Chuck beat me to the punch. Congratulations to our neighbors to the north on their new bundle of joy, and I look forward to their other impending arrival…the soon-to-be released box set. Peanut Butter Toast and American Bandstand is among my all-time favorite Low songs (the husband obtained a number of these rarities some time ago, but I look forward to the legit version…with all the extras).
A lot is happening around town, as usual. Tonight the Triple Rock Social Club hosts the 2nd annual U.S. Air Guitar Championships, tomorrow night is the sold-out Franz Ferdinand show at the Fine Line, Saturday sees DKT/MC5 at First Avenue, and Sunday is The Soviettes record release show, also in the main room. I will be attending none of these events, thank you very much. I just report the news, I’m not allowed to participate.
In incredibly localized news, like, within the confines of my own home…well, lemme tell ya. My first husband was a fitness freak. My second one? A compulsive creator of baked goods. Last night I walked into the kitchen to find cookie sheets left on the counter, and other signs of recent baking activity. Grabbed the stepladder to snoop atop the fridge and found what I knew would be there. Snickerdoodley goodness…to futher tempt me. I’ve never had phenomonal impulse control, but at least my high metabolism made up for it when I was younger. These days those empty calories find their way straight to my ass. What’s worse, if I eat just one cookie during an entire day I’ll gain mass. The husband eats one cookie (or more) EVERY SINGLE TIME he walks into the kitchen, and he’s been losing weight. But no one ever said life was fair.
