  I have finally weaned myself off of an addiction to television. I knew it was time to make a change when the highlight of my week was Monday’s Dr. Phil; The Ultimate Weight Loss Challenge . I tend to romanticize people in a skewed way, and somehow Weight Loss Challenger Thomas became somewhat of an obsession of mine.
So I vowed to end my reliance on “the box”. Though I had a slight relapse on Thursday, I have stopped with my evil ways. I am down to less than an hour a day—including news. How do I keep up to date in the pop culture arena? The best show ever, The Best Week Ever . VH1 commentary shows are beautiful masterpieces, and this one takes the cake. Its not better then I Love the 80s , but it is certainly up to par with I Love the 80s Strikes Back . If you are not watching this show, you need to TiVo it. NOW . Leigh called me a slut in a car full of people on Friday. I told Anna about it, and she could not stop laughing to the point of hysterics. “ How can you be a slut if you’re ANNA Z?!
?” Needless to say, it made me feel a lot better. Plus, I’m pretty sure Leigh’s definition of ‘slut’ is a little tainted. If talking about pregnancy with Ross makes me somehow risqué, I would love to know her thoughts about the girls talking about “ servicing ” themselves at the concert last night. Just a thought. Ah, it was indeed a good concert. But the overriding factor of the night was my heart finding an owner in a boy nicknamed Hitler. After yearbook consultation, I found his real name is actually Cale. The introduction was a mere formality. I have seen the auburn-haired lovely around school. Perhaps the only talent I posses is an ability to remember faces (bodies too, but that’s sort of a different talent). And while I thought he was lovely in the brief passing periods, I saw him in the basking glow of Death Cab. The experience reminded me of how women reacted to seeing Odysseus after Athena has “blessed” him in The Odyssey . OD made the maidens in the river want to marry the godlike sex-bot. While marriage is not what popped into my mind, similar intimacies did.
I will spare the details and progress to the actual concert. My favorite parts of the show: - Death Cab making fun of ‘The Big Easy Concert House’s backdrop (“You know, I have been to New Orleans, and there are usually more than four people on Bourbon Street. And they are usually showing their tits.”) - Ben Gibbard asking the technicians to please stop zooming in on him. “There are other people in this band, you know. Plus, I think everyone thinks they actually look better than they are, and these screens are freaking me out.
Can we get some oil drip psychedelics instead?” - Oil drip psychedelics - The Death Cab for Cutie version of ‘Girls Just Wanna have Fun” - Ben Gibbard himself. I had no idea he was actually that good-looking. His pants were tight to the point of loveliness without gratuitous sexiness - Pedro the Lion’s set - Pedro the Lion’s stage banter - Ben and the bassist climbing on top of the amps and playing the encore I didn’t like having my ass fondled the whole night. I mean, I have been to concerts before. And I actually like being in crowds like those. You suddenly become intimate friends with everyone around you.
Your arms graze each other when you clap, you step on their feet, you get hair in their face, they hear you singing along out-of-tune with the songs. But it’s just not cool to actually grab my ass. We smoked a lot of cigarettes beforehand, which never fails to surprise. My brother still doesn’t approve, but he is fine with bumming from me. I notice a lot about how people smell around me. I know that my mom smells like perfume and anti-dandruff shampoo. My dad smells like aftershave. Joey smells perpetually of pot. And now I smell of cruelty-free lavender soap and cigarettes. Yuck. Affectionately… Anna 
