5.3.2002
 
No, I will not turn this into an obligatory concert post. Although I have to admit that this Saves The Day show was a bit... erm, lacking. Mainly the opening acts took too much time so STD had to cut their set short. In otherwords, NO AUDIENCE INTERACTION. The pretty-boy frontman sported a nice frock of hair though.

I was very comfortable during the concert. Sandwiched between the rail, a cute tall guy, a cute lil guy, and... oh yeah, my sis was there too. Luckily I didn't have to pay too much attention to the side that she was on.

The ride home felt like one of those clown things where several clowns fit into this really small car. Imagine fitting a five-seater with seven people. Basically Matt's mom and friend in the front, and us for kids (me, sis, Matt, Karen, Scott) stuck in the back with Karen lying across our laps.

Passed by a cute guy driving an extremely sexy car. Basically did some blatant staring, eye flirting, and Karen giving him the "okay" sign before he slammed the gas pedal all the way down. Wasn't able to ditch us (we were going down the same road) until five stoplights later.

Hmm... each group outing I've been having with Matt has turned into an excuse for him and whoever to make out. But he should call it quits with his other before going hip-to-hip with another. I'm just upset by principle though; nothing personal.

I get to make a music video for Zap Mama's "Rafiki" for photoclass. Yay. Actually, their music is extremely unique; a fusion of afropean beats, pygmy chants, etc. We were going for this Arthur Jones song, a man with a Bob Dylan-esque voice and style, until Lauren and I heard the chorus:

"God will never leave you.... God will never leave you...."

Lauren: Umm... I think we should go with that "Rafiki" song.

Now, time to work on my research paper, my visual for my research paper, my presentation about my visual for my research paper, and... math homework that has nothing to do with my research paper. Joy.

Sadly enough, I'm not tired.

. . . . . posted:||11:42 PM . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

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