I noticed last night that Nikki McKibbin does not have pierced ears. Considering the tongue stud and all, this really is sort of shocking news.

Omigod! The photo I took of Bruce Springsteen THISCLOSE at last night's concert is right here!

Yeah, it's not.

If I had subtitles for my blog, this post would be headed Friends in Low Places or Pit Stop or Born to Run and Hide or Shutter at the Thought. Depending on how corny I felt at the moment. For yesterday my aforementioned galpal Kelly hooked us up with the most incredible concert tickets in recent memory: Admission for two to the San Jose Compaq Center performance of Bruce and the E Street Band, location: "The Pit." I have to admit there was something rather exciting about walking up to the Band Will Call window to receive an envelope with two said tickets, two sets of wristbands (one orange, one blue) and two backstage passes for after the show. While I can't claim to be a die-hard Bruce fan, there was also something rather exciting to find ourselves ushered into the very heart of the arena -- literally front row in a small, cordoned-off square where the most freaky of Boss freaks convene. As the music began, we were right there, flush with the stage. As in, leaning against it. Touching it. Hanging out by it. Spitting on it. There were 2 moments where, if I were more ambitious, I could've touched Bruce himself. Or spit on him. But I did neither.

What I did instead was very, very naughty. Always armed with the digital (after all, I hoped we'd be backstage after, and who knows what could happen?), I proceeded to sneak it out at opportune moments and snap an image or two of the man and his band. While this all went undetected for a time, I pushed my luck -- and approximately halfway through, I felt the dreaded tap on my shoulder. What followed was an ugly procession of events, culminating in me being whisked away by a fleet of green-jacketed security guards, the refrain of "Never Surrender" echoing through my head, so criminal that not even a pair of magic wristbands could save me.

But, but, I didn't even use a flash! But, but, I take pictures at really important concerts all the time! But, but, "photographers" were not included on the list of mortal sinners outside the arena!

Alas, my irrational fear of losing my camera and/or the death sentence propelled me to rushedly delete the fabulous shots, though luckily Kelly rescued me at the last moment as to save me from complete expulsion. Quite shaken, I immediately embraced a $6 plastic bottle of MGD and skulked back to The Pit, tail firmly tucked. I'm such a baby.

Our trip to Boston was also most excellent, but that's a story for another day. Now, I must go lie on the couch and watch all of the Buffy and American Idol we missed in the mayhem and misdemeanor of last night.

Tomorrow night I'm leaving for my fifth trip back east since December. Luckily I've gained a lot of frequent flier miles in this time. Our travels will be bountiful and varied: Bryan and I will be looking at more wedding sites, I'll see my mom, Jen, who happens to be in town on Sunday, and my long-time and much beloved Boston pal, Patrick. And then there's the big event -- Robin's wedding. Robin and I were housemates senior year in college, and when I lived in Boston (pre-CA), we spent many hours together watching the E! channel, reading Star magazine, going to movies, having sleepovers and generally doing all sorts of girly things. I am honored to be one of her bridesmaids.

Since we're on the topic, I'll also mention that Robin, at this very moment, is my bride-ly role model. The picture of calm, she's approached the whole thing with a characteristically matter-of-fact, practical, and positive outlook. Yesterday I e-mailed her wondering if I could wear dark grey shoes instead of black, and she said "sure, whatever." Trust me, in bridesmaid world, this is an answer to be cherished.

Happy day for Robin!

While preparing for said trip, I also found out that, even in Year 2002, you can still get The Maxx for the Minimum. This clearly is also excellent news.

Elsewhere:

1. Last week I scanned in my final project for photography class. Though I took it at the Redwood City train station, our teacher remarked that it reminds her of the London city streets. Not that she's ever been to London, she clarified. I just like the light silhouetting the unsuspecting waiting woman.

2. I posted my first offical love/hate. I think I might hate it. The subject is so ripe; there must be more for the pickin'. Maybe I'll work on it again later.

3. Whenever given the opportunity, I attempt to get a good reflection shot for The Mirror Project. While Jess thought I should send this one (but everyone does that), I actually like yesterday's attempt, tentatively titled Visions of Waiting ... at the In-and-Out. You can actually see the menu in the bottom left, and I look vaguely unhinged with hunger.

On Thursday, I stayed home from work. I took six months worth of Seinfeld episodes that I've been saving on our UltimateTV, and I transferred them to videotape. I felt really accomplished.

Today, I cleaned more than six months worth of photograph and CD and notecard piles off of our staircase. I felt pretty damn accomplished.

Tonight, after we got home from the city, I realized that our toiletseat makes a haunted-house creaking noise when you lift it up. That's kinda cool.

I remember reading a while ago that Wet Hot American Summer was a really good movie. (Please, click on the link, it's not what you're thinking.) In fact, I remember reading that WHAS was, at the time, the most gleeful and ingenious pop satire since ''The Brady Bunch Movie'' and the ''Naked Gun'' glory days of Zucker, Abrahams, and Zucker. (Or, you know, something along those lines.)

Question. Am I too old for pop satire? Because I just didn't get it. This upsets me. I mean, it was like, over the top in places, but then strangely normal in places, and generally not really funny at all. On the positive side, I was reminded to be mad at my parents for never sending me to sleepaway camp. And to go hunting for those photos from 1982 starring my bright red short shorts with the white piping down the sides. (I think these are mine too -- and they're selling for $10!) And to see to it that we fulfill Bryan's dream of renting a dunk tank for our wedding.

