching Las Vegas, which is the crappiest show ever. Mike claims it's the "best show in the Monday 9 pm timeslot." I find that "honor" dubious at best.

I guess I should discuss the Old 97's show. It was soooo good. I got giddy the minute they hit the stage. It was partly because of the fancy drink the Stylequeen and I had at some swanktastic bar beforehand. Or, perhaps it was witnessing Sweaty "I'm too hot for my own good" Miller.

Oh, and I got my neighborhoodie from Stiner. It's red with "I (heart) Rhett Miller" in gold. Briliant, but there was no way in hell I was wearing it last night.