Saw The Shins in concert on Sunday night, described by a local blog as a BYOVT event (Bring Your Own Vintage TShirt). I have come to the conclusion that it is impossible to see a bad concert in Los Angeles. Sure, most of the venues sell $7 Bud Light and are so airy that you never get that true "fuck yeah" rock feeling that comes from someone accidentally setting your shirt on fire with their cigarette and then using their beer to douse the flames. But sitting outside on a balmy evening listening to jangly indie music on a stage framed by giant pines with the stars flickering above is a lovely, pleasant experience. And The Shins were good too.
A group of us went bowling this weekend. I found that, disturbingly, I'm not that bad at it. We drank beer, ate buffalo wings and some crime against nature called mini mac and cheese bites, and trash talked. Sadly, the place (Lucky Strike in Hollywood) was too annoying for words and we resolved to find a less faux-ironic locale for our next outing.
Laura has promised pictures of Quinn at her earliest convenience. Stand by.
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