On second thought, I guess it wasn't so bad after all.

Isn't it sort of ironic that the best friends are the ones you don't have to say "please" and "thank you" to -- the ones who just pass you the remote or the beer or the dish of mixed nuts when you stick out your hand?

1987: Sneaking peach schnapps behind the Tilt-a-Whirl (a "very profitable amusement ride"), carrying with pride the pastel plush sharpei your boyfriend won by squirting water into the mouth of a clown, getting fingers unimaginably sticky with hot pink sugar crystals.

2002: Redefining "celebrity" as the hypnotized guy who Thinks He's Tom Cruise!, regretting the second paper basket of fries, paying $6 to buy a goldfish and then toss a dented ping pong ball at glass bowls filled with food-coloring-saturated water.

Does it get any better?

Call me crazy: I made a new blog yesterday.

Once upon a time, in a magical kingdom called Cali-forn-i-a, lived a fair maiden and her fine prince. Once prisoners in the dark, cold netherworld Masseychewsetts, the two escaped the horrors of 55 miles-per-hour speed limits, marginal sushi and hands that need Gore-Tex in the winter. In their golden 4x4 chariot they rode through the night for miles and miles until they reached the land of pure sunshine. There, they welcomed new friends, new life, new happiness and the world was wonderful. Twas a fortnight thereafter that the prince bowed to the maiden on bended knee and asked for her hand. A long courtship was ended and the pair was to marry!

On the eve of a bewitching Sat-nite in August, citizens of the kingdom scurried to prepare a festival of engagementhood for the prince and his betrothed. The queen of the festival assigned her helpers tasks of food, drink, and game playery. The hosts of the fine party made merry with music echoing through the room and a smile on every face. A grand test in homage of the great Lord Eubanks was arranged, and the guests in their ballroom splendor had gathered 'round to cheer them on. Once the games began it came clear that the maiden and prince were meant for each other; the guests then crowned the pair "Brown" and "Aardvark" and all rejoiced in the kindness of friends.

While all was well for a fair time, near midnight a wicked presence silently entered the room. The evil was strong, and it was forceful, and it made the revelers do things they were ashamed of later. After many goodbyes and heartfelt speeches, the maiden and prince were whisked away to safety by their fine footman. At their castle the prince bathed himself in carbonated beverage and, the evil still in him, slept soundly on the perch outside the maiden's chamber.

With the dawn of the new day and many visits to the small room outside the chamber, the evil left the prince and his guests, perhaps to be seen again -- or not. Till then, the maiden and prince live happily ever after in a joyous Cali-forn-i-a kingdom of song, dance, beneficent jesters and royalty true.

The End

Whenever I'm feeling down, I say "Brian Dunkleman" five times over, aloud, and then, just like that, everything's ok.

Remember when I said that being so unobservant is sometimes a curse, and sometimes a blessing? Well today was a major curse day, as I managed to not observe a big white post in the Palo Alto parking garage on Ramona Street. After backing up into said post, I sped away madly like a hunted criminal, and thus it wasn’t until I reached the office building 20 minutes later that I was relieved to find only minor scratches over the rear passenger-side tire. (Honestly, it sounded like an industrial-sized trash compactor when I unobservantly threw her into reverse and hit the gas.) Do you think I should've left my phone number on the post so it could call me for damages?

PS I *am* going to write something about Saturday night; for some reason, this seemed more pressing.

PPS This story just reminded me of this time when I was 16 and backed my 1978 Toyota Cressida into the propped-open glass door of the local Mobil station. The glass shattered. Since I was 16, naturally I panicked and rather than stopping to apologize and/or surrender to the authorities, I once again sped away in hopes of eluding capture. (Am I sensing a trend here?) The Mobil station owner tracked my license plate number (damn!) and called my mom, who looked skeptical when I answered the accusation with, "Mobil station? Door? Glass?" Eventually, I fessed up, tucked my tail between my legs and brought Mr. Mobil a check. Ah, the good old/new days.

Things I Am Suspicious Of, Volume I

1. The fact that my Kraft Singles are forming hard, transparent edges after only 7 days in the fridge
2. Whether or not the drycleaner is really cleaning my clothes before returning them to me on hangers
3. My insatiable addiction to Crystal Geyser Juice Squeeze, flavor Key Lime
4. 25,000 mile tune-ups
5. "Instant" anything (e.g. instant coffee, instant weight loss, instant messenger)
6. My laughter at this creepy-weird show last night
7. The authenticity of Justin Guarini's nose
8. That this is a news story

Volume II forthcoming.

In other music news...

What's great about singing Neil Diamond in the car: You get to say things like "web of rhyme," "winged flight," and "sleepy glade." Not to mention "Let me make it waaarm ... foooor ... yooou."

And that's just one song.

Um, how did Thursday get here already?

Last night my waning faith in the youth of America was renewed, as Justin Guarini was nearly voted off of American Idol. He received the second fewest votes, which means he gets to stay, but it also means he's on shaky ground with his female fans. Miraculously. (I don't know if I mentioned this last week, but I actually tried to call to vote for someone else just so that Justin would not win. I'm sure I'm overreacting or something.)

The other fun part was when the actual loser of the night, Ryan Starr, described her vocal persona. "I'm half rock, half pop... And half R&B," she explained.