Tuesday night I hopped a flight to LA for a bunch of meetings. And the wonderous Kate Hill (recently transplanted from Boston and shown here posing with her bitching new ride) was gracious enought to pick me up at the airport (and chaffeur my ass around town).
After spending the afternoon collecting the sun's energy with my face, I decided to impress the ladies by releasing a red, wavy death-ray from my eyes.
Later that night, Kate, Erin, their friend who's name I've since forgotten (sorry) and myself all headed over to StartBoston to say hi to Gibby and rock out to a Smiths cover band that were playing in honor of Morrisey's Birthday .
Right when I got off the highway and into Boston, I called Kate to ask where I should meet her. Answering the phone, she barely managed to slur a hello. Turns out a few hours earlier, she had been trying to light a match without removing it from the matchbook (kids, let this be a lesson) and the whole book ignited burning her hand pretty badly. She and her roommate Erin promptly headed to the bar across the street to try to ease the pain. By the time I showed up - she was definitely no longer feeling any pain. Here's Kate right after we got back to her place.
